A part of me battles with writing this down, and allowing it to be scrutinized for public consumption (not that this blog has a wide reach, anyway). I like to parade myself as this invincible person that deals with adversities with grace and poise, and for me, part of that is keeping mum about any negative feelings, and grieving only within the confines of my room, in the dark, where no one can see me.
For the most part, I’ve always been like that. Now though, I’m not sure I can be that person anymore, which puts me at odds with how I choose to present myself in this world. Then I realized, I’m not a public figure. Why should I be conscious and feel pressured? He was right. I am too hard on myself. There is something also unhealthy about grieving in such a way that will please your perceived audience. If it helps you heal, then go right ahead, but if it doesn’t, it’s time to reconvene and take a long, hard look on yourself. (There it is, logical me trying to knock some sense into my limbic system).
Expressing myself makes me feel better. Accepting the pain and acknowledging that I am sad is very difficult at first, but in the long run, it helps immensely in the healing process. After all, what kind of psychotherapist am I if I preach all of this to my patients and don’t practice this on myself?
By grieving openly, I don’t really mean being overly emotional and sharing every photo I see that pertains to my situation. I don’t have anything against that; if it helps you heal, by all means, go. That seems counter-intuitive to what I just said above, but I guess I still have my reservations; plus it was never in my personality to overshare.
And I guess that’s the difficult part in this situation. I finally connected with someone after years of being unable to reciprocate feelings that have been handed to me. Someone finally got through to me, and I suppose liked what he saw, and stayed. Until I wasn’t needed anymore.
I never even got the chance to allow it to blossom into something more meaningful. I was so ready to do whatever it takes, but….now that I think about it, I was the only one fighting.
I tried to do the right thing this same time last year. I cried, meditated (crudely), and asked for the strength to end it. It was the time when I realized what I fearfully suspected all along: I have come to love this person, and I know I will never be able to give him the love that he wants (ni yao de ai huhu) nor would he be able to give me the love that I want. I finally had the strength to end it, and yet somehow I was made to feel I was wrong and selfish for doing so, and I ended up staying. I wish I left then. I guess part of me felt his ‘feeling miserable’ about what I tried to do meant that he was afraid to lose me, and maybe, just maybe, make him fight as well. (I also felt guilt because he was undergoing a huge life change at the time, and maybe needed a familiar ear to listen to him, which is pretty arrogant of me to think that he would reach out to me…but then again, his first night there, he called me when he could have called any other humans in his life).
How wrong I was. How very wrong I was. How very stupid. I ended up falling for him even harder! And even now something tells me it would have been incredibly selfish leaving him at the time for my own self-preservation.
I am still in the process of healing, obviously. It’s all very fresh, and nights are particularly harder for some reason. I had to unfollow an Instagram account that I liked because it reminded me so much of him. But I have to soldier on. It may feel like the end of the world now, but I know deep down that it isn’t. I won’t find someone like him again, unless fate decides to make our paths cross again (statistically unlikely), but maybe I’ll finally find someone with the means to work for us as much as I am willing to.
Until then, I will have to go through this painful process of healing and work on making myself the best possible woman for that someone, and for myself too.