(Originally published in 2015)
I had been trying for a while at that point to make myself believe that I was sincerely happy. All of the pieces fit together to make a seemingly perfect whole. He was there, we spent our time together, we loved each other – everything was moving as steadily as it could with the exception of some bumps in the road along the way.
I really wanted it to be enough. I wanted to feel beautiful and light when I was with him; I was always hoping for him to bring out that liberated girl in me. In the past when I met with her I always knew love was at its most palpable, that I was experiencing my idea of the “storybook” romance, the relationship I had conjured up in my head as perfect.
Love is a tricky thing because sometimes what you imagine as the so-called perfect love in reality is like a package being delivered to you containing assembly instructions with a multitude of missing pieces. Some of what you need is there, some of what you want is missing, and the best you can do is stare at the guidebook, trying to figure out exactly how to make it all become one tidy sum.
And sometimes as hard as you try to make things work and believe that everything will eventually fall into place, it’s only until things have been broken that you realize just how imperfect it all was.
You think about all of the wrongs that were committed, all of the times you felt hurt and betrayed, all of what you wish you could go back and change. You try not to think of the good because the good only draws you back in, interrogating you on why you broke things off and if you’re really going to be okay on your own. Then loneliness comes knocking and you’re surrounded by a crowd of panicked thoughts, all full of screams and demands for answers on why you chose to be alone.
And you begin to wonder, is it truly being lonely with the absence of a damaged love or is it simply the discomfort of questioning if what you really want will ever come along?
We can become creatures of habit by prolonging the inevitability of certain endings in our lives. It’s even harder when love is still there but it’s just simply not working out. How much easier it is to point the finger and place blame, to move on with anger at someone for wronging you instead of leaving that person with the simple realization that maybe you two weren’t meant to last forever.
There is a sort of comfort in being alone though…no one else can bring out the best and worst in you except yourself, and when we are alone, we usually tend to search for what is really the best in ourselves again.
“Sometimes we must undergo hardships, breakups, and narcissistic wounds, which shatter the flattering image that we had of ourselves, in order to discover two truths: that we are not who we thought we were; and that the loss of a cherished pleasure is not necessarily the loss of true happiness and well-being.” -Jean Yves-Leloup