"Maybe pessimism is something we have to start applying daily, like moisturizer, otherwise, how do you bounce back when reality batters your belief system and love does not, as promised, conquer all? Is hope a drug we need to go off of, or is it keeping us alive?" -Sex and the City
So it has been my personal theory that a heart can only take so much heartbreak and pain, and after a certain time it just seems like there is no point in trying anymore. And then you turn to other things: your friends, hobbies, career, alcohol, crazy parties, randomly hooking up, whatever rocks your boat.
When this happened to me for the first time I was pretty young and naive i guess. I fell pretty hard, and when everything crashed and burned I locked my heart and lost the key somewhere in a dark corner of my soul. And I forgot all about it. My heart was still beating, but it wasn't alive anymore. And for the longest time I was okay with that.
And then something magical happened. I met someone. I realized that I still had a heart. And that I was still able to feel. This shocked me more than you can imagine. And for some time I resided on cloud nine, bought lingerie, daydreamed through classes, etc etc..
I wish I could now say it all ended all pink and fuzzy and sweet, but it didn't. It ended very badly. Like, hysterically crying, 'i don't want to eat anymore' kind of badly.
And I tried to go back, but this time it wasn't as easy. It took time. Months. Until finally I felt like I could breathe again. But what I didn't know at the time is that I couldn't close my heart all the way again. The pain caused little tears in my heart, tiny little openings. They made me vulnerable. Fragile. "Handle with care" and all that.
And the worst thing is that I didn't mind it I think. Subconsciously maybe. I think no matter how depressed you get, how sick and tired of everything, somewhere in the attic of your mind there is a little black box that contains a tiny little spec of hope. A hope that since you felt, you will feel again. And it will be perfect. But I think after each disaster that spec gets a tiny little bit smaller.
How much wear-and-tear can a heart really handle?
Logically it is much more beneficial for us not to give in. At least not at first. Not to let every little opportunity get us excited enough to go up into the attic and open that secret box. Maybe a certain amount of pessimism is vital at the beginning, in case everything suddenly flushes down the toilet. In case it turns out not to be worth it after all.
But how can you tell the difference? How do you really know? Or do you ever really ''know'' at all? Everybody lies. Everybody acts. Everybody wants to get what they want. And its not always what you want also, either.
But since one of the themes of this blog is there is no right moments, then the logical question then, wtf do you do, right? There's not going to be a flashing neon light that says "this is RIGHT, Go for it". So, what do we do?
The only thing we can:
We trust our hearts.
And sometimes we risk their safety. And then accept whatever consequences follow.
Sucks I know, but what is life without a little risk, right?
Yes, sometimes it hurts so much that it feels like someone reached through your throat to your heart, ripped it out, then chewed it and spit it back out while you were watching. ((sorry for the very violent metaphor)).
But think about it, if it worked out right at the beginning, life would be incredibly boring, So maybe the whole search, pain, disappointment thing actually has a point? Without suffering we wouldn't know happiness, just like they cannot be light without shadows. And maybe the whole search makes us actually more ready and willing to appreciate it when it does work out. We humans have the strangest tendency of thought: we seem suspicious of things that are too good, too easy, free, etc.
Maybe we're just use to the fact that to get something good you have to work for it, aka suffer for it. Deserve it.
Which kind of makes sense. What would be the whole point of living your life if everything came easy? No rules, no limitations, no pain. We would come to earth just to drink and party. No development or thought. No point.
So I do hate to admit it, but I suppose pain is a necessary part of life.
But also just as necessary is its counterpart, that secret little box in the attic, that actually is the thing that keeps us going. That little spec of hope, that flame that fiercely fights to keeps burning no matter how many times we shower it with tears.
The hope that someday we will find someone to complete us in ways we never knew possible. Someone to come home to after a hard day, who can just envelop you in a warm, loving embrace and tell you:
You are perfect,
Just because you are here,
Because you exist.
And
You are safe
Just because I am here,
Because I exist.
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