I Was Lost!

This time last year, I thought I was heartbroken.
I wasn’t, I was lost and I was finding myself.

I was coming out of the fog of more than 3 years of oppression and vehement co-dependence.

My heart wasn’t broken, it just hadn’t been together for a very, very long time.

But I remember myself laying in my bed thinking that I was falling apart when I was coming together.

It was one of the most miserable days I had ever experienced.

I was too exhausted to cry.
When I finally got to crawl into bed after midnight had passed I punished myself by reading old text messages and convincing myself that something I thought was special was falling apart.

It wasn’t at all Special.
It never was, so it couldn’t have fallen apart.

For reasons I don’t quite grasp, humanity is obsessed with the passing of time.

Every week, every month and every year, we crawl towards the end and express how surprised we are that it’s almost over already.

Are these endings constant reminders of our mortality? Or Are we simply mortified that we have let yet another week, month or year pass without accomplishing anything noteworthy?

In our shame and embarrassment, we verbally declare that we honestly can’t believe another consistent passing of time, trying to convince those around us that we absolutely would have accomplished something great, if only that pesky time hadn’t flashed past us before we could even notice.

In truth, we have accomplished a lot.
Each day that we open our eyes for a set amount of time and then close them again at the conclusion of that day is an accomplishment.

I‘m astounded at what I have accomplished in the last 12 months.

I have led projects, planned events, made friends and connected with people.

I have made a difference.
I‘m daily surrounded by people that legitimately care about me and love me, even when I‘m convinced they don’t.

In a lot of ways, I‘m exactly where I have always wanted to be in life.

Sometimes it feels very, very good.
Sometimes it’s so overwhelming that I feel like I need to hide because I can’t handle all of the emotion.

Despite the things that have happened last year, I’m still here in this bed and I’m still crying.

I spent all that time coming together just to fall apart again.

Crying in bed is the only leeway I give myself to revel in the sensation of truly being alone.

I fill up every other spare moment with work, with friends, with films, with books or with podcasts.

I say that I enjoy living alone and that I was made for it.

In many ways it is true but being alone and feeling lonely have never been the same thing.

So even though there are people in my life that tell me they love me on a regular basis, that I often feel confident and appreciated, that I have a support system and a full life, I still cry and I still feel lonely.

There’s still something missing.
I can’t help but feel like this is the penance I have to pay.

That I have been given so much last year that I didn’t deserve having him too.

Everyone is asked to make compromises in life and perhaps this is mine.

I don’t recall a moment where I was asked to choose between him or everything else.

The choice was made for me.

Some aspect of the universe, I can only imagine, far too familiar with the impetuousness of my heart, was sick of me screwing my life up over situations like this and pushed me on another path.

Perhaps rightly, as even now I can tell you that, were the choice presented to me, I would choose him without flinching.

I would give up everything I have just for the chance for us to be together.

Impetuous, erroneous but strong and resonant.

I tried explaining this to a lot of people.
When we are really in the dark, in the deep dark trenches of being in love, I understand that all of us believe with every cell in our bodies that we have never felt for another person like we feel for this person.

That we never again will feel like this for anyone ever again.

That this is truly the person we were put on earth to find and after it ends and we gain some time and distance, we realise we once again fell under the intoxicating spell of our synapses and hormones and we are doomed to live in this figure eight for all time.

This is a situation which I feel I have perfect clarity on and yet I also believe this time is different.

This is the one time in my life it is different.
I‘m happy to face up to my own contradictions and the reality that I have said this before.

I have the vision to see that there could be a point in my future where I‘m ashamed to have once again fallen into this cycle.

What I don’t have is the language to explain why this time is really, actually different and maybe that’s part of it.

I have never had the words to explain him.
I have never been able to accurately illustrate how he makes me feel or how things were when we were together.

It was something I had never in my life experienced.

There are so many small moments we shared that are integral parts of our mosaic.

I don’t feel like I’m falling apart without him.
Some days it’s touch-and-go but for the most part I can see a clear path for me separate from anything we ever seemed to have.

It just doesn’t happen to be the path I want because I want it all.

I don’t want to have to choose.
I don’t want the choice to be made for me.
I don’t want to be lonely.
I want the job, my friends, the success, the hard work, the pay off, the experiences and the relationship.

It’s not antithetical but it fits.
We share those things.
We share everything except for each other.

The amount that feels wrong to me is boundless.
I witnessed the looks on the faces of the people that knew us both when we were together and it made sense to them the same way it made sense to me.

We fit, unburdened and becoming. 

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