Monthly Archives: May 2013

Waking from a dream

When you’re dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part

– John Mayer, Dreaming With A Broken Heart –

Today my world goes back to the way it was barely three days ago, when I had yet to fully grasp the magnitude of my life as I currently know it. The last 60 hours, which seemed like only 60 seconds, felt like a dream — a dream I never wanted to wake up from, even though it was a dream I was never supposed to have in the first place.

But when I realized that I would have to wake up sooner than I’d thought, it made the unfortunate circumstances of my position all the more real. And I told myself over and over again that my own choices have led me to this, and I am happy with them, so I did not get to complain or be upset about it.

It makes me wonder: why do we get off the merry-go-round, only to get back on it when we least expect to? Why do we ride the wave when we know we’re in danger of getting sucked under, even though we took precautions and learned to swim? Why do we spend time with the people we care about, even though we know they’ll only be around for a little while, and being around them serves as a stern reminder of what we are allowed to have in our lives?

Because sometimes we know that we could never again be at this point — at this specific point — in our lives, and that bittersweetness makes the pain of knowing that it’s time to wake up worth it.

Word vomit

“I love you. Oh God. Oh, my God, that just came flying out of my face! I love you. I did it again…! I love you, I do. I love you, and I have been trying not to say it. I’ve been trying so hard to just mash it down, and ignore it, and not say it. And Jackson is a great guy. He is. He’s gorgeous and he’s younger than you, and he doesn’t have any grandkids or babies with his lesbian BFFs, and he’s an Avery, and he liked me, you know. He really liked me! But it was never going to work out, because I love you. I am so in love with you, and you’re in me: it’s like you’re a disease, and it’s like I’m infected by Mark Sloan and I can’t think about anything or anybody. And I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t eat… and I love you. I love you all the time. It’s every minute of every day. I love you.”

– Lexie Grey, Grey’s Anatomy

It may have been a year ago, but without fail, this scene just gets me every single time. Despite the flawless articulation I try to project all day long, I’m fairly certain this is how my brain really functions when it’s trying to organize my thoughts so that I don’t end up sounding Lexie Grey-level insane.

Rebuilding the wall

broken hearted wall

It had to happen eventually. Of course it had to happen. It would have been highly unusual — not to mention far too good to be true — if it didn’t happen at some point.

But no one told me when or how it would happen. No one told me that it would happen when I least expected it, and worse, when I gave it the tiniest window of opportunity to happen. So when it did happen, just this afternoon, I felt about three simultaneous effects: my stomach turning inwards on itself, my head beginning to spin, and the breath being knocked out of my body.

“Babes I have realised ur [sic] too tough.. Its [sic] not easy to convince u for anything…”

We are taught — whether directly by someone or indirectly by our own subconscious and experience — to put up a wall around ourselves, to protect ourselves from getting our hearts and spirits broken. But every now and then, something — or more precisely, someone — comes along and starts nicking at it — whether with a careful fingernail or a pickaxe — and before we know it, we ourselves are helping them along by taking down the wall we so carefully constructed.

Of course, once we’ve taken down that wall and let our guard down, it doesn’t take much to make us wish we’d kept the wall right where it had been. The most horrifying part is, half the time we don’t even remember or realize how easy it is to become so comfortable in our surroundings that by the time the realization dawns, it’s too late, and the mending and rebuilding starts all over again, in one vicious cycle.

I allowed this to happen. I allowed for that window of opportunity by letting my guard down and believing, just for a moment, that after eight weeks of all this back-and-forth, I was safe, that the unspoken agreement still held, and that maybe, just maybe, I could actually do this and be OK doing it. And after taking some time out to breathe and regain some feeling in my abdomen, I started rebuilding my wall. It’s a reality that bites more sharply than anything else, but a reality that I have to face on my own.

Because I have no call to fuss, or scream, or rage, or even cry (and you know it’s serious if even I am incapable of tears). I made the extremely conscious decision to get myself into this situation, and it is now entirely on my own shoulders to stick it out until someone eventually has had enough of this. I decided that I would put up with everything that came with being in this position, that the short highs I got would be worth the long, very long, lows.

And so I will just keep rebuilding that wall.