Free falling

Looking back at some of my blog posts, I realize that I’ve allowed myself to be sad for too long. Yeah, I’d have brief bouts of happiness, but they’d be overcome by long stretches of sadness in between. I even started to welcome the sadness right in, if only because there was a slight chance that I’d be happy at some indeterminate point in the future.

I’m still sure ending the recent pseudorelationship was the mature-slash-the-right thing to do. I’m telling you, it sure took a hell lot of guts, to see someone you care for leave. I was so sure that was it. I was watching the one walk away.

But I agreed to do it anyway, not because I wanted him to run after me—that wasn’t even in my wildest dreams—but because I knew I had to stop myself from sinking deeper into sadness just so I can get a few minutes of happiness. I don’t know exactly what love means, just that it’s supposed to hurt sometimes. And I was in pain pretty much half the time.

“We accept the love we think we deserve.” I never really understood what this meant. Now I understand that maybe it’s about allowing yourself to take all the pain that comes along with the love. For a while I was willing to take both the pain and the love in, but then it became unbearable and I had to grapple for the exit sign faster than I could hold my breath. 

Now that someone’s taking me along on another ride, I can’t help but wonder if this is the kind of love I deserve.

He’s incredible (only because I have no other word for it) in every way, and everything’s been great, and (again, for a lack of better word) I’m just happy…That’s precisely why I can’t help but ask: Isn’t this much more than what I should be getting? Am I way out of my league? Am I too unsure? A little too rash? Taking things a bit too fast?

You see, I’d been sad for quite a while and I’m not even used to writing about how happy I am. And the moment I start becoming genuinely happy, I start doubting myself. And the nagging thought that this is not permanent or that I’ll be sad soon starts creeping in.  I won’t even try to deny it: I’m scared.

But. It looks like things are finally looking up. Maybe I finally get to be happy. Maybe it’s finally about time I stop second guessing myself and just fucking go for it. Maybe it’s time to free fall. 

Wounds left dry

Since the breakup, I've developed a sense of entitlement I don't deserve to have. I pass writing assignments as late as a week ahead of the deadline. I've even stopped giving excuses, because by now, my clients must have realized how lame and ridiculous they are. Besides, at this point, I might have singled out every possible excuse to not write.

The only time I can ever really get words out of my mind is when I remember a certain memory that brings me back to when we were together. When that happens, wherever I am, I'd take out whatever device or piece of paper I can scribble on, and just let myself express.

I'm not in one of those times, but let me try to string words together without the requisite overload of emotions. Let me try to get back on my feet again.

Music helps. I don't think I've listened to music this much. Here's one song on repeat. I guess I could relate to the song--how something so good begins and progresses for quite a while, and how it has to stop all at once, and how the chances of running away start to slim down.... As for us, well, I think we managed to run away before the doors were too hot to touch.

It helps that I get to talk to him every once in a while. That I find out he's doing well. And that's reason enough for me to move on and get over it. If anything, I'm damn competitive. I don't think I'd allow myself to sulk in a corner pathetically living through the memories over and over again, knowing that he's quite happy with himself.

I get sad and tear up at the most random moments. I got sad when we landed from the plane. That one time when I was just reading a finance-related article. Even when I was fucking walking in the mall. And yes, I realize how sad and pathetic that is. I've been through five formal relationships for fuck's sake, but not once can I recall being so stubbornly stupid in love. I'm simply not supposed to be the type of guy whose life fritters away after getting his heart broken.

Am I still holding on to that slimming chance that someday, when, as he said, the world becomes nicer, he might consider this life? I think that saying yes would be blind optimism, and I'm not even optimistic to begin with. So I'm saying no. Because no is the probably the truth. Because no is pessimistic, and no is who I am.

When I'm sad I stop myself from asking him: "Is it possible to get back together?" Instead I take out a sheet of paper listing what the reasons are for breaking up. The blood isn't in my hands. More blood is smeared in his than in mine. I remind myself that it was a decision that had to be made, a decision that I have to be mature enough to stand by. So stop being so fucked up, because you brought this upon yourself,

This is also the point where I realize that in the end, there's really no one else to pick me up but myself. I've been dating, but it didn't change a thing. Once I took out my phone and rudely texted in front of the other guy. Texted him, in fact. I couldn't care less for the guy I was dating. I wasn't interested, but for propriety's sake, that wasn't a gentlemanly thing to do.

I did meet someone who understood my situation. I can't say I'm counting on that person just yet, or if i can ever count on anyone ever again. But just like music, I have to say: it really helps.

Right now I'm just trying to write.

The sadness

It can get so strong that it consumes me. I asked him how he does it, and he told me he busies himself with movies and books.

See, I can't do the same. because it's the kind of sadness that paralyzes me. It pains me that I can't really talk about it to anyone. It pains me even more that I have to purposely stop and forget something that meant so much to me.

A doctor told me the only way to deal with pain is to do just that: deal with it. I didn't really understand what she meant, but what I know for sure is I can't keep trying to put the memories in a tiny box and pushing it farther and farther off my mind. Trying to forget...it just doesn't work anymore. The only thing it does is give you a temporary calm. Trying to soak all the sadness in... it only ends up drowning me.

Then when you think you've moved on and stopped thinking about him...There it goes again. That fucking memory of just talking in the car trying to sort things out. Or of kissing like fucking teenagers. Or plainly fucking and making love.

I didn't think it was possible for me be in too deep.

I'd like to get out. But I'd love to crawl back in.