#heartbreakwriting

[echoesofnothing26]

I always wonder what it would be like to see the other side of everything we once had. Maybe it’s just me, but sometimes I still wish for somebody to love, even though I know it won’t be you. I used to think I wanted to be yours, but the same old story keeps playing in my head like a loop, a tragic magic that never seems to fade.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How nothing’s changed, how we’re all just trying to figure out who we really are, but we keep pretending to be something else. I tell myself to be yourself, but the truth is, sometimes that’s the hardest thing to do when you feel like you've lost who you were.

I still get lost in it, the way I did back then. It’s more than a feeling, it’s like home sweet home—an idea that I keep going back to even though it’s been long gone. We all have our secrets, and I think mine is the way I still find pieces of you in everything, even when I wish I didn’t.

[triplewordscor3]

What were you doing when you felt the most passionate / alive?  PART 2*

Imagine him coming back after he went through my phone and found nothing, to apologize and take me home. Imagine us crying together because everything was so bad, there was no way for us to find our way back to love. Imagine him being the one that drove me to the airport thinking I wasn’t really leaving. I was already gone, the flight to Texas was just the act of me leaving. I had exited this relationship the moment I started packing my apartment up.

Making my way through the airport for my connecting flight to Texas with the heaviest bag as my carry on because that’s where all my notebooks, important papers, and books were. Crying, shaking.. I just couldn’t control my emotions. I was dying inside and my exterior couldn’t hide it. Some random lady handed me a hand written note that said “I don’t know what you’re going through but remember you are loved’ -AD I think I calmed down after that.

Fast forward to my time in Texas. It was the first time since I was 17 that I didn’t have to work, that I didn’t have to do anything for any body other than myself. My family was so welcoming. I never really witnessed a functional family up close. Sundays meant the most because they did Sunday dinners. They would trade off on who cooked, and where it was at. Watched a movie, or played a game or really just enjoyed each others company. I had the chance to see love up close and that saved me foreal. I stayed up late and read books or wrote down my thoughts / wrote poetry, colored. My cousin was so knowledgeable so there was always something to learn, something to experience but above all, I was safe. I felt safe, secure and loved. Nobody knew where I was for the first 2 months. I left FL without telling anybody anything. Not my mother, my siblings, my friends. Only him, and he didn’t even believe me. I was a ghost.

Most of the healing I did on my own. When the house was asleep, I could cry out my hurt and frustrations. I was still in contact with my ex, sadly. Most of the time we spent arguing but now I could argue with my voice. I could tell him no or to fuck off until he couldn’t fuck off anymore. His need to control me held no weight because I was in another state. He couldn’t physically hurt me in an effort to control me and so I was able to puff my chest out and speak frankly. Some days that did more harm than good but a part of my healing was being able to stand up to him, even if it was over the phone.

I found myself somewhere inside that guest bedroom. I live in gratitude for the space my cousin and his family gave me to find out what I needed and how I could be of service to myself. I came out of those white sheets stronger every morning I woke up and every night I went to bed I chipped away at pieces of me that did not serve. 

Coming back to FL was no easy feat. I had come to realize I left too many loose ends. I owed $ to the apartment complex, the light company, a phone company and more. I ran in order to come alive, but in order to continue healing I had to actually face everything I ran from. So I did.

3 years later, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. More passionate, more alive, more careful with my being. More in tune with myself and what I’m willing to accept. 

So what was I doing when I felt the most passionate / the most alive? I was falling completely apart. It was beautiful.