And here I am, sitting in my bed, in my lowly lit bedroom, writing again. The truth is that I have been too shattered to find a space to face my insides the way I used to. Bold. Brave. The way Didi knows how. Why? Well, my insides have been (and to some degree still are) recovering from a heartbreak. My heart exploded in such a way that the shattered pieces went in all kinds of directions, I suspect I will still find some shards of glass hiding away in some obscure places, I will leave the discovery of these to future encounters. But, for now, I am okay enough to be here writing. For that I am thankful.
I don’t even know where to begin with sharing the biggest chunk of what has been causing the heartbreak, so when I find myself lost as to where to begin I just dive in. So here goes… I lost 2 very important people in my life in a space of 2 weeks in the month of March. One was a trusted and well loved and cared for friend and the other was a lover who I had shared countless hours and weeks, amounting to months nurturing and being nurtured by.
The loss of a friend
The thing about friendships is that they seem a lot more “mendable” than intimate relationships. That’s my take at least. There is this feeling that I can work anything out with friends because there is no physical contact that could potentially manipulate and sway my emotions. Hugs can try but they just don’t have the power that intimate physical contact has. My friend and I probably actually ended our friendship months ago, perhaps I was a fool sitting with an extended arm in an imaginary room, with an open door, a door that I was waiting to see my friend walk back through so that we could talk, fight, cry, laugh, do whatever it was that we needed to do in order to mend the tears we had collectively created in the fabric of our friendship (more and more I find that my strongest friendships are the ones where the fabric is made up of patches of sewn up holes. They have texture. Those friendships are the ones I value most. Never did I think I would admit that in writing, but here I am.)
I sat in that room, arm extended, aching from the strain, with an open door for all of 4 months but my friend never walked back in. Once I had begun accepting that he would never walk back in I began a process of figuring out how best to go about being okay with not having him be a part of my life, after seeing him every day of my life for over a year. It was painful, heart-wrenching, nonetheless, acceptance was needed here, and so was unclenching my sweat-drenched fists and gently releasing my feelings, thoughts, missed opportunities of words that could have been shouted, vomited, said or written. They had to be let go of – a necessary first step towards any level of acceptance. Once I began unclenching my fist and letting go of all the “unsaids” and “could-have-dones” I began feeling my own power returning to me in all its essence. The power that allows me to unapologetically feel and know that I am allowed to be sad, angry and upset about how things have unfolded. That it’s completely okay to feel whatever my heart wants to feel about how the chips have fallen. I am allowed to.
The death of a love once shared
A space we both entered into courageously. Knowing full well that in order to stand any chance of seeing each other, kissing, touching, holding one another we would need to overcome a distance that would take a flight lasting between 11 and 12 hours. I loved him. I don’t know how I know it. I can’t measure it nor can I prove it, but somehow I know that I did. Without a single doubt in my mind I know I loved him. Nothing will ever shake that deep knowing. The relationship was a short course, a crash course of sorts, which ended in an unbelievable crash-landing resulting in a heart ripped open on the runway, bleeding uncontrollably, an aura dripping with sadness and devastation & a new kind of darkness I never knew I could reach. (For a moment the concept of suicide didn’t seem quite so outrageous). The file labelled “lessons learnt from being in this long distance relationship” is currently being put together, I imagine I will keep adding to it throughout my life. Isn’t that how it works? We never truly know what we have learnt until we are faced with opportunities to put our past pains to good use.
Life is an open-ended question
According to the internet “An open-ended question is designed to encourage a full, meaningful answer using the subject’s own knowledge and/or feelings.“
Perhaps I do hold somewhat of a clear list of “lessons learnt” but am too scared to begin to unpack them, certainly not here, not right now. However what I will share is that the hardest thing about losing both the lover and friend is that I was left with feelings of being unlovable, the feeling that I was only loveable when I had a bright smile, a pocket full of jokes, enough rays of sunshine to power a solar-powered household for a year, but not worth the trouble and time when my darkness showed itself, when I myself needed those rays of sunshine I so happily handed out, when I was bursting at the seams, then I was reduced to a burden too heavy to carry, a burden so easily discarded and dumped.
A note I discovered whilst cleaning the mess my broken heart left inside me
With my increasing amount of years on this planet I have found that conflict is an opportunity to engage with something that wants to be discovered and worked with, something that emerges, and something that was previously invisible and is now brave enough to make itself visible to our eyes and hearts. I am intrigued by conflict and what it asks of us.
I am a seeker, a searcher, a curious mad-woman.
Image found here ---> (Click here)