There’s something about you that brings out the best and worst in me. I hate how you make me feel. If you do this to everyone else, no one will ever love you all the way, because you make them see themselves for who they are, and nobody likes who they really are.
My heart plummeted all the way to my soles, tore through them and descended straight into the earth’s core. If it doesn’t get melted down in magma, it’d probably shoot through the other side of the earth and continue free-falling into eternity.
I’ve been following The Whimsical World of T.L. Gray for a while now, and although I don’t know the woman personally, many of her writings strike a chord deep in me. One of the human foibles is to see what we want to see, but whether it’s because I interpret her articles the way I want to, or because we really are like-minded strangers, many days I find myself nodding vigorously, choking up with emotion, or even shedding a few tears when I read them.
I only wish I could put into words what I feel the way she does.
The quote above was what her father said to her one day. Nobody has ever said those words to me, but…I know that’s why I’m still facing a lonely bed every night. You may laugh and shake your head at my self-delusional pretensions; I know I did. I kept asking if I’m not being too hard on myself, or worse, being too kind to myself. Wise lil’ old me, dispensing wisdom to the masses.
But in my heart, I know this to be true because it has happened in all my past romantic relationships. When I point out certain problems, or that shoving problems aside is as good as not handling them…when I asked my men to question their motivations and brought up the possibility of their defense mechanism(s) hindering their progress in achieving their goals or becoming a better person…it always backfired when I got them to face themselves.
Maybe I was too forceful going about it. I was anxious not to see them fall, but now I know that sometimes the best thing you can do for a loved one is to let the person fall, and be there to hold his hand after that.
But in the past, it irked me when I saw the missing pieces so clearly while they refused to do the same and dug in their heels out of pride, fear, sheer pigheadedness, or a combination of any or all of the three. It didn’t matter that I told them the truth, or that I’d probably been the first to see them that clearly.
They loved me, because I understood them better than anyone ever did, perhaps even better than they knew themselves. But ultimately…they couldn’t stand to be with me. It got too tiring, because it seemed as if they were forever trying to slay the most tenacious dragon of all – their inner demons. They were trying. And failing. And trying, and failing. One day, it just got too much.
In case you’re starting to think that I’m an overly demanding woman who always makes her man feel as if he’s never good enough for her, my only defense would be that I do the same to myself. Similarly, I’m always trying. And always failing.
But I’d get up to try again, because I have to live with myself until my end comes. Acceptance of the self is important, and over the years, I’ve learnt to keep the spotlight away from ‘me’ and my minor imperfections as much as possible. However, if I know that some behaviour can be unlearnt and the manifestation of new behaviours under certain situations would result in greater happiness for my loved ones or for me, I’d try to change.
It takes a lot to convince me, and I’m as fearful of change as the next person. I’m also twice or maybe thrice as prideful. However, I once made a vow to myself that I’d rather die a fool than live in arrogance and ultimately ignorance, and I intend to keep to that.
Die trying, or live failing? I’m really greedy; I want to live failing and succeeding, and die still trying.
This pursuit for balance/wellness (I’m done with perfection, so don’t think that’s what I’m aiming for) doesn’t imply that I think the men I was with were lacking in any way, and it also doesn’t mean that I reject my flaws. Without them, I wouldn’t have made the decisions I had made, and I wouldn’t be where I am today. For better or worse, I’m here and I’m the me I am today. I love the flawed me, but it doesn’t mean I no longer want to grow and develop spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually.
Change. Easier said than done.
I’m waiting to meet someone who, like me, is not afraid to keep trying and failing until his end comes. In a way, I’ve come to fear that this is not possible…I fear that I’ll always be loved by men only as their best friend. I fear that I’ll always be alone, with no one to ignite my passions and no one to share my innermost thoughts. I fear that the hole in my heart will get bigger until one day, I’d find myself just a shell, devoid of anything and incapable of feeling.
I fear opening my heart to have all these happen yet again. But I will still try. Because I know no other way of living and because no matter how much I try to better myself, this is one aspect of me that I want to cherish. The one aspect that I hope one day…some day…rather than find it tiresome and something to be revered but kept at a distance, a special someone will love, accept and find it a joy to be with.