If it were up to me or if given the choice, I’d say that love would be easy. I’d say that insecurity would never intercept our truths and so, if it were up to me, then it would be up to me to wipe away the harm from our past so that we can face each other without worrying about our yesterdays.
I saw something the other day that had an impact. I saw this woman talking on a video about what happens when we reach out and find ourselves rejected or ignored.
She said something happens to us.
She said the rejection registers in our brain the same as when we experience physical pain.
I get that.
In fact, I knew this.
I know this from a personal personal perspective too.
And yes, sure.
I have been hurt.
I have been rejected.
I have been humiliated.
I have been the fool before.
And no, I was not dancing like the fool in the roan.
No, I was the fool who was laughed at because I believed that when someone said, “I love you,” I swore that they meant it.
But no, they only meant this from a selfish perspective.
And love?
True love is far from selfish.
Yet, true love is selfish because its truth and its charity is reciprocal, in which case, give a little and it can seem like we get the world in return.
However, give this to the wrong one, or give this to the selfish one or the one who accuses, who lies, who manipulates, and the return is more spoiled than the foul breast milk of inaccurate Mother’s breast.
I know a little bit about the mind or how we react or respond to the things that stimulate us.
I know that physical pain hurts. But at least physical pain comes with a physical representation.
Emotional pain comes with the same symptoms but not with the physical representation.
And I get this.
I admit to the cutting, which took place when I was a little kid.
The pain did not hurt as much as it was a relief because at least the sting from the blade made sense to me.
If you cut me, then I bleed.
This is obvious.
If you break my heart, I only feel the pain but I cannot see the blood or the brutal wounds that ruin my pulse.
I can feel it though.
I can’t see it
But I can feel it.
I get it.
I get this because I know what it feels like to be sitting in the absence of someone. I know about the bottom or the fall down to the dungeon in my heart. I know how it feels to hit rock-bottom with no hope, or to feel the weight of gravity and wishing for the gravity of life to reverse itself. —so this way, at least I can breathe again.
I do not believe that people can escape the weight of their world. I cannot say that I have overcome everything, and nor can I say that I am over the pain or the sins of my past.
No –
I can say my demons are beautiful enough to enter my dreams and trick me with pictures of pleasure and delusions of passion.
However, I can say that I have to put my foot down.
I have to hold strong or stand firm.
I cannot allow the patterns of my past to be the patterns that dictate or determine the details of my future—and nor can I allow it to be the predictions of my demise.
In love or loveless, I cannot allow myself to taste the wine from an infected source.
Over is over.
The past is the past.
There is no way to negotiate these terms.
There is no compromise.
There is only “the way” ahead.
Understand?
Looking backwards can only lead us to regress or to repeat our past and make it our recurring future.
Past fears can lead to future procrastination or cause us to flinch, as if to say, “this is where the pain came from the last time,” and so, we expect the pain so much to come ‘this time,” that we often coerce the prophecy to become self-fulfilled.
If it were up to me, I’d have learned my lesson the first time. Or if it were up to me, I’d have told you the truth.
I’d have told you, “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I have never seen anyone like you in this world, and I never want to see, think, feel or hold another woman in my life,” because “if it ain’t you,” then it ain’t true,” is what I believed.
I believed this the first time I ever saw you walk through the door.
I was too weak to tell you.
I was too afraid to show myself.
I was too worried that you would finally see me, and realize that I am far from beautiful and much less interesting than you initially thought,
If it were up to me, there would be no reason for me to learn my lesson because if it were up to me, the investment of my love would be endless and the return on my investment would flow like an ongoing river.
If it were up to me, I would feel the way I felt the last time I walked with the love of my life on the beach; and if it were up to me, that feeling would never leave me and of course, neither would she.
I know there is more in store for me.
I know that my heart is where it needs to be.
However, I know that fear can be debilitating.
Fears can degrade the face of our truth and make lies seem more appealing.
But no.
This is not true.
Fear can be maddening—as if to be, like, crazy enough to make us do or say or think things that we would never do or say or think to begin with.
My first “real” girlfriend played me for a fool.
I remember this.
I remember how weak and fragile the male ego is because to find myself as weak or rejected was worse than the fate of death. Or maybe this was like dying.
Maybe hearing a girl call me by another man’s name in the middle of an embrace was enough to damage me beyond repair.
And if the first time wasn’t enough to learn my lesson, one would think the second time would certainly cause me to pay attention.
I was told that I would never amount to anything and that no woman would ever really love me because I am a failure (and a loser) and so, no one would ever want me because no woman would want a man like me, a loser, a bum, and the list of these accusations can go on and on, if I allow them.
If it were up to me, none of this would have ever happened.
If it were up to me, no one would have to understand what it means to be hurt or betrayed.
And if it were up to me, no one would have to go through this and no one would have their guard up all the time.
If it were up to me, our dreams would come true.
My first love would be my only love and thus, this would be us, forever. Or maybe this is my love and you are far more than I realize, despite my fears or what our situations imply.
If it were up to me, I would push the rewind button to reset our clocks so that you and I could go back in time and erase the tapes that play in our head.
And these tapes that we play, over and over?
These thoughts that betray us?
These are the things that hold us back.
These are the thoughts that refuse to let go of “what was,” and these are the weights that hold us back or keep us down, each time we try so hard to fly away.
If it were up to me, like would be as easy as a walk through the city. If it were up to me, every interaction would be as impactful and as meaningful as making love for the first time.
If it were up to me, life would be as memorable as making a meal together and shutting off the rest of the world.
We could resign to the different stations in bed and roll in our positions until the mutual eruptions are enough to cause us to cuddle close and sleep.
If it were up to me, my chest would be your forever resting place and I would never be afraid that perhaps one day, you will wake up and realize that somehow, I am not enough.
If it were up to me, I would have kept the strands of your hair that I found on my pillow after the last time you and I rumbled through my sheets.
If it were up to me, my love and my life would be as simple as a sunrise or a sunset on a beach which means everything to me.
And I know that I regress.
I know that I go back to old positions and keep myself locked or detained by reliving old memories that no longer exist.
I know it was me who kept my past alive and so, the perpetrators and the intrusions never died.
At least, not to me.
But that was yesterday
This is today.
I am new today.
I am reborn.
I am re-awakening to an idea from my youth, which was a dream before my beliefs that dreams can ever be true.
This was me before the tainted extracts of love’s imposter took place. This was me before the awareness that I was the joke or the punchline changed my interaction with the way I viewed beauty or honored the sanctity of intimate touch.
Yes.
I have gone about things the wrong way.
I have entered into agreements with poor intentions that came from fearful, broken heart, and in its defense; my dishonesties came from my pain which only lived on in consecutive infamy. On and in until death did we part.
Honesty—
What a word this is.
Was I honest?
Was I ever true?
In some ways, yes.
In other ways, no.
But I am new today.
My scars are forever clear to the watchful eye; and therefore, I am seen as obvious and weak.
I am pitiful in some regards because a child has more bravery to share their toys than I do to share my love.
So, I expose myself
O remove the layers that guarded my skin and share my heart like this, here, with you.
No one can hurt me worse than i have hurt myself; and while this does not come with a physical representation, at least I understand the severity of the pain, or what happens when we are not careful enough to be true to ourselves.
I have decided to open myself up to the delivery of something new and hopeful.
And if it is up to me, I will learn from the wreckage of my past so that I will never destroy my future again.
If never is never and love is always, then I know I will always love the love of my life, even if I am never to be with her or destined to be like this – alone.
I know how to build memories.
I know how to “feel good.”
Sex is easy.
I know . . .
This time needs to be different.
This time needs to be permanent
Not temporary.
If it is up to me, then I will expose my fears or what it was like to be “the mark” or be the fool.
I was afraid to be hurt again and in my response to defend myself, I was hurt worse than if and when I was betrayed.
If it is up to me, I will let go of the fear which took me to the depths of my hatred, which caused me to say, “never again!” and thus; I chose to be mean just to keep peace—even if there was no peace.
Hell, at least I understand the violence of my demons.
At least battles come with physical representations.
At least I understand the pain.
I have learned about the comfort in understandable chaos.
And I know about the fear of the unknown.
I’d rather be afraid again and try to be happy like a child who dares to share his toys than to sit like an enemy to the world and be content with my predictable chaos.
I know what love looks like.
I know what she smells like too.
I know what she feels like as well and now more than ever—I know there is no substitute for the real thing.
Never settle.
Never sell yourself short.
Never give up on love.
Most of all –
Never forfeit your truth.
Never surrender.
Never let yourself spoil your own purity to accommodate someone else
and—
never let anything worthy or meaningful go misbelieved or unsaid.
Be clear
Be you
And be this way without apology.
Trust me
This is good advice.
I know
The Written Addiction 