So what really happened? Why am I so upset? This is the same person I've been out with and broken up with twice (oh yes, forgot to mention that). Both times it ended because I couldn't work out what I was feeling or if it was right for me. See, the problem with me is that I'm pretty naive when it comes to relationships and feelings, especially love. I've been in love before, once, a long time ago, and didn't even realise until later (too late) that I had been. The tragedy there is that I clearly didn't take away that lesson and learn from it.
You see, here's the thing: I was scared I wouldn't know if I was in love or not. I knew she was certainly very, very fond of me (I won't say love because I didn't know if it was or not. Turns out it was), but for that very reason I didn't want to keep her hanging on whilst I tried to work out which end of the stick was pointy and not poke myself in the eye. I always thought love was like this great big huge thing that lived inside you and was something akin to a great big trumpet fanfare and a flock of white doves ascending every time the person's name was mentioned. But then I wondered if perhaps that was just the result of watching way too many idiotic films (I do have a soft spot for rom-coms but don't tell anyone). I asked my housemate at one point, "How will I know if I'm in love with her?". She replied with a half-smile, "You'll just know". Problem was I was till hung up on the 'what if I don't fall in love with her' scenario and looking out of a massive pink monster with trumpets poking out of it and dove feathers sticking to in the recesses of my soul.
And now the rub: I finally realised that love isn't like that at all. Love is smiling when you think about someone. Love is missing them when they're not around. Love is wanting to protect them, make them laugh when they're unhappy, pick them up when they fall, keep them warm when it's cold. Love is a lot of things and those things are pretty ordinary and everyday, by and large, but the fact that it involves that someone makes it different and special and important. I was so busy chasing shadows and worrying that I might not fall in love that I didn't realise I already had.
Eventually though, love decided that it was fed up with being overlooked and decided to act. Metaphorically speaking, it backed away, took a run up and kicked me square in the balls with steel toe capped size 13's. "Noticed that, didn't you dickhead? Eh? Eh? All this time you've been wrapped up in your own insecurities and all along the thing you craved the most was there, waiting for you, you just had to look with your eyes, not your imagination. And now it's too late. But you noticed me now, eh, you bloody fool, and what have you to say for yourself? What's that? Nothing? That's right asshat, nothing because you and you alone squandered this. Twat.".
As you can see, my subconscious can be pretty scathing about me. And rightly so. Right now I feel as though a significant portion of my insides have been torn out of my chest and the evening sun seems dull to me. Nothing tastes right, nothing feels right and the future isn't bright, it's grey and drab. I have an extensive collection of downbeat, depressing music to keep me company as I wallow in self-pity (oh, yes, I know full well that's what I'm doing but anyone who has a problem with that can go eat a bowl of fuck), and yes, one day maybe I'll look back on this and laugh but right now that feels like a very, very long way off and a very, very remote possibility.
So I'll leave you with this thought: Alfred Lord Tennyson said in 1850 in the poem In Memoriam:27
You see, here's the thing: I was scared I wouldn't know if I was in love or not. I knew she was certainly very, very fond of me (I won't say love because I didn't know if it was or not. Turns out it was), but for that very reason I didn't want to keep her hanging on whilst I tried to work out which end of the stick was pointy and not poke myself in the eye. I always thought love was like this great big huge thing that lived inside you and was something akin to a great big trumpet fanfare and a flock of white doves ascending every time the person's name was mentioned. But then I wondered if perhaps that was just the result of watching way too many idiotic films (I do have a soft spot for rom-coms but don't tell anyone). I asked my housemate at one point, "How will I know if I'm in love with her?". She replied with a half-smile, "You'll just know". Problem was I was till hung up on the 'what if I don't fall in love with her' scenario and looking out of a massive pink monster with trumpets poking out of it and dove feathers sticking to in the recesses of my soul.
And now the rub: I finally realised that love isn't like that at all. Love is smiling when you think about someone. Love is missing them when they're not around. Love is wanting to protect them, make them laugh when they're unhappy, pick them up when they fall, keep them warm when it's cold. Love is a lot of things and those things are pretty ordinary and everyday, by and large, but the fact that it involves that someone makes it different and special and important. I was so busy chasing shadows and worrying that I might not fall in love that I didn't realise I already had.
Eventually though, love decided that it was fed up with being overlooked and decided to act. Metaphorically speaking, it backed away, took a run up and kicked me square in the balls with steel toe capped size 13's. "Noticed that, didn't you dickhead? Eh? Eh? All this time you've been wrapped up in your own insecurities and all along the thing you craved the most was there, waiting for you, you just had to look with your eyes, not your imagination. And now it's too late. But you noticed me now, eh, you bloody fool, and what have you to say for yourself? What's that? Nothing? That's right asshat, nothing because you and you alone squandered this. Twat.".
As you can see, my subconscious can be pretty scathing about me. And rightly so. Right now I feel as though a significant portion of my insides have been torn out of my chest and the evening sun seems dull to me. Nothing tastes right, nothing feels right and the future isn't bright, it's grey and drab. I have an extensive collection of downbeat, depressing music to keep me company as I wallow in self-pity (oh, yes, I know full well that's what I'm doing but anyone who has a problem with that can go eat a bowl of fuck), and yes, one day maybe I'll look back on this and laugh but right now that feels like a very, very long way off and a very, very remote possibility.
So I'll leave you with this thought: Alfred Lord Tennyson said in 1850 in the poem In Memoriam:27
'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.However, in addition to that the Del Amitri song You're Gone says
But if you sit down and count the cost of all those losses, there's no profit at all.Right now, I'm not sure which is right and which is wrong.