Ari says that love has always been something heavy for him to carry. i could not agree more. i feel the same. like love can be a heavy thing for me to bear. as a poet once said, love and grief are both nonnegotiable. if they arrive, you have to acknowledge them unless you are willing to go mad. they do not accept compromises or negotiations. you just to face them. with their raw unsettling nature.
i have been thinking the different things that love can be. something light. a soft landing. a parachute. in as much as i think love can be all these beautiful things, it can be heavy as well. a cross to bear. an anchor that keeps one tied down. it can also be painful. a splinter in the flesh. a garland of thorns. maybe the beauty of love will always be tied to its pain. even a rose has a thorn. so that is that.
there are so many instances where love has felt to me like an obligation. a duty i must fulfill. a call to serve. i am enlisted to this army without my volunteering. i might have made a promise in the beforelife to have all this love to give, but have no way to do so. remember saying that grief is all the love one has but cannot give. i am always in mourning even though my heart is always full. tell me where i can put all this love down. somewhere soft. a place where things remain true and alive.
so what that i have all this love but cannot put it down. i lack the grace of a ballerina. i am not eloquent in elegance. i cannot carry this much love. this much hope and still stand upright. still walk without tripping. still talk without long pauses. it is impossible. so what that i have all this love and cannot put it down. so what that it weighs on me like a boulder. so i carry it on my shoulders, on my back and on my self. so i cry myself to sleep night after night. so i take all this rage and violence and unleash it on me. i am my own battleground.
I killed a plant once because i gave it too much water. lord, i worry that love is violence. – Jose Olivarez
to whom do i owe the biggest apology? no one’s been crueller than i have been to me – Alanis Morissette
so i try to study the love languages to understand why people do cruel things in the name of love. since when did love become a weapon to brandish against others. so i try to make myself small. i will do anything including betraying myself just not to be an inconvenience to anyone. yes. i will swallow my needs, wants and desires just to be an easier person to love. i will forget my language for you. forget the cries of my body. forget how my skin felt before your hands. it is sickening. so i shrink my big heart to avoid swallowing the next person whole. so i say i love you only after you have said it first. so i wrap myself with yellow tapes and look like a crime scene, anything to deter you from coming closer, because i do not think a person will actually love me for who i really am. so i avoid physical contact until i have hit a brick wall and you are the brick wall and i have nowhere to run. i am prone to falling apart. i told a friend recently that if someone wants to hold me they better to do it tightly. so i do not tell my parents how bad my symptoms are getting until i am worried that i might die and that will be cruelly unfair to them. that is when i start talking. so i hide my pain and suffering from my family because i am afraid if i let them see the depth of my sadness, they will drown. and we cannot have a drowned family on my account, can we. this is how i love them, by protecting them from the radioactive nature of my anguish. i cannot tell them all the ways i have been a cruel tyrant to myself. or the things that i have tolerated from people. i say this is how i love them. it would break their heart to know the anatomy of the shattered pieces of my heart. i say this is how i love them by not letting them see the bottom of my pain. one, because i doubt there is a bottom for this ocean. two, because they will think they can save me. but i know the bloody opposite is true. i cannot be saved by someone else. how i know this is another day’s tale.
If anybody could have saved me it would have been you – Virginia Woolf ( from her suicide letter)
i told myself one day i will say the things that haunt me the most in black and white. say things as i have actually experienced them. no metaphors. no similes. isn’t that how confession works? maybe talking will help ease the burden. but that day is not today.
a while back my sister told me about the heartbreaking suicide of a young doctor. i think he left a suicide note if i remember the incident correctly. i cried. i wish he could have been saved. this is what i said, i wish he had been saved. i wish his story would have ended differently. what i did not say, i wish it was me. i wish it was me. i wish it had been me.
And what I really intended to say in the end remains unsaid – Franz Kafka
living is a heavy thing for me. it feels impossible so many times.
when i wish you my reader love and light, i mean the best kind. x.