I should explain this a bit. I had a friend who was going through something rather ugly, and asked me to put her feelings into something she could use to heal. This is what I came up with for her.I remember once loving someone with such abandon that I would have done anything for him. A time when all I wanted was to exorcise his demons and devote myself to making him feel absolute love. I did it willingly, asking only to be loved in return. For the longest time, I thought I was.
Oh the remarkable bliss! I felt alive again--as if all the pain experienced before had prepared me for something truly extraordinary. I remember telling my friends that all I had endured had cleansed me; a purification of fire that had been worth the blistering heat. It made me stronger, wiser, and ready for a love that truly eclipsed everything I ever expected love could be.
Oh, the inexpressible pain upon realizing what a facade I had believed in. The gnawing, inescapable truth that this was no different then what I had fought so hard to leave behind. It seemed so different. The words spoken were more beautiful, the package more lovely, the idea of such a powerful love so real. But at the core lay the undeniable fact that I had once again believed a lie.
But then, perhaps it is not him that is the problem. Perhaps through the tears, the constant reliving of what has transpired, and alternating between loving him to distraction and wanting some sort of divine retribution, the real truth is that I learned nothing from that old pain.
I still can not see the truth. I still believe in the brass ring. I am still a fool for love.
Can I blame myself entirely for being foolish? Should I take all the responsibility? At first glance--yes. I stuck by him because it made me feel good to give him what he was lacking. But in the end, I was doing exactly what I had done before--swallowing my own needs so that someone else felt value and worth.
Someone once told me my love was dangerous; I trusted so faithfully and completely that when someone disappointed me, I found it impossible to ever have faith in them again. There was truth to that, and being aware of it, I allowed myself to forgive being let down. I did it willingly and fully. So, when he did it again, however insignificant it may seem to him, it felt like a blow. I had given him the gift of another chance and it was flung back at me with the disregard he would give his garbage.
I could not stop the wall from securing me again. It shot up taller, stronger, and impregnable. I waited patiently for him to listen to his heart, to see the truth, to decide what he wanted; but in doing so I lost myself. But I have found myself again. Now I am like the stones that comprise my wall.
Now when he talks of love, I will never believe it. This is not my being foolish; it is self preservation. And I hope that one day, when he realizes what he has lost, he learns something from that new pain.
He saw the truth. He caught the brass ring. He was a fool for letting it go.
Newest inductee into "the club." They even gave me a new tub to sleep in, see?
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