There will be one person, or multiple people, in life who hold your heart. They are capable of holding it for months, years, and possibly forever. Life seems simple when you find your person, because you no longer have to battle through everything alone. The person who holds your heart holds a piece of you that is seemingly irreplaceable if you ever lost them. You hold on to them blindly, unaware that you are probably better off without them.
Your bond was seemingly unbreakable at one time, but when the bond breaks, you’re left with a sense of emptiness, a sense of confusion and vulnerability. They break you, but yet you find yourself continually going back to them. The tears that were once innocent become sharp pains down the side of your face, and you wonder why you’ve injected yourself with another dose of their toxic drug.
It’s often the people we least expect who destroy us the most.
We always forgive them, and it’s not always because we are still in love with them. It’s because we are weak for them. Because, how can you be in love with someone who is simultaneously destroying you?
Like small shards of glass scraping against your skin. It’s uncomfortable but seemingly painless until you’re left with an open wound. Every new sore stings with the burden of their empty promises, but it is the only way to avoid the infection of loneliness. The sore lies open and raw, but you continually let him scrape. You’ve somehow seemed to lost your ability to feel somewhere along the way.
Destroying you with one blow would be too easy. You’d probably never give them a second thought if you knew that’s what they were capable of. Instead, we give our hearts away to those who either hold it gently, or to those who take a small pieces away at a time.
They don’t shatter it into a million pieces instantaneously, like a fist to a mirror, rather, it’s like an artist chipping away at his ice sculpture with his ice pick. Tap, tap, tap. Carefully. Slowly. Painfully.
It’s like an application to your dream job that never gets a response. It’s a red light at 3am that won’t seem to turn green. It’s everything in life that you believe is meant to happen, but never does. It’s everything in life that provides enough hope for you to keep holding on a bit longer, even if it’s slowly killing you inside.
So what do we do? We send a follow up email to the employer, we run the red light. We desperately take that leap of faith to avoid disappointment. We take action because it’s better than waiting for something that will never be.
We avoid disappointments because we don’t want to think life is meant to disappoint. We succumb to your let downs and tell ourselves, “He doesn’t mean to hurt me. We’re meant to be.” Are we attempting to convince others, or are we trying to convince ourselves?
You’ve become numb to the countless disappointments. You’ve become numb to allowing yourself to fall time and time again only for him to shamelessly remove his hands at the very last moment. You forgive and forgive, usually allowing yourself to develop some sort of friendship with this person because it seems better than losing them completely.
You “love” them. And because you love them, you justify. You justify the lost apologies, the empty promises. You spend more time justifying their behavior then actually loving them. So, is it love? What is it?
You’re afraid to completely release your grasp because you’re afraid you’ll lose a piece of yourself with them. Letting go is scary because at one point you felt like they completed you. At one point they loved you, and you loved them too.
They have the power to both love and destroy. However, we only believe the first one to be true because the latter is too difficult to deal with.
What’s even worse is that most of the time they have no idea they’re destroying you. They have no idea that they take are scraping you with small shards of glass to the point of an open wound. They think they love you too. They think that the “timing isn’t right,” but maybe one day it will be. So they hold on just as tightly, creating friction on the rope that you are both tugging.
And perhaps, you are destroying them too.
You’re both afraid to let go of your grasp because then what? You’re left with a blank slate. A blank slate of emptiness, of uncertainty. How do you fill the daily space that they once consumed? Who is supposed to understand you the way that they did? Letting them go tosses you out into the world of rejections and missed connections.
It forces you to start over.
Eventually, you take the first step of rebuilding. You realize that with each stride, with each scruff of your shoe against the sidewalk, that you’re in command of your own mind, your own soul. You become a woman walking into your own plans, your own dreams. The world is in your hands, and you become at peace with the blank slate, because the blank slate is what saved you; it’s what saved you from complete destruction.