The Tears Cometh - Part 2

It's a tough thing saying goodbye. To friends. To memories. To the person you once were. And to a home.

Once upon a time, I was lost. There are blogs to prove how far astray I deviated from the girl I was supposed to be. Those posts will show an emotional battle worthy of the history books. Still, I worked through my issues here - most of them. Some of my issues aren't meant to be worked through. Really, they're character flaws and part of who I am as a person. Still, this is where I battled my demons publicly. Not because I think anyone wants to read about the skeletons dancing out of my closet when I accidentally leave it open, but because it is therapeutic for me to write out the troubles that plague my mind. Catalogue. File. Close the drawer.

The funny part about the things I wrote through 2012 and 2013 is that are were written in my big girl home. The home I moved into thinking I would never date anyone again. The place I bought when I was scared and sad and the most broken I've ever been. It's the place I hunkered down and confronted my part in the demise of one of the most important relationships I've ever had, or ever will have. Even more, it's the home I lose forty-seven pounds in. It's where I stopped wading through the darkness and found the light. And I fell into my stride again.

Many nights were passed writing and dreaming and laughing - and maybe even crying in this place.

So, as I stood in my living room today, staring at the emptiness, I too felt empty. The tears came. Uncontrolled and perhaps even a bit irrational. But they are important. They are a goodbye. A goodbye to what was said and done there. To the chapter I never thought I'd have to start. The part of the book that hurt at first, but turned into such a pivotal section of my life. Honestly, I doubted it would ever end. In the beginning, I thought I would be there forever. But forever is a lengthy amount of time. And it did end. It's over. And the new chapter has started.

And as I took one last pee on the toilet I once owned, I let go. I didn't have to be strong or pretend.I don't have to smile. Today, I can be sad. It's okay. Because this was my home. It is important. And it can be hard saying goodbye.

As I finally breathe out, I realize I have beautiful people in my life. Friends who are generous and caring. Family who love me, no matter how weird my decisions seem. Beautiful boys to keep me warm at night. And the memories I created in my big girl home.

Mainland Bound - Part 1

This weekend I am heading over to the mainland to clean out my storage locker. 

I will let you know how this emotional overload goes. 

Subjects Removed

It's been a long year so far, and we are only halfway through. As some of you know, I put my condo up for sale back in February. I thought it would sell quickly. It didn't. After much waiting and fretting, it is now sold.

While I thought the weight of stress would finally lift off me, leaving me with nothing but an overwhelming feeling of freedom, I'm actually suffering from a unique sort of melancholy. Yes, this is what I wanted, to be rid of the burden, financially more than anything else. And yes, this does represent being able to move forward. For the last year, I've felt stuck in a sort of limbo with very little to indicate I am actually moving in the right direction.

Still, there's this sadness. A grief. For a loss I am responsible for.

Don't get me wrong. This is a happy occasion, but I am still saying goodbye. To a place I bought at a very difficult time of my life. A home where I did a significant amount of growing and an equal amount of healing. In saying goodbye to this place, I am letting go. Letting go of myself, of parts of my past, of people and moments and love and losses I never thought I'd let go of.

Sure, I moved out awhile ago, but as long as I owned this apartment, I had an umbilical cord to the girl I once was. The sad one, who was so lost and broken she never thought she'd find her way. The heartbroken one. And the one who learned much and stopped feeling bad and started breathing in the trees and ocean, breathing out the doubts and anger. As long as I owned that apartment, I had an attachment to my friends, the people I love and miss. By selling it, I am acknowledging how much I miss those people. How detached I sometimes feel over here.

And I am saying goodbye to my ex. This sounds bonkers, doesn't it? I mean, we haven't been together for three years and have both been with other people for quite some time, two years and counting on my side of things. Still, this is where I went after us and it's where we worked diligently to form a friendship. That friendship still stands, I like to believe it always will, and I consider myself lucky to have it. It takes unique individuals to salvage a friendship from the wreckage of love, but it can happen, if you aren't both complete dicks.

It's weird. How a building, a five hundred square foot apartment, can represent so much of who you are and what you've been through. I understand those memories will be with me forever, but I didn't except this overload of emotion. Honestly, I thought there would be dancing and merriment. Don't think this is a regretful thing. It really isn't. That is not one of the hundred emotions storming through me.

And I am happy, but also sad too.

Funny how things are never quite what you imagine them to be. But at least this is a little forward movement. I think.

The Art of Letting Go

Sometimes it feels as though the past has the hem of my dress in its grasp and is holding me back. I mean, there's slight movement. I'm inching along, there is forward motion, but it's a struggle. The past has so much power. Okay, yeah, I know it only has the power I give it and life is all about the now, but it's a lie to pretend it dosn't matter. Because it's a part of us. It brought us to this moment. Surely, we shouldn't let it hinder us, but to pretend it isn't important seems a bit ridiculous.

Am I talking complete nonesense?

And so, here begins the art of letting go. It takes time and is different for everyone.

There's something odd about knowing you must let go. Wanting to. But simply not being able to pull the trigger. Imagine what you want to let go of, let's say it's hurting someone you love, it's a ball in your hand. You're standing there, at the edge of a cliff, this orb of guilt and shame and sadness sitting on your palm. And you release it. But it's stuck there. It won't leave you, no matter how many times you shake your hand or blow it off.

I spend time thinking through the things I've done. The people I have hurt. Mistakes I've made. At times, I think I'm doing a good job. I confront my fear. Mend my fences. Forage friendships from the ashes of a relationship I thought would be my last. Things seem okay.

Then I'm bending over at work, stooping to sweep up a pile of hair off the floor, and I'm thrown back five years ago. Or three. Two. And there are tears in my eyes, and that unnegotionable headache pinching between my brows.

Sadness ebbs and flows. I can actually feel it washing through me and leaving again, like it is a living breathing creature. These emotions aren't necessarily a bad thing, but they can surprise me, because they are ones I fooled myself into thinking I let go off. Set free. Come to terms with.They aren't supposed to come back and knock the wind from me.

The question is there, it's bothering me, prodding me.

Why does it still hurt?

Is it because I haven't let go? Or have I, and I simply won't forget? Can you let something go, only to have it come back to you for a random visit in the middle of a grey Wednesday? There is that saying about how if you love something you set it free and if it comes back it is meant to be. Or whatever.

Does that apply to hurts and mistakes and residual feelings of guilt?

I don't know.

All I know is this letting go business is more difficult than anyone lets on. It's a process. A journey.

Not something done overnight after a cleansing meditation session and a crisp apple. At least that's what I thought it entaild. How wrong I was.

It Isn't Love

Every single day of my life I see, read, hear  pieces and blips of people's relationships. With all this social media in our lives, we get a front row ticket to a lot of intimate moments, private thoughts, flirting and romantic philandering  We see the saccharine beginnings of new love and, most horrifying for the soul that has been wronged, the unhinged ends of tainted relationships. Both of these can be fairly embarrassing,  not only for us, the person witnessing it in the comfort of our pyjamas at eight o'clock on a Wednesday as we consume a pint of chocolate chip mint ice cream, but for the parties involved. Maybe not in the moment but, most likely, after the fact.

You hear so much about love and how it is supposed to make you feel. The elation. Being one with the person. How you don't get bored looking them. Electrifying kisses. Never feeling alone. Having a best friend and amazing lover in one. There is a list and it goes on and on and everyone can tell you when it is love. When you are head over heels.

Except...no one wants to tell you when it isn't love. It's like people are afraid to speak up and say, "You shouldn't be feeling that way." I see it in status updates, tweets, Instagram photos, and text messages. We want to offer support and a shoulder to lean on when times get tough. Yet, we are terrified to tell it like it is. No one wants to be the jerk who drops the truth bomb. It's hard to be honest when someone's bleeding heart is making a terrible mess of their Facebook account.

I know they will regret it, probably in a year when they've picked themselves up and put themselves back together again. To be honest, I came very close to being one of these people. As it is, I share a lot of personal details here on this blog, especially through my journey of self discovery and trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be. I know the feeling of looking back and shaking my head over the miserableness I felt. Thankfully, I have yet to have an emotional breakdown on any social media platform, I like to keep those contained to the privacy of my own bedroom or, at the very least, a local park.

But wouldn't it be nice if someone, somewhere, could help us out in the moment. Instead of telling us six months later, "Yeah, you should never feel that way." Well, how about we talk about when it isn't love so we all have a reference point as to what isn't okay.

It isn't love when you are left alone to wonder where your girlfriend or boyfriend is. When they don't tell you where they are going, fail to come home or check in when they know you worry. And it isn't love when they go without a goodbye and come home without a hello, especially for long periods at a time.

Sure, it may seem ridiculous to say it, but we take our loved ones into consideration. When we extend ourselves and truly fall in love, that person becomes our family. Our point of contact. An in case of emergency call person. They are are our 'go to'. And we consider them, what they need and want. If you are not being considered, it isn't love because love is, above most everything else, considerate. You count. And you should feel like you count.

It isn't love to feel like a piece of furniture. Disposable. The same as the aged and battered recliner they have had around forever - familiar and boring. Serving a purpose but never really being seen or used to your fullest potential. Great to have around when company comes over but kind of in the way most days. Love doesn't make you feel used or abused. You should feel important. Wanted. Cared for. Wood polished. Cushions fluffed. And a bunch of other sexual innuendos that pertain to furniture.

Your body. Your face. Your entire being should be accepted as is by the other person and appreciated in the same way. It isn't love to be constantly guessing what the other person thinks of you. Trying to dress nice and not getting a compliment. Waiting to simply be noticed. It isn't love to feel as though you should hide a part of your body or a fragment of your personality. To doubt you wit, intelligence, attractiveness when it comes to your partner is wrong. Holding back isn't love.

This is hard to admit, because I've been there before, but it isn't love to lie next to someone and wonder where they are because it's so clear they aren't sleeping with you. To feel alone though a body is literally two feet away. And to be afraid to wake them, to talk to them, to ask to be held. This isn't love.

Need isn't love. Wanting is. You don't need anyone other than yourself. And you don't need to feel needed. You needed to feel wanted. Like they want to be with you. To hold your hand. To talk. To share everything no matter how silly or inconsequential it seems.

Use your senses. And if you feel as though you aren't being seen, heard, tasted, touched or smelled then it isn't what you want. Love commands all the senses.

It isn't love to be a shadow. To follow. Stalk. Sneak about. It isn't love to read emails. Hack Facebook accounts. Snoop text messages.

To feel unsupported isn't love. You should have dreams. And no matter how ridiculous they may seem to yourself or others, they should be supported by the one you love, the one who is supposed to love you. They should be interested in what you do. They should care.

More than anything, it isn't love to feel sad and alone. To be broken. And doubt the person you are or the one you are becoming. You shouldn't lose sight of who you are or where you are going. The anger, pain, self hatred isn't love.

It isn't love to have your wings clipped. It is love to fly.

It isn't love to wonder where you stand. To feel like a secret. Hidden away. Uncertain whether you should post a picture or write on their wall. Curious to who they are talking to online. Unsure of their relationship status. You should do as you want and relish that the other person will appreciate what you've done and celebrate your relationship. A relationship is like a car. You shouldn't be in the backseat.

It isn't love to hurt constantly. Fear has no place with love. You must know if you let something go it will come back to you or else your nails will start digging in and scars will form. One must give but also take - without both you can become empty. If you are always giving and feel as though there is nothing being given to you, it isn't love.

Sometimes we are the rule, but once in awhile we are the exception  You are exceptional.  Special. One of a kind. Original. Never let anyone tell you otherwise, not even the one you love because...if they do. It isn't love.  

In the end, do not allow yourself to be held down by what isn't love. Open your heart and mind. Allow yourself to be guided by what love is.