a brief history

This is how it started

Seeking clarity within the chaos, trying to make sense of heart break. I wrote the whole story down, how I had gotten there, what happened…. I mean…. How could I have let that happen? I called it a manifesto and considered it kind of romantic - the way the wrongdoings of others turned me into an artist. Or at least, that’s the web I wove for myself. If I tried hard enough, I could turn it into a gift and deem myself thankful. Even become grateful. At the time, I was half a person, but at least that half could write - as if I wasn’t playing ‘milk and honey’ on livejournal when i was fourteen.

I’m pretty idealistic for a realist. A realist in the way I knew he was cheating. An idealist in how I granted myself the guilty pleasure of believing that he would stop. Believing that with time and circumstance, he would learn to love like I loved.

Guilty pleasure – I hate that term. Why would I ever feel guilty about something that brings me pleasure? That’s the approach I took to our relationship from then on.
I shouldn’t, but I wanted to. It was against my better judgment, but I loved feeling like the sanctified one- granting forgiveness to the damned. Uncorrupt, undefiled, untainted – I became too good, too holy, too kind, forgiving, patient and sweet just to balance the scales.

Sometimes I found myself wondering if he was my infernal karma. Hurting me in ways I could never have imagined as some sort of cosmic retribution for my past mistakes. It was the rule of three in flesh and blood, and I hadn’t always been so loving and true. Those were attributes I picked up along the way – self-preservation. I was a realist in the way I saw him selfishly shy away from my needs. An idealist in how I told myself that good things take time. Others had taken care of, supported and forgiven me in the past. I was convinced that it was my time to return those favors to another.

So, every bad action, every regrettable word, I absorbed like sunshine and rain and turned into flowers. You can call that photosynthesis but I’m sure it looked more like stupidity. But really, I promise, it feels like love.

I’m a realist in the way I’ve built my life on eggshells, afraid he’d pick up leave. An idealist in the way I still planned for a future that he wouldn’t be around for if he did. Call me a survivalist the way I prepped for the apocalypse. The way I built a fortress to keep myself safe, so when it happened, I’d barely blink. Barely feel the boom. Hardly shake from all the leftover reverbs.

Even with all the preparation, it’s hard not to equate this back to me. My love, my compassion, my generosity, my kindness. Uncorrupt, undefiled, untainted – even at my too good, too holy, too kind, forgiving, patient and sweetest. If that was not enough, it never would be. I’ve sucked myself dry. Drained every last drop. There was no more I could have given. There was nothing left unsaid, no length I wouldn’t have gone. There was nothing more I could have done. No sin that wasn’t forgiven. I try to remind myself “I won’t feel this way forever”, and i probably won’t…. I know I won’t. It’s unsustainable – to have this much feeling, I wish I could turn it off as easily as you can.
I won’t feel this way forever.
But god. It feels like it sometimes.

Now I allow myself the guilty pleasure of writing again. He might act like the martyr, but he loves to read about himself as the villain. I don’t really know why, but I deemed it a gift and became thankful. Grateful.
And that – that’s really how all of this started.
Seeking clarity within the chaos and trying to make sense of heart break starting with a paragraph in my notes app about how thankful I was for all the ways I had been changed by him. How he had introduced me to my love, my compassion, my generosity, my kindness. Helped me become good, holy, kind, forgiving, patient and sweet. I was a realist in the way i knew it was too good to be true.
But I was an idealist in the way I hoped it wasn’t.

Enhance your reading experience with today’s Blog pairing menu:
Catchy tune: Promise - Laufey