& Other (a library of thoughts)

Logical Men Always Break Your Heart & Other Women’s Wise Words

Why do you always date selfish men?

There is no shame in asking someone to love you. Pride is how you pick yourself up afterwards.

You were not wrong to trust what you had. He was wrong to break that trust.

How Are You Still Single & Other Idiotic Things Guys Have Said While Breaking Up with Me

You were an experiment.

I’m not good enough for you.

This is awkward but…I forgot my wallet.

I thought I could marry you. I still think that’s true.

I think about you too much and it’s distracting me from the rest of my life.

You are by the far the easiest person I could have fallen in love with. But I couldn’t let that happen.

Our Capacity to Love May Be Infinite, but Our Capacity for Heartbreak is Not & Other Life Lessons I Learnt at 30

Love is something that happens to other people.

My heart is so full of hurt that there is no space for more. I can no longer be hurt.

It only gets harder to believe that the world is not actively trying to make me bitter.

Boys are always falling in love with me. And leaving before they have to love me.

All the ugly endings have beaten up all the butterflies of beginnings and so I have zero desire to date.

I have doubted every man that’s ever loved me. Even the ones that did. Even the first.

It seems I forget rather than forgive, by letting layers of life muffle the pain (but every time I remember, I hurt).

The More I Live, the Less I Feel & Other Bitter Truths

I live in a near-perpetual state of grief.

I grieve for innocence, for hope.

If feelings were muscles, mine would be raw with abuse.

I am almost always alone. That does something to a person.

It is easier to believe that I’ll never be loved than to believe that one day I’ll meet a man who isn’t horrifyingly disappointing.

Life gets smaller as I get older. That is a good thing.

Life has extinguished a light in me and I do not know how to turn it back on.

I have already lived so many lives and none of it seems real except for the chapter I am living, and as soon as it is in the past, it is as foreign and distinct to me as fiction.

Life does not get less painful, but you do get better at dealing with it.

You can be terribly sad and okay at the same time.

 

 

 

point a to point b

wake up so softly that you can’t tell when sleeping ceased and consciousness seeped in. don’t be surprised that you are okay. do be surprised to find a message from him on your phone asking where he can buy kale. realise maybe he needed you more than you needed him. he needed to realise he wanted kale in his life. write back. then let it go. don’t tell him you’re letting him go. don’t tell him it’s not because he’s not worth holding onto. that confessional urge has dissolved. you know that this is part of being a woman. you do not need to prove that you are okay.  tell him without telling him that you’re sorry you’re okay. it’s not him. he is good and beautiful and you could have loved him deeply, but you’ve explored every back alley of the alphabet and you know your way from point a to point z off by heart. you get where you’re going much faster if you know where you’re going and you’ve got no space in your life for someone who doesn’t want you.

you are the sofia. accept it. this is an excruciating role but it is crucial. excruciation is crucial (look at the letters). you are the one that makes them need kale. you are the teacher. you are the one that dies. and this is a gift. you wouldn’t be this person if you couldn’t take it.

GENDER: Feminine
OTHER SCRIPTS: Σοφια (Greek)
PRONOUNCED: so-FEE-ə (English), so-FIE-ə (British English), zo-FEE-ah (German)  
Sofia is a female name derived from σοφία, the Greek word for “Wisdom”. The name was used to represent the personification of wisdom.

this is what happened.

he came and the two of you stayed in bed for twenty-four hours. somewhere near the beginning you started talking and somehow you broke up. but still, you both stayed in bed for the whole twenty-four hours, fused, even when you cried, and when your bodies unravelled in sleep, he grabbed you. you watched a movie that rattled both of you in different ways. you kept saying, i’m the sofia. i’m the one that dies. in the morning he said, i don’t want to stop holding you. and you were confused again because this isn’t the first time a man has held you with one arm and pushed with the other.

you called a friend (those lifelines are unconditional and infinite) because you were wild with hurt and you were worried you’d start weeping on the tram. you said i’m not even tired of this happening. that’s how many times it’s happened. you saidbut i am so tired of falling in love, always soclose but never really in it. always allowed to dip my feet into lakes of love, just enough to remind me what it’s like to be drenched with intimacy, and then i’m back on dry land, alone, with all these holes where people used to be. 

you wanted to have a tantrum. you wanted to say, but you told me i had a reason to stand still! don’t. instead you said, how was your flight? oh you made a new friend? how lovely. you didn’t say, i took a shower but i still smell like you. i brushed my teeth but i can still taste you. i’ve stripped the bed, but making it overwhelms me and the notion of a naked mattress doesn’t horrify me right now (there is almost a perverted pleasure in sinking to such despair).

but maybe he is too young to know about the frenzied kind of grief that has you crying until you throw up. i know you, he said. you will try to find a way to blame yourself for this, the way you’ve done with everything else. but i won’t let you this time. this isn’t happening because of you. you hated him for saying the right thing when you were trying so hard to hate him. you said, i hate you so softly that it sounded like love. you didn’t ask him if he knew what it’s like not to want to exist. you didn’t admit you know why people want to kill themselves and it’s not because they want to die but because they don’t want to exist and you know that dying and not existing are not the same thing. he knows this about you.

you stood in front of the mirror and burst into tears, your eyes bulging slits, your cheeks pink and hard, your mouth bending ugly, saying again and again, i don’t deserve this. later, you wailed under the naked duvet, grateful that tears aren’t countable because the number would scare you.

you didn’t turn off anything, the laptop, the light, because you were afraid of being engulfed by grief in the dark. you tried not to try not to think about it because the trying gets you thinking about it. remember telling him, there is not a single consistent man in my life; only the women stay.

then you reminded yourself to trust the universe. you didn’t hate yourself when that trust didn’t make it hurt any less. you didn’t hate yourself at all. remember him saying, it’s difficult to like someone who doesn’t like themselves, and you were confused (maybe you’re not quite there yet).

the thing is, you do trust that you can handle everything life gives you. trust life. acceptance eases much suffering. yesterday the shock bred pain. but if you trust life, if you trust that every disappointment is a necessary pebble in the mosaic of you life, then you don’t need to suffer. everything that happens to you is for the better. pain is inevitable. accept. let go. flow.

hold on tightly, let go lightly.

obstacles are just pebbles for your mosaic. every x is  pebble. wisdom is seeing someone as a pebble instead of the whole mosaic. you are the mosaic. you are the sofia.

Just Get Through

At first you told yourself that all you had to do was get through Christmas, your birthday, just get through summer, and you’ll be fine. But your thesis was about him, so you told yourself, you’re only thinking of him because of your thesis; when you finish it, you’ll be fine. And then it was, once you get to Greece for summer, you’ll be fine. And then you came back, and by then you were saying, one year, just one year; after December 16th you’ll be fine. You thought twelve months was ample time to get used to not having someone. That was naïve.

You’ve become better at taking care of yourself. When you’re feeling down, you’re extra kind. You take as many showers as you need to feel clean. You light incense. You stroke your own hair. You remind yourself that you are a decent human being. You put on red lipstick. You make yourself pretty on the outside, and usually the inside follows. But some days, you still drink in the afternoon. You still make yourself smoke to avoid eating. You still tell yourself again and again, like a vicious refrain, that he just didn’t love you enough (even if it might not be true).

You have a hard time letting go of things. You have boxes of memorabilia—tickets, notes, corks, Mentos wrappers. You have hundreds of journals. You sift through memories, cutting yourself on them again and again.

The truth is you don’t think you get over anything at all. You just let time work its magic, let life fill you up with other things, other friends and loves and experiences until there is more of them than what hurts. The truth is that you are not over him. You have just become better at forgetting to remember him.

This morning she said, “It’s just that other people are better at faking it,” and you wonder if it’s true, if other people are just as overwhelmed by loss and are just really good at not letting it spill over.

It’s something you hate and love about myself, this capacity to love. To be so familiar with heartbreak that it doesn’t deter you from loving. You love so many people and have so many people that love you. More than your share. More than him, you suspect. More than a lot of people. But somehow it is you that feels alone, you that lugs around this big bag of loss. You don’t love people less when they hurt you. You might decide not to keep them around but you never stop loving them. This is a gift, you suppose. Not everyone can love unconditionally.

Sometimes you think that maybe you’re stuck because he hasn’t let go of you either. But the truth is that some things are always unfinished. Endings don’t always sever. This whole year has been eclipsed by your energies—his and yours—ripping apart. Violent, like two dogs tearing a cat in two. You are both dogs in this situation, both aggressive with ego and fear. Sometimes you can ache for answers so badly that the unfairness of it has you clinging to hope. This can’t be how it ends. But it is. But it was.

And it doesn’t matter that you’ve changed for the better, that this break-up turned you inside out in the most remarkable way. That it taught you to love yourself. That it taught you to rely on yourself first and then on others. That it created the space for wonderful women to come into your life. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t make you happy or that you know very well he can’t be the man you need. It doesn’t matter that he is so good at breaking your heart, at finding new ways to do it, even a year later. It doesn’t matter that you value yourself now and are very aware of how much more you deserve. You can be over someone and still love them. You can move on and still love them. You can not want someone back and still love them. They can tell you that that they have nothing to say to you that they can’t be friends with you that they haven’t been in love with you for a long time (‘I thought you knew that’) and you can still love them.

In your stronger moments, you are impressed with your heart. Your vulnerable, battered, stubborn heart that loves so deeply it takes years to heal. And one day you will be over him. Just get through Christmas, your birthday, just get through summer, and you’ll be fine. (But you suspect you’ll always love him.)

Ocean of Emotion

Earlier this year, I had an eccentric lover with a romantic name that kissed like a European. We used to sit on my balcony getting drunk off wine and each other, talking about love and space and grief. We shared an immediate intimacy, and I was so grateful for it, having just gotten out of a relationship with a cold, emotionally-stunted boy. My lover was tall and wild and sensitive. On the sixth day, he told me he loved me.

He doesn’t speak to me anymore. My lovers are divided like that. Some of them have become my friends and we write to each other from time to time to say hello and I miss you, but come to think of it a lot of my lovers never want to see me again. As if they want all of me or not at all. It’s sad. I am not like that. I don’t understand why the intimacy disappears when the relationship ends; the person is still there. But I am beginning to realise that I have an exacerbated capacity to emote and, as such, have learnt not to fear feeling.

Earlier this morning, waiting for my take-away coffee, I watching people brunching in the sunshine and felt a little sorry for myself. It’s been one of those days when I need to be around people, and there are no people around. And then I thought, “I am amazing, ” and it made me tear up and smile at the same time. Because look at me, living without emotional padlocks. Letting the loneliness waft in out. Sometimes so anxious I hit myself. Sometimes so joyful I speak to strangers. Me, who cries on the floor at least once a month. Me. I do all those things all the time, and yet I am not bitter. Like Louis Armstrong, I think to myself, what a wonderful world. It’s kind of sensational to sail through storms of emotion, to have almost drowned in them so many times…and still not be scared of the ocean. Especially since I know people who don’t even dare to swim.

My January lover was like that, was like me. He suffered a lot, but he was also alive. I think he’s working on a vineyard in New Zealand now, with a girl he fell madly in love with. Sometimes people are there for you in small but pivotal ways. I hope he’s happy.

This song by Dustin O’Halloran reminds me of him.

>sistahtac<

sitting next to me on the tram there was a man that smelt like clean laundry and i almost leant my head on his shoulder, just to close my eyes for a moment, just to feel a shoulder. life is sensation but

that was an accident, but life is sensation, and sensational too

you learn not to need people and i don’t. he taught me that. he did too. there is strength in not needing people but there is comfort in knowing people are there if you need them.

this afternoon i panicked. maybe it was the dream i had about an invader in my childhood home. i think he killed someone. i don’t think it was me. maybe it was seeing my ex and realising i have no idea who i fell in love with, that he treated me terribly and i never fucking realised because he’s a good person. maybe it was because i haven’t eaten properly in two days. but it happened, i panicked. and i kept going. even though i didn’t want to. i had a long hot shower. i wore something sensual and violet. i went out and saw people that were happy to see me. i only had one glass of wine. the ride home was an inward spiral.

i am here and i am making spaghetti. i am here and i am going to eat spaghetti in bed and be okay. i am okay.

i like my shoulders.

“It’s really hard to be a rebel when you hate getting into trouble.”

“You know, I was thinking, watching Third Person… Do you ever write about me?”
And I laughed. But I thing is, I don’t. I don’t think I ever have. And that’s when I knew I wouldn’t see him again.

“Sometimes my centre is so ripe; I am of this world, but not in it.”

“I know I love myself because I’m sleeping naked again.”

“If you don’t like your face, change your eyes.”

“I must be the only person that uses yoga as an opportunity to self-punish.”

“I am so used to missing people that it almost doesn’t matter anymore.”

“The hook was hope. As if his regret was the proof I needed to believe that I am loveable.”

“Maybe we attach too much importance to external praise.”

“I think that if I could be with someone for a year, I could be with them forever.”

“Forgiveness is easy when you’re happy.”

“I mean, yes, the ones that hurt you the most are the ones you love the most. It’s inevitable. Not the ones that love you. It is you that loves them that hurts the most. But I think that their love for you is what heals you and allows you to move on from that pain. That’s when it becomes part of a stronger foundation. But when on love is not coming through to you, that pain becomes ugly. Barren. A sharp thing inside you. You can get used to it, and it can become part of your foundation. Once you pass through it, you are stronger, wiser. But I don’t think you ever really get over it. You just develop calloused fingers so it doesn’t hurt to hold it inside you anymore. This kind of pain will always exist, even when you forget to remember it. And so, yes, it is possible to never want to see someone again, even if you’ve forgive or forgotten them or both.

Some things are so traumatic to overcome. They take up so much energy and strength and perseverance to heal from, that once you’re on the other side, you can only be relieved that the door is behind you. Sometimes you are so grateful it’s over, you never want to think about it again.You will never open that door again, not even to get to the good bits.”

“We are more haunted by the those we hurt than the ones that hurt us.”

This Song is Called “I Only Think About You When I’m Sad”

Intimacy. It’s what I crave and also what terrifies me the most.

A friend says: “I’ll be friendly towards him. But if you want me to punch him in the face, I will.”

I have learnt to love from my mother and she loves like a lion. (How do lions love?)

Fear does not protect us. It is walking around a strange house at night–barefoot, blind, scared. Then sun will not come up until we’re comfortable with the darkness. Or, the sun will come up, but the night will always follow, so we must learnt to feel safe in the dark.

A friend says: “If you’re devastated, be it. There is no beauty or freedom in holding it in.”

You have to live without love, learn not to need it, in order to live with  it.

We feel better just by being with each other. I guess that’s called love.

“We have a lot of brothers we never had.”

“Asking someone to love you is listening to your heart’s desire. Pride is how you pick yourself up afterwards.”

Telling a cat nuzzling a book, “You can’t get affection from a book,” then, amending that statement…”If you can’t read.”

The key to controlling time is to think about it– or not.

We never stop loving anyone or fall out of love completely. It fades but can never disappear. Or the you that loved them gets smaller as you evolve and change. But the you that loved them will still always exist, even as a small, forgotten room in the mansion of your morphing soul

It is possible to be happy with the thought of past distress. Surviving trauma, and finding you still have the ability to laugh and love afterwards, means everything will be okay, always.

How many people have we walked by again and again in various suburbs or cities or even countries, and we just don’t know because we don’t know each other?

Sometimes we are better at playing the role of ourselves than actually being ourselves.

Lips are so much more intimate than tongues.

We cannot support equality if we do not include ourselves.

Qualities that turn me on

1. brilliance

2. generosity (of spirit, of wallet, of self)

3. power. confidence.

4. laughter (to do and induce)

5. comfort in non-conformity

6. good manners– the little things. goodness.

7.  loyalty* (this includes fidelity)

8. affection. affection. desire.

9. INTIMACY

I am a puppy with love but rarely meet people that excite me.

“I fell in love the way you fell asleep; slowly, and then all at once.” YES.

You learn not to need people.