Long road ahead

This was lovingly suggested by a friend of mine yesterday for me to read. And so I did. All the fuss going on in my world right no is probably too unbearable that I have to find some refuge in other people. So here it is. and I'm still lucky that I'm not the only one.

This was from Thought Catalog:


Dating An Emotionally Abusive Man by Tashny Sukumaran


Fool yourself. A lot.
Pretend that his neglect is a side effect of a busy career. Be consoled by his sudden bursts of affection, which you tell yourself just might be the first glimmerings of love. When he compliments you, believe it. Hoard the sweet words like gold dust.
Stay awake at night, listening to his breathing. Wonder why you love him so much.
Tell your friends that he’s a good person, just damaged because of his ex-girlfriend/ dead mother/ broken family. Tell your friends that you love him like you’ve never loved anyone else, and then spend the next hour debating whether he loves you, why he doesn’t love you, whether he will ever love you.
Quote Sun-Tzu a lot.
Fuck him every time he asks you over, although in your mind it is making love. File away every gesture, every nuance, every smidgen of what could be more than disaffected nonchalance. Wax lyrical about the time he tucked you in and kissed you on the cheek when he thought you were asleep, or perhaps the time he stayed up all night with you as you worked on your Sociology paper.
Excuse his insensitivity in any way possible. Create a tag for him on your blog so that you can re-read all the entries about him whenever the mood strikes you.
When he calls at 3AM, drunk, pretend that it’s because he needs to hear your voice and misses you; and not that he’s selfish.
Stay on the phone to listen to his complaints and stories and wishes, never once talking about yourself. Ignore the fact that you have an 8AM meeting, and talk until 6AM.
When he says he wishes you lived nearer, pretend that it’s because he misses you and it’s not a thinly-veiled booty call.
When he issues thinly-veiled booty calls, hope that maybe this time – perhaps, just maybe, you pray – this time, it’s for real. It’s not about sex, it’s not about your body, it’s about you.
Re-read his old texts from when he was courting you, listen to all the music he sent you for the fiftieth time, even though you don’t really like Ash or Band of Horses or The New Pornographers.
Overanalyse the music he sent you – especially Geraldine by Glasvegas.
Marvel at how well he knows you, how he can push every button, how he understands your motivations. Wonder at how, despite all this, he doesn’t know you love him and that he hurts you – because if he knew, he wouldn’t act this way, would he?
Buy him presents that you think will move him, like that XKCD comic book, or An Education, or maybe that tiny book of proverbs you saw at a flea market two weeks ago.
Take his insults in the hopes that he doesn’t really mean it. Shrug it off or hide your tears when he says that you’re not pretty enough for him, that you’re a mediocre fuck, that you are a self-righteous do-gooder, not intelligent enough for graduate school, wonderful to talk to but not much else.
Listen to Taylor Swift.
Pretend that the screaming matches over what setting the microwave should be or which side of the bed to sleep on are just indicators of how intense your relationship is.
Lash back a few times. Insult his ex-girlfriend, his career, his likes. Regret it immensely, not because you’ve stooped to his level but because he made you regret it with every single word and action for the next twenty-four hours, or however long he felt like.
Tell yourself his superior attitude and constant need to put you down just stems from his insecurities, which you can help him get over by just loving him enough.
Ignore the mood swings, the broken promises, the manipulation, the mind games. They’re just bits of him, after all; and you love him unconditionally – right?
Find out he slept with another woman while on holiday. Grit your teeth when he tells you he misses her, ignore it – because you’re just dating, right? You’re not exclusive?
When he invites you over and then leaves to go drinking with his friends, nap. Wait. Say hi to his dad, who hates you just as he hated every woman his erstwhile son has brought home.
Pretend that it’s okay to be a thirty-year-old wannabe author who has never written a word of his book. After all, he’s had a hard life. Pretend that it’s okay he dropped out of university after seven years of study and a few months shy of graduation. Pretend that it’s okay he’s slept with more women than you have fingers and toes – sometimes at the same time – but preaches monogamy, faithfulness and loyalty as his best traits.
Look for hints and hope in every marginally positive gesture.
Cry every time you listen to music by spunky, waif-like songstresses like Feist or Laura Marling or A Fine Frenzy.
Tumblr a lot.
Read Thought Catalog obsessively, sharing particularly heart-wrenching pieces on Facebook or Twitter and being comforted by the fact that you are not alone, there are girls just as ridiculously, stupidly in love. Emphasis on stupid.
Look up ‘fractionation’. Wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.
Act tough when he breaks up with you because you’re not his type, you don’t move him, you’re not pretty enough. Wonder why he did it to you the day before you start at your new job.
Realize you could make him pay in pain, but you could never make him stay. Blame yourself. A lot.
Hate yourself for loving him. Hate yourself for snatching up the phone when he calls, for listening to his sweet words and apologies.
Tell your friends that perhaps he’s seen the light, that maybe it’s going to be okay.
Feel like you’ve been punched in the gut when he calls you a night later explaining that he’s changed his mind again.
Two months on, marvel at your own stupidity. Laugh it off, pretend he’s a great drinking story. “I met a man who tried to cut off his own thumb and refused to take medication for bipolar disorder because he thought it’d make him less special.”
Find somebody else, with kind eyes and a sweet smile, with curly hair and warm arms. Someone who treats you like gold and thinks the world of you.
Wonder if you’ll ever be able to reciprocate those feelings.
Make believe you’re brave.
Slowly fall in love with him, his kindness. His generosity. Your stopped heart shudders and groans and starts up again.
It works. It runs.
Be happy. Sand the hurt smooth, cover it with putty.
Be happy. Oh God, please be happy.

In the limbo.

“Sweet pain! What delicious strains came from its small mouths.
Sing to me, she whispered, sing! She needed more, and more.”
Songbirds of Pain

This would be one of the many letters I swore I wouldn’t let you read, but due to the extreme need to let out all overflowing emotions that threaten my sanity, I will insist on doing it.


Dear Mr. Mill,
It’s been a long time since I thought of writing you again. A lot of things had happened, we had our own version of a fall out and quite frankly, it’s not nice. Not nice as all the other things happening over the past month or so. I have read my March 16 letter to you, a letter a day short of making it to its 4th month anniversary. The issue I have been fondly talking about in that letter quite stayed. And I guess – or believed? – that it has stayed for too long. Far too long that I’m starting to think of it as a shame.

You know, it’s funny that in this life of ours, people lovingly associate happiness with an object, a pet, an event, a place, a date in the calendar, or worst, a person. And more often than not, it is funnier to realize that we have all spent a huge portion of our lives trying to stick to that so called “happiness” that we conjured and crafted ourselves, a happiness we come to know, that we are used to know. But we all know that happiness is not something concrete, it shouldn’t even be a person but as we all know, we make that mistake more times than we can even imagine.

I don’t try to sound like an expert on all this association-with-happiness-to-something-must-be-insane, in fact, I am guilty myself. When you have found yourself cynical and skeptical for far too long in your life, you would soon find a way to believe that there should be something or someone out there who would make it all go away. And even though you’re someone who doesn’t believe in practically anything – even yourself – it is a tough thought to make and an even tougher one to admit. Then there it is – the flicker of hope suddenly bursts light into your dark world and the leap of faith you took, despite you cynicism, came to life. And you are unstoppable. You swear to life, you’ll never be cynical or skeptical ever again. You will change. You will give everything a chance but then again, you still hasn’t believed in happy endings in stories. Life is not a fairytale. The light soon starts to fade, followed by a long moment of silence, a gap in two worlds that used to fit and meet perfectly. You can’t pinpoint what went wrong, but you know deep down inside that it’s you. It has been you, it was always you.

It was you because you believe one more time, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. It was you because you are such a failure. It was you because you trusted that this time would be different. It was you because somehow you can’t just live up to your damn egoistic statement that one day you’re gonna be the one who walks away intact. It was you because you never found the courage to just drop this happiness and like any normal person, just move one from your failed expectation, and in this rare case, failed reality. It was you because you are just like everyone – weak, fragile, gullible, and easily manipulated. You always try to think positively, you blind yourself consciously like everyone else that’s in the limbo. It was you.

So you see, Mr. Mill, it’s not easy to be human. It’s not easy to live and at one point or another, you would secretly wish that you become the Tinman and swear that you’ll never wish for a heart – just remain an innocent, feelings-free robot.

VI

..and just because.

LOVE - WHERE DOES IT GO AFTER A BREAK-UP?

Stole this from Nissi just because.

by Andrea Lucado

A certain character on a certain rerun of a certain TV show asked a puzzling question: “When you love someone, and you break up, where does the love go?” Thank you Carrie Bradshaw for the inspiration for this week’s post.

At first, this question is a little absurd. Love can’t go anywhere, Carrie. It’s a feeling. Feelings don’t have feet. But think about a relationship you’ve been in. You invested in it: time, emotion, energy. You developed a set of feelings for a new person that you never had before. And those are unique feelings, just for them. Now think about when the relationship ended (happy Monday morning, everybody). That unique set of feelings created for just that one person don’t disappear suddenly. They are left over with no place to direct themselves, nowhere to go. Love is left in an awkward position. Hovering around the person after the break-up, wanting to be used but having no one to use them on.

Thought of in that way, love’s ability to go or not go places makes perfect sense. And the direct answer to Miss Bradshaw’s question is that love doesn’t actually go anywhere at all. Instead, it sticks around and waits for us to do something with it. The question then is “What do I do with it?”

Many options here. It’s difficult to have a unique set of feelings being unused, so maybe you decide to use them on someone else that isn’t quite deserving but is convenient in proximity. Or you may channel the hovering love feelings into something else like obsessing over work, or traveling as much as possible–things that make you think you’re using the love that once was but when you’re lying in bed at night, you see it still faintly hovering.

So where’s the best place to leave love or take love when you can no longer send it to a significant other? Keeping it close and acknowledging its presence can be burdensome. But ignoring it only lasts until the pain comes back again later.

My best answer is that you let it stick around until it becomes just plain love again. Not love for that one person that’s no longer around. But its original form: the love humans are made of and live for. Easier said than done.

Quinta

Yesternight, I have tried finding your house with my dear friend, Mr. Mill. The decision to do so was more like an impulsive act. I have always been impulsive, I like it that way. So there we are, trying to figure out which house is yours on those busy streets. We knew the landmarks, sure, but we never did find it. Besides, how could we possibly find it in a place we’re not even familiar with. It’s a risk, an immature decision that made us do it. I just want to find you, and to see you today. I have been dealing with a lot today, academics, emotional dramas from everyone and I was looking for salvation and that is you.

I always look for you when I’m most broken. I always yearn to see you when I’m about to break down and when I am actually breaking down. I guess it has been a habit since I first met you. I figured it would be nice to have someone like you around when things are falling apart. I figured that maybe, just maybe, you could make a difference like no one else in my life has done in a while. You seem to be an escape to the world that I am living. You seem to be the utopia I’ve always searched for. It is not possible, I know, that you end up being the perfect person with the perfect attitude. You would always have your flaw like what I have seen in the past days. But hey, I want that. I want to get the feel of you being unmindful of things. I want to get the feel of you wanting to get close to me. So everyone changes they say, so what? As for the moment, I just want you to be the person I always dream of having. You make me laugh; you make me go paranoid without you knowing it. You make my heart skip a bit. It’s the feeling I’ve missed for so long while I’m busy taking care of things that doesn’t make me happy anymore.

And so, speaking of that “not being happy anymore” thing. I’ll be telling you a secret. I feel like wanting out. And I want to prepare myself for it. I don’t know for how long but, I just know that I have to. It may be unfair for this person I’m referring to, but I’ve always had enough. But always I tell myself that I won’t ever be the one who would quit, that no matter what happens I’ll try to be the perfect person who won’t lose a thing when the “getting out” takes place. I may be playing safe but see, for the longest time, I have sacrificed a lot. I have done things I don’t normally do for the sake of something I don’t know if it’s worth fighting for. You know the saying that if you found a hundred reasons why something might not work, just find a reason why it would? I don’t know if I still believe in that. Mr. Mill, I have done everything I could to save something. I may have found that one reason to stay but what about the hundred reasons why it would not? What am I going to do with it? I am tired to trying to patch things up and this is where I want you to butt in. This is the part where I want you to be – to be next to me, to make me be okay, to save me. Please do so, Mr. Mill, without me asking you later. Feel the emotions blurring my sight, my reason.

Quarta.

It happened again. The reason why I have to made myself open to you a few days ago. I'm thinking of begging you to listen to me now but I figured, I don't want to be that desperate. I just need you. JUST. THAT.

Tertia

So today, you chose to break my heart. It's not that I'm expecting something from you, Mr. Mill. I took the hint when you chose to ignore me. But seeing you that way and realizing that I do not have a single shot to be involved in your life, made me realize how I've faired. Maybe I don't really excel in the unrequited sort of things, but I want you like you don't want me. I need you like you don't need me. I wish to see you everyday like you do not wish to see a glimpse of me around. I have started to make an attachment with you - an attachment that I know would change how I see myself, how I see this life.

Mr. Mill, I am not a happy person and I became one when I met you 1 month and 12 days ago. It may be too soon to think about this way but I really like you. I have never felt this way in so long. I have never wanted anyone for myself like I wanted you. I am not a free person, I am attached, in a commitment, and I don't care. I am not too happy with how I have been treated. Knowing you brought me to the realization that I really deserve someone better. That somewhere out there, there is a person like you who would show me that I am worth the time, the effort and all. I didn't mean to think too much about you Mr. Mill and I didn't mean to feel this way like I didn't mean to expect something from you.