Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Pride and Prejudice - Tia

I am always amazed at how the heart works. I'm especially intrigued by its propensity to derail you up when you least expect it. It can be the smallest thing, something you least expect that starts you spiraling down a path, looking around asking, "How in the world did I get here?!?!"

Random mostly unrelated aside: I find it interesting that Lauryn Hill's Nothing Really Matters just started playing...and also unrelated I do believe I will be murdering my neighbor's dog....Moving on.

A friend of mine wrote to me the other day and told me that she had something that she wanted me to read. She'd recently gotten out of a weird relationship with this guy and being a writer she found it cathartic to journal her feelings as she battled with the end of the relationship coupled with a bout of insomnia. (I firmly believe that sometimes the best and most pure words pour out of late broken nights.) I sat down to read her intimate thoughts not thinking that it would have any effect on me save for possibly some additional empathy for her and added animosity toward the guy.

The writings span several days. I made it through DAY 1. I couldn't get beyond the first night of her transcribed heartache. I had been there before and I knew how she felt. And some how my friend's words had inadvertently opened my Pandora's box of repressed loneliness and pain. Maybe it was because I had first hand knowledge of how she felt and the reminder of pain came on the heels of yet another night of having another man want me for nothing more than physical satisfaction. (short version: I'd been at a party the night before and my friend's brother made it perfectly clear that he was ready to...make some stuff happen...I don't even think he knew my last name...) Whatever the reason, I found myself sitting on my bed so raw with emotion I think if someone had touched me I would have burst into tears.

I quickly closed the document and fervently pounded out an email to my friend explaining the reasons that I couldn't finish reading. As the words poured out, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I was SO upset. This was not my life. While I could understand it from first hand experience, her breakup was not MY breakup. And I was LONG since past this pain, right????

And I think the thing that REALLY got to me was the pain, the loneliness, the loss that I was feeling was not for the man who broke my heart all of those years ago. (I can honestly say I bare no ill toward my ex and have not a modicum of non-platonic love for him.) No, the pain I was feeling was for the loss of the idea of a relationship. Let me explain. I had my prototype walk in and out of my life once. He was all of the things that I thought I wanted and then some. And as quickly as he walked in and pretended to capture my heart he was gone and I haven't met anything like him since. It seems crazy to me that my heart can still, after all of this time, ache for all intents and purposes the IDEA of a man. That realization just made me angry. So now I was lonely, hurt, and mad. Perfect.

I shut down my email, closed the blinds, curled up in the bed and put on disc one of Pride and know...Jane Austen is AWESOME for heartache. (Hopefully, you sensed the sarcasm just now.) For the next 5 hours (yes, I watched the WHOLE thing) I checked out. I'm very good at repression. I watched Colin Firth parade around in frilly attire and proceeded to let my mind reboot itself. I let the feelings I was feeling scuttle back into their Pandora's box and arrange themselves in neat little rows. And as Eliza and Mr. Darcy rode off into marital bliss, I assured myself that I was fine. That it was just a moment. I fell asleep muttering that everything was FINE...

And it was...for about 2 days. This morning I sat straight up out of a dead sleep. My prototype had infiltrated my dreams. He'd sauntered in with his perfect hair, his car salesman smile and ruined my perfectly happy repression. And to add insult to injury, he'd rejected me in my dream. I mean, can a sistah catch a break in her own dreams?!?!?!

I got up, dressed and ran to catch the J. (Thank you MTA for skip-stop service in the mornings because I was LATE.) I sat alone all day (as is the case when I'm on site. I work alone and can literally go HOURS without speaking to anyone) and toiled through the mindless reconciling of my job. As my day ended and I walked back to the train I found myself wondering if I would ever fully be okay. Will there ever be a complete healing? Am I that girl who has to be with someone to get over someone else? I can't be....I hate that girl.

I tried unsuccessfully to shove everything back in it's proper place on the train ride home. Pain goes here. Heartache here. Loneliness back there. But try as I might I couldn't get the pieces back together. Everything was out and like a Rubik's cube, I couldn't figure out how to get everything to align.

Even as I write this I still don't have an answer. I just finished watching Couple's Retreat (I'd give it a B+) and Vince Vaughn said something that I've tried to articulate to many a person and several times to God. He said, "I don't need all of this. I want someone I can share my life with." (You'll have to watch the movie to understand the whole reference but you get the general idea.) In that moment of that moderately funny film, I completely knew what he meant.

I don't know. I want to have some great answer. A Moses like revelation. I want the clouds to part, God to reach down and say, "Everything is and will be fine, child." Because even though deep down I know it's true (I mean way down with the Pandora box sitting on top of it) something about just knowing the truth doesn't make the reality of the loneliness any better in this moment.

My aforementioned friend called me the Walking Wounded. She said that there's a place in my heart that I need to let God fill. She speaks from experience and she says it with the compassion of a true friend. She tells me that she prays for my heart every day. Interesting, since I would think she would be praying for her own with that sort of fervor. She encourages me to let God love on me and to know that it may not be in a way that I expect. God help me I want to. A girl can only compartmentalize for so long before the compartments burst at the seams and scatter a mess of emotion and rawness all over your day.

So I wait. I wait for this brief and somewhat irritating moment of loneliness to pass. And I pray. I pray that I can truly hand my broken, pitiful heart to God so that he can fix it. I hope beyond hope that randomness of life will no longer trigger the pain and hurt of the past because one day they'll legitimately be gone. And I watch Colin Firth with his cute British accent,frilly clothes and top hat parade across my screen once more.

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