It has taken me so long to write this one.
I’ve started and stopped more times than I can count. I scribbled my thoughts longhand in a notebook, typed out my feelings here and there in my phone on the bus to work or while walking to the store. I sent a running doc from my phone to my computer and back at least four times. I knew I’d eventually piece them together into something special, but I didn’t think it would take two weeks.
I just…I want people to feel it like I feel it. I don’t want it to make sense; I want it to leave a mark. I want it to be beautiful.
Because that’s what the past four months has been for me—a beautiful process of falling out of love with my first love and falling a second time.
Maybe this post has taken so long because that’s how long this ungraceful journey needed. I needed to get the hurt out.
I remember my mom telling me so long ago, as I laid on the floor next to my bed in an absolute heap of devastation that I would get here one day—to the other side of the heaviest pain I’ve ever felt. She said one day I’d move past my first failed and broken relationship. I’d find someone else I love as much and maybe even more. She did what a mom does and spoke to my heart and consoled me at my lowest.
But I yelled at her. Between sobs I screamed that I’d never be OK again, that I had ruined the only good thing in my life. I had dark thoughts that night. She didn’t deserve what I said to her and I didn’t deserve what I said to myself.
But now. Here. Today. Yesterday and even the past four months.
Purple mountain sunrises. Happiness.
I made it. I fucking made it. Do you hear me? I’m on the other side of that miserable, dark, deep self-hate and pain.
And I can cry—and I am crying here and now—because I have fucking made it. I forgave myself damnit. I got over the heartbreak damnit. I gave it time like my mom said. I grew out of it and into myself and my happiness. I figured out how to love myself and then other people.
I am so happy here it hurts. Can you tell?
And then, because I gave it time and figured out how to love myself and then another person, I fell a second time. I fell for someone who my mom told me, that one horrible night and every other horrible night I let loose on her, that I’d like and maybe even love him as much as the first time I fell. I get it.
I didn’t believe it was possible to feel the happiness I feel every day out here in Colorado, especially with someone new. I didn’t believe there was anyone else for me. And I sure didn’t believe I was for anyone else. But then I fell hard and beautifully for a second someone.
The first time was fast and all at once. Our relationship started the day we moved in together. I hadn’t even figured out myself yet let alone myself with another person, and there we were sharing a kitchen and a bathroom and splitting rent. I think I wanted someone to rescue me from the things I couldn’t face in my own life and at the time that was my solution.
This time—this second time—is different because I know what I went through to get here. And I’ve given myself permission TO LIVE AND EXPERIENCE AND ENJOY LIFE AGAIN.
I wish I could tell my year-ago self that the clouds will pass and the storms will let up. I wish I could tell myself how much I’ll learn about my own strength and I wish I could tell myself to listen to my damn mother. I think she felt the hurt like I did, but now I think she can feel the happiness like I do now.
And, honestly, I don’t know if this relationship will crash and burn like the first. I don’t know if this is it or if he is the one, but I know for damn sure falling for a second or third or fourth time is completely possible. Even if it took one year and 1,870 miles to get there.
Push on and push through, PUSH ANIMALS >>>