I expected more, Olga.
Confused about that above statement? Ha! Well, so am I. It was the subject line in a spam email I got. The whole line actually said, “Why did you stop communicating with me? I expected more, Olga.”
Makes me laugh. Why would a subject line in which you call me Olga – make me want to click on your spamalicious link? Does anyone really fall for that? Olga? Seriously.
And no – that whole tirade I just went off on has nothing to do with anything. That’s a whole 2 minutes of your life you’ll never get back thanks to me. You’re welcome.
Why am I writing about stuff that doesn’t matter at all? Well because.
I can’t write about stuff that really matters right now.
In fact, I can’t write about a whole lot of anything. I try…but the words won’t come and in all of my life – that’s never happened before. It’s downright scary to think about in a world like mine where it feels like writing is sometimes all I have.
There’s no one to blame. Shit happens. Things aren’t meant to be. Things don’t work out how you think they will. Dreams shatter. Hearts break. (suck it up buttercup, right?)
That’s what I’ve been feeling for a while. Learning to let go. Learning to not regret. Learning to fight the urge to change myself so it could go back to how it was. Mourning what could have been. Losing a part of myself I never thought I’d lose ever again.
I’m quite certain that the pain of losing someone who is alive is nearly as awful as losing someone who has died. There aren’t rules in breakups. There aren’t rules in how to handle letting go and walking away pretending to be whole on the inside when you’re definitely not. There are no rules on how to figure out the part you played and how to stop yourself from wondering “what if I had done this and this differently?”
There just aren’t rules in heartbreak. And there isn’t perfection in me. There never has been.
I have no idea when exactly it happened, but a special person in my life taught me that I was enough. I was okay as I was and as who I was and that I didn’t need to change for anyone and that I should celebrate who I was…faults and all. Thank God for her because if not for that – I’d be begging and apologizing and changing everything about me – just to rewind. Just to stop things from ending like they did.
But I can’t do that if I believe what she taught me. That I am enough. If I am truly enough…then I have to stand tall, walk forward and move on – any way I know how – and not change who I am at my core.
Words aren’t meant to always be true forever. They are usually only just true in the moment they are spoken. Beyond that – we can’t really promise anything because none of us know what will really happen.
Sometimes life hurts. Badly. You wonder if you’ll ever feel the same or love the same or look at the world the same. You can’t do a damn thing except wake up, try to be a better person, forgive yourself and let go. And put one damn foot in front of the other. All while trying to remember to breathe while you remind yourself not to fall apart and not to let the tears fall. At least not in public.
You fake it until you make it. You smile. Put on a brave face. You try to believe in the core of who you are and you know without a doubt that you never meant to hurt anyone intentionally….but you still might have. You learn to live with that.
I have to learn to accept that I feel too much, dig too deep, am over-sensitive, over-dramatic and over-emotional and I feel things about 50 times happier or sadder than most people I know. Good or bad – it’s who I am. If I am enough – I have to accept that and embrace it. I have to find people who can overlook those huge flaws and love me anyway. I have to believe they are out there. Because I am enough.
I find myself clinging to that little glimmer of hope inside that tells me to believe I’ll get through this. I’ll be stronger. There are reasons for everything and some day – I’ll find the reason for this too.
It hurts now but it would have crippled me years ago. I wouldn’t have been strong enough to mourn this loss. It would have broken me. Forever.
Now? I can recognize the stage of grief I’m in and realize I’ll get through it. I have that within me. I’ve always been there for myself and I will recover. And when it’s all said and done – the hurt will hopefully make me a better me. A person who doesn’t make the same mistakes again. A person who once again believes in words like always and forever.
Right now – I’ve wiped those words from my vocabulary. They still sting. And that’s completely on me. I shouldn’t fall so hard or feel so much or believe so deeply…because no one can promise much past the moment we are in. Because we’re all humans and we all inflict pain and joy on each other. Because none of us is perfect. And because things sometimes just simply aren’t meant to be.
It’s the cycle of life and learning and evolving. And learning to be enough to live with just ourselves – if everyone else were to walk away. I’m the only one who has to sleep with myself at night. I’m the only one who has to live with my flaws 24/7. Instead of living like I used to – which was trying to be someone else or change myself constantly…today I’m trying harder to accept that my flaws are me. They make me - me. Not everyone is going to be able to see beyond them or even tolerate them. And that’s okay. I won’t even ask them to. Hell – it’s taken me most of my life to embrace my flaws – why would anyone who barely knows me want to do the same?
We’re all alone at some point or another. And I can admit that I never dealt with the “alone” thing very well….mainly because who the hell wants to be alone with someone they hate (um…myself)? If I wasn’t alone or was always with people – then I never had to think too much about myself and my flaws and how much I hated who I was inside.
I avoided “alone” like it was Satan. Alone was something I couldn’t survive. Or so I thought.
Turns out I can. Turns out the sun still rises and sets and the world keeps turning. Even if I’m actually alone – physically or mentally.
What I’ve learned is this.
Alone is easier if I make friends with myself.
Then alone doesn’t exist.
And I survive…
PS...I'm fine...this is me, you know? Writing it out allows me to heal and get better. I'm not jumping off a cliff or anything and Rambo and I are perfectly fine. This is not about him. In fact, without him - through all of this shit that I'm being overly vague about...I'm not sure where I'd be but I can tell you it wouldn't be good. That goes ditto for a few special women in my life. You know who you are.