When the Words Change

I keep thinking about how quickly people come and go in our lives, how fragile relationships are. Does environment have something to do with this? Where I came from seemed like there was a push to survive, always survival was at the top of the list, everything else came second. Is it like this everywhere?

At 39 I feel like I should have my own tribe, my group of people that I’ve grown and continue to grow with, people I have something in common with- kids, music, books, writing, every other word on my predictive text pops up with His name. Why? I’ve never been the type of person to have much in common with anybody. We might share a love of books, but they read books to grow, I read books to escape. We love music, their love of music changes with the times, always discovering new bands whose words grow as they grow, I stay stuck in pop music and music from the past, words and melodies that soothed me then and that I rely on to soothe me now. We are not the same.

I often think of the past, parts of my life that made me happy, finding a book series that I could devour in a period of weeks, coffeehouse poetry and local bands, angsty writing of passionate feelings that should have changed as we got older. I’m always stuck in the past while everyone moves on. Even as I’m growing I hold onto things I should have let go of long ago. I’m not afraid of change, I just don’t know how to.

But the words always change. Today I am lost, anxious, defeated, in love. Tomorrow I will feel the same, and the next day and the next, until one day I just won’t. But I’ll still be stuck in the past, instead of worrying what will happen next, overanalyzing what is happening now, I will long for the past, turning words and actions over and over in my mind, wondering what went wrong when. I’ll hold on too long and not know where to go next.

When the feelings change, so do the words. They’ll become more anxious, more sullen, more disoriented, until they won’t come at all. There will be a period of rest, of contemplation and then inevitably, deletion. I will start over because holding on, even to words, will be too painful until it just seems too irrelevant. Everything changes, it’s supposed to evolve, to make you better, but I think there’s conditions to that. I think you have to want to grow. How does that happen though? Something about analyzing the past, words, people, situations and growing from them. I haven’t mastered the art of that yet. I take what I can from people, places, situations and I hold on too long and move past it. And the one thing that stays the most constant about it all is that the words always change.

Two Weeks In: The Words Won’t Come

I’ve been trying to write every day for two weeks and all I’ve ended up with are pages torn out, posts deleted. I don’t know what I want to say and I know most would say that’s okay, that the words will come when they’re supposed to, but for someone who words are the way to let it all out, “when they’re supposed to” isn’t good enough. I feel lost.

I ran away again, everything just became too much and I ran. I had a brief glimpse of the way my future was going to go and it scared me. I saw myself not much further than I already was, maybe even a few steps back and I couldn’t handle that reality. So I ran. I ran because a reality I was already running from was about to catch up with me. And it scared me.

Maybe “scared” isn’t the right word. Terrified? I was terrified. Not just of the past catching up with me but of what the future was looking like and that future looked like me feeling trapped, anxious, afraid, unloved, unworthy. It felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe every day.

But before I ran I hurt someone, I mentioned it before, did I mention it already? I hurt someone who hurt me a lot in the past and I hate that it took being away from them for me to see that hurt. I don’t feel the same way about that person that I once did and I can see now that I haven’t felt that way for a long time. I didn’t have to hurt them, but sometimes the only way to set someone free is by pushing them away as hard and as far as you can. I didn’t have to hurt anyone, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone and the funny thing about hurting is that sometimes it’s the one who did the hurting that ends up hurting worse.

I’ve been trying to write my truths for two weeks now, about how I hurt someone deeply and about how in turn I’m now the one waiting to be hurt. That’s how life works, I think. You can’t hurt someone and not expect to get hurt in return.

Everything I write lately sounds so repetitive and sad. I could write it all down in a private notebook, for my eyes only but I feel the need to post my words publicly. The shame tears me open and my heart bleeds again and again and again. How long will I hold onto this?

There’s a weight around my heart, tugging me in a direction that I know will lead me nowhere, but that’s the thing about love, I’m always somewhere that I shouldn’t be, somewhere that isn’t any good for me. Letting go is so sad, so liberating and most of all it’s so hard. I’m hanging on so tight and all I want to do is let go because the hurt is inevitable, I wish I could write about it honestly but the words won’t come. They won’t, yet they are, just not the way I want them to.

One Week In: The Fall of Love

I haven’t even been away from him a week yet and I already feel us crumbling, like a sand dune being slammed by waves of hurricane type proportion. We’re not gonna make it and I’m watching everything fall apart right in front of my own eyes and there’s nothing I can do about it. It hurts. It’s a monumental type of hurt.

I keep thinking of all the things I want to do, all the things I’m finally able to do now that I don’t feel as though I have a noose around my neck, now that I’m free in every sense of the word. The list is so big and I just want to get started. But I’m waiting for something, I always feel like I’m waiting for something. Waiting for permission? Waiting for… predictive text pops his name up right in the middle of all of the words that could possibly pop up. He’s not what I’m waiting for. We’ve already had that talk.

We’re both waiting for the other one to hurt us. He tried to tell me how I could hurt him and it didn’t make sense to me. He said he doesn’t want to be the reason I don’t do something that I want to do. I didn’t understand though. I don’t know if he means it would hurt him to feel like he’s holding me back or if he means there’s something he doesn’t want me to do and he doesn’t want to tell me because he doesn’t want to hold me back from doing it. I can’t ask him yet though because with him, everything has to be done and said when he’s ready or he clams up, gets tight lipped and won’t talk about it. He shuts me out.

We both shut each other out too often. I keep telling myself it’s because we’re both afraid of getting hurt and we’ve both promised each other that we won’t hurt each other but can relationships really revolve around trying your best to not hurt the other person? I don’t think they can. It’s inevitable that at some point someone is going to get hurt, rather it’s a huge hurt or a small one. Neither of them feels particularly good, hurt is hurt. We hurt each other while trying not to hurt each other.

To be fair, I don’t think he really loves me. I don’t think I really love him. I think we have a type of love for each other but I don’t think we are in love with each other. And that hurts to admit. He was the reason why I made this move across the country. Just the possibility of having uninterrupted time with him, just the two of us, no matter how short that time may be, is what pushed me to make this move. Because I don’t want to be without him. I don’t want to be too far from him. And why? This isn’t real. This isn’t going to go anywhere. Why can’t I let him go?

Life As I Know It

Well this is what life is now. A gaping hole in my heart that grows bigger every single day. It rips and tears and bleeds. These scars are going to be monumental. But I’ll heal eventually, I always do. It won’t hurt so badly after awhile and I’ll move past it, I’ll move on. And I hate this.

Overall though, life has been more peaceful. With the exception of my relationship, I feel calmer, happier. I don’t feel as though I have to look over my shoulder anymore, like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. And that’s how I was feeling while I was in Texas. Anxious all the time, afraid. But here in Florida, I am, for the most part, happy, excited. I’ll always ache for the one I left behind, well not always, but for awhile I will. And then life will go on, because life always goes on.

Here’s to the next chapter.