Hitting Rock Bottom

There is no worse feeling than watching your friend go down a path that will only hurt them and cause them to fall further than they've ever known they could, and knowing you can do nothing to stop this from happening. You know this path all too well, as you yourself have tread it not so very long ago. You watch her make all of the same mistakes, the same excuses, the same bullshit reasoning for why this is going to be the time that he proves himself worthy of her. You are watching your friend be manipulated into an abusive relationship and despite all of your warnings and voiced concerns, she assures you she can handle herself this time. You are watching her get slowly sucked into the brain washed state, the one you swore you'd never let envelope her again. You are watching her go back to re-live all the pain and struggle that has become the merry-go-round of her life these past three years. And it breaks you.
It shatters you down to your very core. She is your soulmate, your best friend, the one single person you tell absolutely everything to, and you are watching her crumble until there's nothing left. You crumble with her. You've felt heartbreak before, but none like this. This is more intense than a momma bear protecting her cub, and runs deeper than the blood in your veins. You feel every inch of your being shatter and slowly fall away. You suddenly understand the tale of Humpty Dumpty in an entirely new way, and you wonder if her pieces will ever be put together the same again or if you've lost her for good this time.

The Love We Deserve

A friend recently went through a slightly tumultuous break up with an incredibly toxic and manipulative person. It brought me back to one of my favorite lines from a book, "We accept the love we think we deserve." The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky.
     You always wonder why the sweet girl ends up with the full-of-himself, aloof jerk. Or why the good guy ends up with the bitchy, bossy, over-the-top girlfriend. Neither the sweet girl or good guy are happy, and they deserve so much better, yet here they sit. Why?

I am living proof of Chbosky's statement. I know why. 

     Having my family torn apart at age 18 and still removing shrapnel from the explosion today, being married at 21 and divorced at 22, and receiving a diagnosis of bipolar disorder at 24, I am broken. I feel like damaged goods. Like recycled trash that will never find anyone broken and battered enough to see it as something still useable. I am wrong. In my highs, I know I am wrong. It's in the back of my head, but I can push it away. In my lows, I feel it is the truest statement I have ever breathed.
     When you go through trauma, of any sort, you feel like pieces of you are broken and missing. You begin to feel ashamed that whatever happened, happened, and you feel less than desirable because of it. So when someone throws their attentions your way you think to yourself, 'Can this be? Do they actually want me? Am I good enough for them?' and your heart begins to swell. And the more broken they are, the safer you feel that your own failings will not be a downfall in this relationship. Together you can pretend to be whole.
     This is why we accept that love. This is why we can't truly love until we learn to love ourselves. Being content in your skin and loving yourself can be the hardest thing you've ever had to try and do.

But that is the love that you actually do deserve. 

"I just want you to know that you're very special...and the only reason I'm telling you this is that I don't know if anyone else ever has." The Perks of Being a Wallflower

My Heart is Stone

The overwhelming sadness and desperation that takes takes hold, the urge to just sit and let my tears drain themselves to relieve this burning pressure contained within my eyes; what is it for?

Why, when I feel overcome with grief, do I never have a reason for it? Why this void that cannot be filled?

The yearning to be able to release, to let it all flow from me and take with it this burden that I bear. But then, of course, the moment that I get to myself when I may finally demolish the boundaries of socialization, I cannot.

I try, Oh God, do I try.

My eyes may moisten a touch, but nothing more. Not a single tear drop will be shed. Is it from fear that I hold it all inside? Fear of what? I am alone. There is only me and my thoughts. There is nothing here to judge me, nothing to mock or terrorize. I am finally alone....

This yearning lives in my heart to relieve the emptiness by letting the flood gates loose, breaking down the barred doors and letting my soul free. I want it, I can feel it, the heaving in my chest; and yet, it cannot be touched.

The break walls remain in tact despite the thrashing course of the torrent sea pleading and forcing its way through. The doors remain bolted and barred.

My heart is stone.

It is as if it once were a tree, magnificent and majestic. A beautiful, tall, thriving red wood. Until a simpleton with an axe decided to render it of its beauty for one small sprig, and felled it. The wood now petrified and hard as stone remembers its beauty, its life and vivaciousness, its longing to grow and yearning for further endeavors. 

It is still.

It beats no longer.

My heart is but a mere portrait of what it was and now it has no more than memories. Base, cruel, taunting memories. It shall not be the same. It is forever changed by the actions of one small man with one small axe. Here is your proof that size is of no matter. 

Even the smallest of men with the smallest of tools can make the largest impact on a life, a soul, a raging and fiery beauty of which most men stand in awe. All it takes is one small cut to bleed the whole thing dry. One small cut to bring it to the ground, to have it begging on its knees for what life it has left. Forever hungry, forever thirsty, forever wishing and wallowing, just waiting for the day it might be whole again.

But things will never be as they were.