I have been absolutely swamped.
For the past year and a half, our life has turned upside down and downside up, over and over again. We fell in love, moved houses, started a business – and then another one, fell ill and recovered, quarantined and missed my people. Most of all, we survived.
Strange this life where living has only meaning when you are able to harvest the fullness of independence and the rest is just surviving.
Strange to think that since the outbreak of this wretched pandemic, we’ve all been confined and forced to face ourselves, growing, collapsing and learning how to take new steps. Impressive is how all of that actually happened in real life.
When all of this was still anew, we met someone who swept us off our feet and promised to always hold my hand. It’s funny how much I’ve learned, after realising each and all compromises we made to keep holding that hand, that this same hand so easily let go of ours on a constant. It’s rather incredible to look at ourself now, four weeks after the separation, and have the veil lifted off our eyes so both she and I can see the truth: our side of the story was constantly forgotten or simply not accounted for with the seriousness it deserved. At least not in the real world, not for me to see and feel, with actions that show true care – because no, if it’s only inside someone’s head, it’s invaluable to the goddamn world.
And it all begins with respect. For our time, for our knowledge, our experience. For the battles we’ve fought to be where we are in life, and for the simple safety of the space we called home and everything that lived inside it. We were so in love that I dismissed all the effort we both had put into building all of that for her, for me. We forgot so much that we were even led to question our own core belief system. We heard the lines “why such a big deal about something so small?”, and that should’ve been enough. I, being her protector, should have seen it. Just like the countless lateness on appointments, the damages caused to things she cared so much, the intense negativity and rage rooted in a feeling of self-hate so great that it lashed out at the bare minimum, simply because it couldn’t stand to look itself in the mirror that my presence placed right in front its face. And then, of course, the nurtured arrogance that came with lack of knowledge and the fear of being outsmarted.
Ego, ego, fucking ego.
How many times are we willing to extend the line of our own boundaries in favour of a dream, a projection, an idea? How many times did we hear “but if you stay now, you will be my champion forever”, and that suddenly became a reason to withstand the most horrific behaviour because we shared a thought, a dream of something beautiful? How much of life are we willing to throw away only and simply because we love and trust someone who consistently betrays us?
I knew her safety was long gone. I knew the dream was further and further away and that whatever was happening was rooted in whatever much bigger than either one of us. Yes, I told her to ask all the questions, and I tried to prevent it all to get that deep, but his words, the same promises he never again wanted to revisit because he knew he had fucked up yet once again, those were what got me to let her stay and get deeper and deeper into the mud. His mud. His pool of rage and arrogance and hate and harm. To the self and to others. Everyone had to know how angry he was at life -and at us- because believing in and blaming on lack of control is much easier than getting your shit together and making the decision to take your own life into your hands. Indeed, life seems much easier when you’re not in control.
Until it doesn’t.
I saw her patterns coming back, I saw fear consume her days and all the struggle she faced in finding the words to even ask the time. Truth is, we both have loved an abuser. Gosh, in fact, we’ve loved and supported way too many abusers. Narcissistic and alcoholic parents, dangerously overjealous brother, cheating and lying boyfriends and, at last, an inside-out insecure and aggressive fiancee. We loved them all with a whole heart, believed their promises and requests to trust them, and I spoke the truth to them just like our grandpa always taught us. It took us quite a while but we have learned how to love ourself and each other, and to know who we are. To know who I am. It took us a journey of 3 years in therapy and loads of mindfulness practice to fully embrace and accept all sides of us, enough to confidently and openly tell people about it and, in a way, warn them of our own traumas, fully explaining each of our needs with extra love and care. Most of all, with kindness. We never needed all the love and care, but just a bit extra, from time to time. We can take care of each other pretty good, but if you come into our life, I want you to know whom you’re dealing with, no secrets, no fake profiles, no false promises. I have trusted and let her trust each and every one of them with this truth, naked and raw as it came, and one way or another it always ended with me gathering up the strength to see her broken again and to pack up our stuff.
Some say we have a pattern, some say it all speaks much more about them than about us. I’m not sure which one to believe, but I know that, though it is in my nature, I am scared of letting her trust again.
I mean, I know she hates the game. I love it and am definitely good at it as it can be fun at some points, but I know how much she hates it. Dating, getting to know each other, talking about life, making plans, sharing habits and building. She loves to be with someone and I do too, but I’ve seen too much already. She still believes, though, and still hopes. To pair up with another weirdo who gets her, whom we can talk to and share her stupid jokes and my crazy thoughts, Someone to eat on the streets with or go to a fancy restaurant and enjoy both equally (and maybe the streets a little more); who can understand the words we both say for what they are, respond to them with politeness and kindness, and who knows that she will always be there for them. And all I want is for her to have it all back.
Love, respect, care, k i n d n e s s.
It feels like the world has forgotten how to treat people decently and that being vulnerable is too old-school whilst contractual relationships are the new black. I know her grief will pass and I know the love also will go away, cos it always does in the end, but this is one even I didn’t want to let go of. This is one I believed in, while holding her hand, so wholeheartedly that it makes it harder to see it fade. I know we will find the love she truly deserves, I’m sure, but then again: when did we stop looking at the ones who love us like the most deserving the sweetest of all of our actions and words?
And as much as this is one of the chapters in our life I truly wish to forget, the scars it left in and on our body will never allow me to. Her heart is still broken and I still have disbelief and frustration running around my head. But I survived and I keep on writing.
There are many more chapters to be lived.
