I used to think that you were the one for me
Because you were the first.
The first to treat me how I wanted to be treated
And how I deserved to be treated.
You were the first I was with while I began to
Realize my worth.
I used to place so much value in Firsts.
I remember my first boyfriend,
My first kiss.
I thought because he was my first
We were meant to be.
I wasn’t really in love with him, though,
I was in love with the idea of the First.
Instead I was introduced to my first heartbreak.
My first betrayal.
After a long line of Firsts,
I ended up with you.
I was certain this was the be all and end all.
You were the first to treat me with that level of respect.
You were the first to truly listen and share my pain.
I clung onto you for so long because
I felt that you were my most important,
Significant First –
And for the first time, you didn’t want me back.
For the first time, I let you go.
The one for me
Is not a First in many ways,
But is a First where it matters most.
And in the end, maybe Firsts aren’t important after all.
Life isn’t that simple.
He is not my first kiss,
Nor my first love.
But I remember our firsts
As being sweeter than honey
And I remember feeling
Lighter than air
Happier than ever.
So goodbye to all my last Firsts.
I’m glad I have been blogging a lot. At this point I would like to go back and speak to my former self. I posted the title as a quote a year ago. Here’s what I would say to myself – first of all, never say never. Second of all, what about your family? Your friends? I was referring to romantic love here as if romantic love is the only love that matters. It isn’t. Be grateful for any and all types of love that come your way. According to the ancient Greeks, there were many, many types of love.
The love I was referring to in the title was Eros love, which is similar to how we view modern love from the media (TV shows, movies, etc). There’s so much more than this. There’s Philia love, which is friendship. Storge is a type of philia love that is towards family members. Then there’s Agape, which is a love you have for strangers – a love for mankind and nature.
I’ve read up to 8 different types of love. We get so caught up in Eros love that we forget about all the other types of love. They are all important, and they are all invaluable. Take a moment to remember and remind yourself of all the love there is in the world.
For a friend.
What’s the difference between loving someone and holding onto fond memories of a past love?
How can you separate the two? Sure you can still love the person you have memories with, but what matters is your choice. You can choose who you will focus your love and energy on now. You choose you keep this person a memory.
Keep this memory tucked away, maybe visit it once in a while, but choose to keep living your life and moving on. Don’t dwell on the memories. That’s all they are. In the past.
Take it for what it was. You were together, and it didn’t work out. Love doesn’t always work, but that doesn’t mean it won’t exist elsewhere.
It is boring. And I mean that in the best way possible. There’s no drama, no mind games, no abuse. Healthy, good love is supportive and calm. All of the intense, passionate love does not need to be “balanced” with intense hatred, fights, blaming, or fear. Healthy love is safe and predictable. Boring tends to carry a negative connotation but when it comes to love, it doesn’t have to.
Intense, tumultuous relationships are not sustainable. Dramatic relationships are unstable and unreliable.
In healthy love, I learned, you and your partner are each other’s cheerleaders. You support each other. There is no competition or comparison. There is no putting each other down. You are truly partners. Lovers. Best friends.
I have always dove in and gave my all. I always given love with all that my heart could give. This time my heart is wide open and for once, so is yours. I feel like I’ve broken that last barrier I’ve never gone past. I’ve packed away that safety net I always laid out for whenever I’ve expected to be let down. I know I won’t need it.
– November 2017
You told me to call you whenever I needed someone to talk to. The only person I wanted to talk to today was with you. You told me you felt unwell last night, and I tried to make you smile. At 7pm I texted you. No reply. At 10pm I texted you again. No reply. I didn’t sleep last night just in case you called. I could have been there for you. But no, you swallowed a bunch of pills and ended up in the hospital. I could have been there for you. Yes, I’m angry. But I also understand. I hope you get the help you need. I’ll always be there for you. I wish you knew that.
Journal entry, 11pm.
I’m sad. Sad I couldn’t be there for you. I feel so helpless. Part of me feels guilty even though I know there’s really only so much I could have done.
I’m angry. Angry that you had so much support while I stayed silent. I hid my pain, it was my fault. But I can’t help but think that your pain is valid while I’m just a psycho.
I’m angry that my visit to the hospital was horrible. He knew I was BPD therefore I’m a faker. My pain isn’t real.
I cried for you this morning. I lashed out and screamed at my mom until my voice went hoarse. And then I cried some more. I wanted to cut so badly. I took my own advice and went for a run. I left the house as the sun began to set. I ran. I held back tears and I ran for as long as I could. Ran until my throat burned from gasping for breath and my legs trembled. I walked and stumbled upon the field while wandering through previously unexplored paths. I went into the middle of the field and sat. I just wanted to talk to you. I was so mad. I was so desensitized and apathetic and unempathetic, yet helpless. Yet my heart ached for you. I fell back and laid there for a while, as the sky went dark. I laid down and let myself cry. I’m home now and I feel like I can’t cope with the pain. I want my own pills to knock me out, just for tonight.
I finally found someone who I love and who loves me back, and of course he lives thousands of kilometres away. This sucks. Long distance sucks. Why do these things always happen to me?
I finally found someone who I love and loves me back. It’s the kind of love I’ve always dreamed about, and despite the thousands of kilometres between us, we’re both willing to make it work. I found someone who will go through this pain with me because he loves me.
Music is extremely important to me, as it is to so many people. People love music for so many reasons, and here’s why I love it so much.
Music says the words I want to say, but in a much more beautifully elegant way. Just the fact that there is the instrumentals, harmonies, melodies, and all the little nuances there make it much more beautiful to me than if I were to say the words or write the words myself.
Not to mention, if you add in the fact that I’m an extremely sensitive soul and I can be moved to tears by a huge variety of music, music is a recipe for me becoming a puddle on the floor.
So when I make you a playlist, I am baring my soul. I know people are deterred if they don’t like a genre or an artist, but for me the music and lyrics speak beyond those small details.
I’ve always been very sensitive about my music taste. Well, I’m sensitive in general. Growing up playing music and letting it heal me has fostered a very deep connection for me. Singing songs that speak to my heart has fostered a deep connection with many songs.
I want to share my love, but I am so afraid because of how sensitive I am. Sometimes I think, how pathetic. How weak. But more often I’d rather think, how lucky. Extreme emotional sensitivity is a blessing and a curse, depending on how you look at it. How fortunate that I can be so moved by music in a way that some people simply cannot fathom. I am grateful.
You have to understand how I see people: outward appearance is insignificant in determining how beautiful I think someone is. When I say I’m ugly, sure sometimes I do dislike my outward appearance, everyone does once in a while. But I don’t inherently like myself. When I say I’m ugly, I mean I’m not a good person, I’m not a worthy person. I’m ugly.
I’ve met people who are outwardly considered good looking, but they’re awful people. I am not swayed by looks. If you’re manipulative, arrogant, or rude, I’m going to think you’re ugly. Ugly means “unpleasant or repulsive” and it does not always mean in appearance.
Sometimes I do think I’m pretty good looking, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think I’m ugly. And maybe when you say I’m beautiful you aren’t only talking about outward appearance, but that is how I interpret it. Maybe we need to clarify. So yes, I believe you when you say I’m beautiful in terms of a pretty face. Yes, I do believe you. So I will smile and nod when you say I’m beautiful. I will accept your kind words and I will believe you. I love hearing you say it, I really do. But I still think I’m ugly. And I think I’m the only one who can change my mind.
This is where broken people are.
This is where they wipe their tears away
And put on a new face;
A shiny, glossy mask.
They meet other
Shiny, glossy people and exchange superficial pleasantries.
This is for the people afraid of being alone;
Afraid of being marooned –
By a willfully blind puppet master.
They look for another,
Convincing themselves that they are the ones in control.
This is where the hopeful people are.
This is where the lost people are.
Passing through crowds of people,
But not really seeing a single face.
Trying to both remember and forget,
Wishing they knew now only what they knew then.
Searching for a shard of resemblance
Of a happier time.
This is where she shall drift,