The Nov. 17 entry must have been a bit of foreshadowing.
Just six days later, I had a bit of a meltdown regarding the very drivel I was complaining about. Like everyone, I have my moments of weakness, and more often than not, I react with utter ambivalence toward the transparency of my stupidity.
For it was stupidity, no matter which direction one approaches it. I read my ex’s most recent blog entry, and despite knowing full well that only bad feelings would come of it, I continued to read backward, all the way to when we first broke up in spring of 2005.
And boy, did a rush of negative feelings come back. He wrote so candidly about how everything was my fault, that if I had only behaved differently, he would not have done some of the things he did. Despite his apologizes in the future, back then, he blamed me for his actions.
The fact of the matter is that he hurt me in every way a person could possibly harm a “loved” one: physically, mentally and emotionally. I definitely played an integral part in every terrible machination within that relationship, but to claim to the world that it was all my fault is ridiculously erroneous.
Of course I overreacted. I was young. I thought I was in love. And he used to make me believe he was the only one who truly cared for me. What is the typical reaction to the loss of such an important person?
Complete and all-encompassing panic.
And despite his apologies after the facts, I cannot let it all go. I cannot forgive. I refuse to forgive. For a very long time my idea of what Love is was skewed by that relationship. You don’t deliberately raise your hand to physically harm someone you love. You don’t abandon the person you love if he or she is frightened by something he or she doesn’t understand. You should see through the tears, the anger, the frustration, to the very core of your lover.
You persevere. Through all the trials and tribulations, you never let go of his or her hand. Promises are not necessary; only support and courage.
I know now that what we shared was never really love. Even very early on it was more about dependence than reciprocity. I just loved the idea of us working everything out that I fooled myself into believing we actually loved one another. We had nothing at the end. I was hardly myself by then, anyway.
For the rest of my life, I will have to thank Guevarra for pulling me aside at a summer party to ask me, “Are you happy?”
The falter in my answer should have told me then, and though it took me a few more months to finally end that relationship, I will still credit Guevarra with opening my eyes.
My most glaring mistake was refusing to acknowledge reality.
Now for the scars.
I’ve written countless times of how I cannot seem to break this shell I’ve molded around me. You may exude as much warmth and love as a person can, but I can’t allow myself to feel it. There is too much danger in believing in others.
And yet, since Sunday, I’ve slowly, purposely, been chipping at the stone. It began with an immediate confession to David that I’d just read my ex’s blogs and was feeling small and vulnerable again. I felt the need to apologize profusely for keeping him shut out, even though we have made leaps and bounds forward in our relationship. Well, as much as I’ll allow. I apologized for deliberately sabotaging our growth. I do love him, but it is a caged love, a confined love.
He tried to understand as best he could, and I was immensely grateful that he loves me enough that he can’t even comprehend giving up on me.
I even opened up to Barnaby when we had lunch on Tuesday. Apparently, he was just as taken aback by my frankness as I was, albeit my perception of it as that was just a tad delayed. By three days.
Risk is an inherent part of Life; but is it really up to me to decide whether the risks are worth the trials?
I don’t know.
I really don’t know. All I can think is that I should feel like the risks are worthwhile, but I am blinded by my fear of them. Sometimes they feel so huge and ultimately, I retreat and rationalize, compartmentalize my emotions so they are neat and easy to manage.
A friend betrays me? Well, there was probably some warning sign that I missed. I shouldn’t have been a dope and shared that much anyway. It’s my own fault.
Boyfriend cheats on me? He was a pussy anyway, and since I’m still young, I’ll be OK. There will be others.
Even if the situation seems completely irrational, I am prepared for it. I have some sort of mantra I can repeat to myself in the event that something horrible comes true. I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. Walking on eggshells.
Floating around in anxiety and paranoia isn’t particularly fulfilling or enriching.
There is no basis for my distrust and suspicion and general wariness other than the past. It is about time I stop transposing the misdeeds of disgusting people onto those who are currently in my life.
I will truly make an effort to open myself, but forgive me if I seem a bit odd. I’m terribly out of practice.