Everything I've Ever Let Go of has Claw Marks on It

 

Yes, I knew the minute I read his words that David Foster Wallace understood me, because this phrase rang so true, everything I have ever let go of has claw marks on it. Everything. I hold on so tight that my knuckles are white and my hands go numb. When I find something I love I close my eyes and jump in, completely immersing myself in it, and when it's over it is the end of my world at that time. When it is over it feels as though nothing could ever be right again. At that moment nothing is visible but the ending, solid and unyielding as a wall, blocking out new hope. The fresh beginning  that my brain knows is there cannot be visualized. The ache in my heart becomes so big that it blocks it out, and I simply can't find that beginning. It's nowhere in sight. I've tried to figure out why this is, why I can't let go when it's obviously time for me to gracefully let something exit my life. Is it because I have low self esteem, or because I don't feel that anyone else will find me worthy again? This is a point I've pondered for a long time, examining my thoughts and intentions, but it did not feel true within me.

 

This is a world where I have been told over and over: Just let it go. How incredibly easy everyone makes it sound. Just let it go! Hey, why don't I just let it go?? So when someone exits my life, or when a chapter comes to an end and I'm not ready for it...when I was blindsided because I didn't even fucking see it coming...I should be able to smile, give a little wave and be on my way without another thought. Easy peasy! Why didn't I think of that? Except that it's not easy, it's fucking hard. And surprise, I am a human with actual emotions. I have been told by someone I love, someone that exited from my life without a thought, that I can choose my emotions. I can choose whether I love someone or not, whether I miss someone or not, whether I cling to someone or not. I can honestly understand and accept that theory to a point, but when emotions are fresh and raw they just come as they are in all their nakedness, unwilling to cover themselves.

 

All of life is an act of letting go, but what hurts the most

is not taking a moment to say goodbye."

~Life of Pi

 

It comes down to this. For all of the well meaning advice from people to just let go, sometimes it is necessary to take a minute to say goodbye. My goodbyes consist of wallowing in my own misery and a large helping of self indulgent self pity. I listen to the songs that make the core of me ache fiercely, and cry into my pillow. I write letters pouring out my heart, soul, hurt and anger, and then don't send them. Thankfully this doesn't last forever, but since no one wants to see this it can only be done at certain times. The outpouring of raw sentiment makes people uncomfortable so I must do these things in private where no one can see or hear it. Since I almost never have private time, my healing takes a long time. It encumbers me for weeks or even months. I've often wondered if the dragging on of this is detrimental to me, and I can only be certain that the not being aware of and not managing my emotions at all is much, much worse. Not dealing with it makes it jump back out and bite me in the ass at the least opportune times, because those unresolved emotions don't disappear. Those agonizing feelings over things I was passionate about will come back over and over until I acknowledge them in the way that they feel honours them. Those emotions are a needy, greedy horde only tamed by time and intimate, thorough recognition like a long, slow French kiss.

 

"The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most,

are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things,

precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never

was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being

someone else; dissatisfaction with the world's existence;

All these half-tones of the soul's consciousness create

in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset

of what we are."

~Fernando Pessoa

 

 

And so I grieve. I grieve for what could have been, and for the way I had envisioned the romanticized scenario of my life. I mourn for the love that I lost, and for the way I wished I had been loved but wasn't. I will continue to grieve until, instead of being a scream in my face, the throbbing pain evolves into a sweet, soothing ache that is nothing more than background noise. I will grieve because my feelings are valid and they have a reason and a place in my life. Sorrow takes as long as it takes to resolve, and I will not rush mine. I will savour it and taste it's bitterness until it is appeased and I can put it away forever. I was once told let the strong part of me protect the broken part of me until that broken part is healed. And so for now I will let the strong part of myself write my life until my brokenness heals. And that takes as long as it takes.