Ah, old blog. It’s been a while. How have you been?
A new year means new beginnings and new endings – but that’s for a later time.
I’m here to share my descriptive narrative “open-ended piece.” I started writing it off the prompt from one of the quadrants on my medicine wheel – “self-love.” Reading this piece without context, I wouldn’t expect anyone to think it represented self-love. Yet this experience in my life was so shaping, it was the negative but memorable experience that made me aware of how important self-love is, which is now one of my huge values. Though I didn’t necessarily enjoy how this entire experience made me feel, I have it to thank for the lesson it taught me eventually.
There is an intentional change of the address point towards the ending, see if you can catch it. It represents the real actualization/realization I went through at that moment, where everything suddenly became more personal. It was the moment where the blame started running out of me, the moment where I realized I had someone to owe for teaching me how terrible it can be not to love yourself.
Before you can let anyone love you, you must love yourself first. Be invested in yourself, and be proud of it, too.
I thought I knew what was best for me. I thought I was ready to be my own exterminator and save myself from a relationship producing all the wrong chemicals. I swore to myself that there would be no trace of torturous, torpid, toxin left on my bare body. His departure was due.
My shoulders had told me they were tired of his heavy head, since I’d already let enough vermillion red blood drops escape. And I wanted to be as bold as the colour of my blood, so I bug sprayed his blaze away and turned my love to macrame. Breaking the news was no easy feat but I marched into that conversation like it was a war I wanted to be at – there is no subtle way to drop a bomb.
The moment had come. I took my first breath of fresh “freedom air,” yet my lungs did not appreciate it. My shoulders with the strain lifted off of them did not thank me, as it turned out they learned to love being used. My muscles had already made the acquaintance of pressure, and ‘Pressure’ was supposed to stick around. Pressure was not supposed to leave this soon, and Pressure wedged it’s way to into my body’s affection. So yes, most of my body was cursing my mind for it’s cells ever forming into the solution of letting him go, I had to re-learn reflex.
No longer did my fingers have to jerk themselves awake at 1:53 in the morning, pushing my warm, white, but worn out comforter aside to grip my phone like it held our very relationship in it’s short wired circuits. No longer did my taste buds have to act like undercover policemen, embracing their ash leather belts and badge of reflective gold as they threatened to arrest my vocal chords should they waver enough to let him in even one step further.
Yet bold actions lead to underlined eradication, italicized to sanitize, and soon my bare body got burned from over-washing itself. It turned out he wasn’t the one who needed me, he had sets of shoulders just waiting in queue, anxiously awaiting the moment where I would be discarded from his playing cards. I thought myself an open heart towards him, one that took him in when the rest of the world didn’t. Somehow I was treated like a spade, used to shovel away his feelings and repack them for someone else. His concern didn’t lie in who was holding him up, the only prerequisite was affection towards tension.
I was left with only eraser shavings. I was left with the strange longing of still being his go-to. Do you even miss me? Defamiliarizing myself with familiarity wasn’t something I was familiar with. Your timing to enter my life was about as impeccable as it gets. It was a time where development was about the only thing moving forward, it was a time where habits would be instilled in you longer than just your first crush, it was a time where I became someone who liked being depended on. I grew with you, but I never learned how to grow out of you. And your toxins — though heavy, and scalding, and baleful — were warm. And it turns out I would take tired shoulders over cold ones, any day.