Today was a good day.
The weather was on the cusp of fall-- cool yet warm. I ran, and as awful as it was, I am happy to be able to.
I am thankful for friends, and thankful for a boyfriend who cares for me.
Today was a great day.
“God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented cages.” ~Jacques Deval
Friday, September 10, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
"Is this all we get, to be absolute? Quiet but I'm sure, there is something here. Tell me everything, 'cause I want to hear."
I sometimes enjoy letting my unwanted thoughts scurry around hitting the china cabinet and letting the dishes crash to the floor, breaking into a bountiful display of mixed emotions. This recklessness with my thoughts brings me the joy of poisoned honey. The reassurance that I am not shallow, that there is something here. It is blissful to watch the china fall, retarded by the scale of time within my mind. I watch capturing every moment of the trajectory because after I have observed the myriad emotions, memories, and thoughts diffracted by the trigger of the event, I like to carefully sweep up the pieces, grab my glue and set to work.
My memories are precious to me. However, I am not a perfect craftsman. The dishes break. Even at my best I cannot recreate the dishes perfectly. Occasionally, the dishes become more impressive in their beauty that I dramatize to enhance the next "letting loose the bulls". I like beautiful things. I do not always improve the beautiful aspects of my dishes. It is best to leave some as ugly as they ever were-- or to remove some of the beauty left in them.
What is the point?
I thought of death today. How much easier is it to endure a death than a heartbreak?
I am not sure I know the answer, simply because I have not experienced death tremendously close to myself. Most people I have known who have died I am mostly left with a collection of beautiful memories. These dishes improve over time.
A heartbreak? They are best sometimes left on the floor, swept up, and thrown out. This leaves one problem.-- I am a pack-rat. Even with my memories. I want to cherish the beautiful things those I dated did for me. I don't want to let go of how it felt to be loved by someone I shared so much of my life with. I do not want to remember them badly. Even so, it is important to keep the bad memories. It is important to remember when you first realized you were never truly loved.
In some cases, the bad memories gain strength only to subside after the happy ones are gone.
My heart has been broken many times over.
Yet, among the heartbreaks I am the one who keeps coming back to watch the ceramic delicately fly. I am the one who treasures the sound of crashing emotions, thoughts, and memories. I am the one who painstakingly reassembles each piece to restore it to how I want it. I try to remember the best about each one and the worst.
When it comes to people I try to remember that they are flawed, and that I am too. I grab for both who they were and who I wanted them to be. Sometimes I create false memories just to relish. They don't shine quite as well though and don't reassemble quite right.
Perhaps next time, I shall saturate the colors, re-master the sound, and alter the fragrances til they are just to my liking.
I really hope I am not out of my mind.
My memories are precious to me. However, I am not a perfect craftsman. The dishes break. Even at my best I cannot recreate the dishes perfectly. Occasionally, the dishes become more impressive in their beauty that I dramatize to enhance the next "letting loose the bulls". I like beautiful things. I do not always improve the beautiful aspects of my dishes. It is best to leave some as ugly as they ever were-- or to remove some of the beauty left in them.
What is the point?
I thought of death today. How much easier is it to endure a death than a heartbreak?
I am not sure I know the answer, simply because I have not experienced death tremendously close to myself. Most people I have known who have died I am mostly left with a collection of beautiful memories. These dishes improve over time.
A heartbreak? They are best sometimes left on the floor, swept up, and thrown out. This leaves one problem.-- I am a pack-rat. Even with my memories. I want to cherish the beautiful things those I dated did for me. I don't want to let go of how it felt to be loved by someone I shared so much of my life with. I do not want to remember them badly. Even so, it is important to keep the bad memories. It is important to remember when you first realized you were never truly loved.
In some cases, the bad memories gain strength only to subside after the happy ones are gone.
My heart has been broken many times over.
- My birth parents-- whom betrayed me for their selfish desires,
- Myself-- for breaking a heart, which I cut swiftly and as cleanly as possible
- My Beloved--whom in his doubt and indecisiveness nearly snuffed out my desires for anything and accidentally stole my heart
- My adoptive parents--whom never quite got the hang of loving me for who I was
- My friends-- those whom in life have slowly walked away for newer things
- and Again Myself-- for allowing myself to be so seized with the fear.... that I forgot how to dance
Yet, among the heartbreaks I am the one who keeps coming back to watch the ceramic delicately fly. I am the one who treasures the sound of crashing emotions, thoughts, and memories. I am the one who painstakingly reassembles each piece to restore it to how I want it. I try to remember the best about each one and the worst.
When it comes to people I try to remember that they are flawed, and that I am too. I grab for both who they were and who I wanted them to be. Sometimes I create false memories just to relish. They don't shine quite as well though and don't reassemble quite right.
Perhaps next time, I shall saturate the colors, re-master the sound, and alter the fragrances til they are just to my liking.
I really hope I am not out of my mind.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
"I don't regret any days I spent, nights we shared, or letters that I sent"
It is late. Very late.
Today has been an odd day. It is the time of the month where I am most vulnerable to these kind of things-- emotional stress. Driving into school today I couldn't help but think of him. Every song on the radio I had to change. I couldn't escape G from my thoughts. Eventually frustrations with finding a parking space cured me of the memories. Usually my mental self medication works.
Tonight again as I attempt to sleep, I fail to forget him. I fail to see the bad, and I cry. I cry because roughly 18 months ago the process of ripping myself apart and reassembly started. My diary from the time we dated would hint at how intertwined I placed myself. How I loved him with the depths of my crooked heart, and how feverishly I asked God for the ability to love him as He, God, loved him. My faith deepened. My walk with God was at a peak as I was encouraged in my pursuit of spiritual improvement and my desires to have a relationship with the proper focus. I ingrained myself into the very being of this man.
I cry now. I cry because though I have tried to remove this infection of love for a man which does not love me, nor cares enough to speak to me, with no success. I have been somewhat successful in removing my liking of him in many regards-- but it is hard to unfeel. It is hard to forget the sweetness of his ways, the smoothness of his voice and touch, and the peace that enveloped me in his presence. It is difficult to overcome the ways I had trained myself to love him. I was too successful. Some healing has come, slowly. It has been a rough time. I have adjusted to a new boyfriend (which I've had for over a year now!) whom I never see...and which often seems cold and distant...for we are often too busy and too far away. It is hard to give up on the boyfriend when he has yet to be given a fully chance. I do love him, but I do not feel as if my spirit is in harmony with his, that my soul longs for his. Thus my healing is incomplete.
To forget G is harder for me than it is for the reverse. I live each day with the knowledge that he won't be around. That he doesn't want to be the father of my children, with the questions of his sincerity, and with the doubting of God's devotion to my well-being. I feel jaded. I am lacking kisses on the forehead, long enduring hugs of peace, and the comfort of Tide. In many ways my soul and heart long for him. My mind luckily is the supreme power that has told me that G is the enemy and missing his presence in my life is fruitless, pathetic and wrong. My mind tells me to love the boyfriend, S. Grow to love S moreso than G. I don't know that I am up for the task. With S I do not long to be my best. I do not actively seek out a connection of mind, body and spirit. I suppose the underlying factor here is the knowledge that such may very well lead to disaster. I'm certain that putting in all my cards again would likely lead to an ugly death by my own hands. At least for now.
I wanted a strong sense of family. I wanted to be apart of someone else's family. I wanted to be a great daughter-in-law. I wanted to be a great wife, an amazing mother, and a godly woman. I wanted a husband whom I was fully integrated with and whom wanted the same. I wanted to be one.
No matter the amount of tears I cry, I know that they are fruitless. Perhaps God is counting. Perhaps on Judgement Day, when they read the synopsis of my life for all to know-- people will know, more importantly G will know, how dedicated I was to one day being the wife he needed. For now I must forget this nonsense. I must walk on. I must remember that the loss of a part of my soul is not to have a loss in the hope of one day being happily married to a man who will be more than happy to call me his wife.
Hopefully I can sleep here soon and these thoughts won't trouble me for a while.
Today has been an odd day. It is the time of the month where I am most vulnerable to these kind of things-- emotional stress. Driving into school today I couldn't help but think of him. Every song on the radio I had to change. I couldn't escape G from my thoughts. Eventually frustrations with finding a parking space cured me of the memories. Usually my mental self medication works.
Tonight again as I attempt to sleep, I fail to forget him. I fail to see the bad, and I cry. I cry because roughly 18 months ago the process of ripping myself apart and reassembly started. My diary from the time we dated would hint at how intertwined I placed myself. How I loved him with the depths of my crooked heart, and how feverishly I asked God for the ability to love him as He, God, loved him. My faith deepened. My walk with God was at a peak as I was encouraged in my pursuit of spiritual improvement and my desires to have a relationship with the proper focus. I ingrained myself into the very being of this man.
I cry now. I cry because though I have tried to remove this infection of love for a man which does not love me, nor cares enough to speak to me, with no success. I have been somewhat successful in removing my liking of him in many regards-- but it is hard to unfeel. It is hard to forget the sweetness of his ways, the smoothness of his voice and touch, and the peace that enveloped me in his presence. It is difficult to overcome the ways I had trained myself to love him. I was too successful. Some healing has come, slowly. It has been a rough time. I have adjusted to a new boyfriend (which I've had for over a year now!) whom I never see...and which often seems cold and distant...for we are often too busy and too far away. It is hard to give up on the boyfriend when he has yet to be given a fully chance. I do love him, but I do not feel as if my spirit is in harmony with his, that my soul longs for his. Thus my healing is incomplete.
To forget G is harder for me than it is for the reverse. I live each day with the knowledge that he won't be around. That he doesn't want to be the father of my children, with the questions of his sincerity, and with the doubting of God's devotion to my well-being. I feel jaded. I am lacking kisses on the forehead, long enduring hugs of peace, and the comfort of Tide. In many ways my soul and heart long for him. My mind luckily is the supreme power that has told me that G is the enemy and missing his presence in my life is fruitless, pathetic and wrong. My mind tells me to love the boyfriend, S. Grow to love S moreso than G. I don't know that I am up for the task. With S I do not long to be my best. I do not actively seek out a connection of mind, body and spirit. I suppose the underlying factor here is the knowledge that such may very well lead to disaster. I'm certain that putting in all my cards again would likely lead to an ugly death by my own hands. At least for now.
I wanted a strong sense of family. I wanted to be apart of someone else's family. I wanted to be a great daughter-in-law. I wanted to be a great wife, an amazing mother, and a godly woman. I wanted a husband whom I was fully integrated with and whom wanted the same. I wanted to be one.
No matter the amount of tears I cry, I know that they are fruitless. Perhaps God is counting. Perhaps on Judgement Day, when they read the synopsis of my life for all to know-- people will know, more importantly G will know, how dedicated I was to one day being the wife he needed. For now I must forget this nonsense. I must walk on. I must remember that the loss of a part of my soul is not to have a loss in the hope of one day being happily married to a man who will be more than happy to call me his wife.
Hopefully I can sleep here soon and these thoughts won't trouble me for a while.
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