I've got lots of work to do. I've regressed a bit; preferring to lie in bed and watch my favorite show on DVD. It's day 17 and I'm on season six. Kind of sad, I suppose, but it's working wonders.
And at the same time, I'm not quite in the mood for the holiday spirit. Or at least, I wasn't, until I made a plan to get myself a little happy. Probably not the healthiest thing I've ever done, but alas, it works for me.
But for this? I'm sure I'm going to pay.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Upward spiral
I have a confession to make. My poor sensitive heart has been on a downward spiral for some time now and I've given up. I will no longer fight it. I'm letting it go.
But in the darkness I've found two things that are essential truths about heartbreak. Each one leaves, in its aftermath, a trail of music and scents. The melodies and fragrances trigger memories instantly; conversations, travel, laughter, pain, happiness, melancholy.... And in an instant, I'm transported to a different time, a different moment. One where the memories will swallow me whole and trap me under the ice of a frozen lake, such that I'm desperate to break free and breathe again.
The pain is mostly for the moments I have lost - the joy of which I will never hold again. The sadness that comes from loving, losing and trying to move forward. These little triggers exist all around me. On a crowded southern street; the scent of his warmth and cologne after a shower. In a store; the song that played while we drove through the night to reach his family. A coworker's playlist featuring the music he played for me on the phone - or the songs he sent to me when he couldn't find the words.
Over and over again I'm jolted by scents and music that I simply can't avoid. In the masochistic moments, I listen on purpose, or smell his clothes - seek the pain that reminds me that I'm alive.
For I have also come to see the value of the pain. Essentially true then, is that the pain - while on occasion breeding cynicism, bitterness and sadness - is a constant reminder of life. That I am still alive. That I am still breathing, minute after minute. If not alive, I could not feel such pain. And by the simple matter of continuing to exist, I recognize that I possess one more enduring gift.
Refusing to continue to spin to the depths of this massive pit of solitude and melancholy, I am reminded that I still possess the capacity to love. Surely, this means eventually there will be more pain. Invariably there will be more music, more songs, the essence of memories yet to come. But capable, I am. Defeated, I am not.
And while I weep through the sadness for what will never be, I fumble for my spiral staircase. The one that brought me here to this place. I can only allow myself a limited time here. Necessary? Absolutely. It's part of the healing.
But I will return to the surface shortly. I've decided that it is high time I reverse course and head back up. The time is nigh.
But in the darkness I've found two things that are essential truths about heartbreak. Each one leaves, in its aftermath, a trail of music and scents. The melodies and fragrances trigger memories instantly; conversations, travel, laughter, pain, happiness, melancholy.... And in an instant, I'm transported to a different time, a different moment. One where the memories will swallow me whole and trap me under the ice of a frozen lake, such that I'm desperate to break free and breathe again.
The pain is mostly for the moments I have lost - the joy of which I will never hold again. The sadness that comes from loving, losing and trying to move forward. These little triggers exist all around me. On a crowded southern street; the scent of his warmth and cologne after a shower. In a store; the song that played while we drove through the night to reach his family. A coworker's playlist featuring the music he played for me on the phone - or the songs he sent to me when he couldn't find the words.
Over and over again I'm jolted by scents and music that I simply can't avoid. In the masochistic moments, I listen on purpose, or smell his clothes - seek the pain that reminds me that I'm alive.
For I have also come to see the value of the pain. Essentially true then, is that the pain - while on occasion breeding cynicism, bitterness and sadness - is a constant reminder of life. That I am still alive. That I am still breathing, minute after minute. If not alive, I could not feel such pain. And by the simple matter of continuing to exist, I recognize that I possess one more enduring gift.
Refusing to continue to spin to the depths of this massive pit of solitude and melancholy, I am reminded that I still possess the capacity to love. Surely, this means eventually there will be more pain. Invariably there will be more music, more songs, the essence of memories yet to come. But capable, I am. Defeated, I am not.
And while I weep through the sadness for what will never be, I fumble for my spiral staircase. The one that brought me here to this place. I can only allow myself a limited time here. Necessary? Absolutely. It's part of the healing.
But I will return to the surface shortly. I've decided that it is high time I reverse course and head back up. The time is nigh.
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