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| Tuesday, August the 15th of 2006 |
at night i have cried small, bitterly resented tears
Written sometime in July 2006
Of course, it's a fucking pretence to say loneliness and transitoriness and friendlessness were what the problem has been lately. That's a smothering lie I use to avoid the rawness, and I know it.
I know it and you know it and truth knows it and eternity knows it and the shattered prison I live inside of knows it.
I had my heart broken six months ago. A million maudlin songs and doesn't that sound such a cliche these days? 'I had my heart broken'. 'I ordered three pints and I only got two'. I'm embarrassed by it, by the tawdry known tone of the line, and by the awful, confessional puke of emotion it threatens if I say it.
I had my heart broken. I had my heart gouged and torn. I had acid poured in the cavity. And it hurts too much to say it. It rips me too much to even look at it.
Music doesn't get avoided because it reminds me of her. Lie. Barefaced. I play music and think of his mouth.
Dates don't get avoided because that other guy was twisted or controlling. Lie. Barefaced. I avoid them because they're empty ritual, devoid of meaning or promise. My diary lists Sanjay, lists Federico, lists Sarhaj, lists Astrid, two, four, five months ago. I can't remember a word they said. I think I remember a shiny black BMW. I think I remember tales of a Maltese sous-chef. But it was such a waste of time to listen. It's not like I'll ever mend this, patch it up all crazy-better and go out and care about someone ever again.
I'm not avoiding this subject with friends or with family because he was dodgy, because I'm so over him now you know, because it was a long time ago really. Lie. Barefaced. I'm trying to tell you, but I can't finish sentence two without wanting to lie fetal-shape and cry huge racking sobs without limit.
Something inside me got ripped and torn forever this year. And if I insist on pretending otherwise, I'll never step a single pace forward.
By the way. If I ever told you I love you? I don't. I didn't. It was a lie. A barefaced lie. Based on what I once knew of the world, and it turned out there are things I do not yet know. When I said that. I didn't know there could be something so ....
I didn't know it. Of course. (Until you've had the knife slide into your guts, how can you know these slaps and bruises weren't really ever pain?) But it wasn't love.
It won't ever be love again.
I've tried to ignore it out of existence. Deal with the thing by never ever allowing it oxygen. Teach myself to slide, to move away from the triggers, to think of something else, to be somewhere else, experience other things than that damn consuming loss that trails me.
No matter where I go, what I see, how many fucking ways I try to erase him, he's there. The pain is there. It's a fucking sixty foot iceberg on the living room carpet and I'm desperately trying not to let the vicar know I've noticed.
I pretend it wasn't. I pretend it didn't hurt so much. I pretend I can get past this.
A lie. A barefaced, tragic, obvious lie.
I had my heart stamped on this year. I had it broken, shattered, destroyed. It's in pieces that will never ever fit back right again.
There's a sixty foot iceberg between me and the world. There's a ten mile splinter in the skin of my soul. It hurt, it hurt badly; nothing can ever be the same again because of it. Every word I say to you which fails to scream that ... it is a lie. Barefaced, shitty, broken lie.
Now then. That's out of the way and I've told you. Back to the shambling and the limping, and the pretending.
As you were. Vanessa.
Posted by Sarsparilla at 1:18 am |
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So you think you have something to say about it? Pffft.
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| Comments: |
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- cacoa | 08.15.06 | 3:21 pm
i wont say anything, because anything i say will be meaningless |
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- Hdemus | 08.15.06 | 5:17 pm
If I say I feel your pain, that too, would be a barefaced lie.But I really really see that pain in you.And all I can say is that you seem to be very courageous and strong, and I want you to believe in yourself that you will be able to get over this.
Saying a cliched phrase like time heals everything would sound absurd and might even irritate you.But what I am going to say is this: that it really does, provided you believe in yourself.Provided you see beyond what you look, and start seeing the beauty in nature, so that it can divert your attention temporarily, untill the point the reason for diverting your attention doesn't exist anymore.
Everyone goes through this stage.The reason I can come close to saying that I can feel your pain is because I have seen my brother's.And I know just how ugly and stinging this pain can be.But, since he's my brother, I also know and can say confidently that soon you'll get over whoever broke your heart.
May God be with You. |
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- Cliff | 08.15.06 | 5:17 pm
Hang in there. I find painkillers and exercise helps to pass a difficult day. |
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- Norman | 08.16.06 | 12:35 am
Oh dear, there was a time when one would have said,' What you need my girl, is a good kick up the arse, now get up, get washed and get out there."...but I DO feel your pain, my stomach twists and clenches itself in rememberance.
cheers..N |
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- alan | 08.16.06 | 4:26 pm
O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—projecting me;
O solitary me, listening—nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you;
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations, Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night,
By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon,
The messenger there arous’d—the fire, the sweet hell within,
The unknown want, the destiny of me.
Walt Whitman |
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- Jennifer | 08.18.06 | 1:49 am
What a beautifully warped, twisted, distorted work of art that photograph is, she said, apropos of nothing.
I've nothing for this, but my heart in my hands. |
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- Anne | 08.21.06 | 3:36 pm
I come late to this, I know.
Everything's been said already, hasn't it?
But look in any handy mirror. You are still there; still HERE.
That's something. |
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