It’s been a long day, at the end of a really long week for me. It’s been a very deeply reflective night too, to top it all off. I have dealt with people this week, that I simply could not contain my composure with. They pushed past my current limits of decency, and ‘congenial customer service’, and I just kind of…unleashed. Moments got heated, and I questioned the boundaries of common sense, and why we are not all gifted with it. I threw caution to the wind, and hoped that somewhere on the other side of it, there would be people that supported my professional decisions. Long story short, to my astonishment, they did.
Home-time, and a few drinks later, I was unintentionally, conversationally exploring the pain of my life-long losses, and how they may have transferred into my adult acceptances and weaknesses. Fuck!…why is everything psychological? The mind behind a flesh and blood, biologically mechanical creature never fails to amaze me. And the fact that I can’t even figure out my own, should usually be a good determining factor, that I have nothing down on figuring out anyone else’s. But here we are…
So, the crux of it fell here: My ‘hyper-realistic view of love’ falls on my view of my parents. Because they loved. And I saw how they loved. God…did they love.
I have so many memories of my Mum and Dad being in love. And I have not even one of them not loving each other. And for as long as I remember, it’s what I’ve wanted. I’ve wanted what they had. I grew from a child into a teen, to an adult, wanting their kind of love, that endured. The kind that held its passion, and kindness, and support, and emotion, for as long as it lived and beyond. The kind that leaves a person losing faith in everything beyond this world, when it is ripped asunder well before it has played out fully.
And the fact that I felt I held that kind of love in my hands at one point, only to have it taken by uncertainty and indecision…says I guess I felt…feel…cheated. I feel the loss of something that is far beyond my control. And that hurts. It hurts badly. It leaves a huge gaping tear in my comprehension of the way things are ‘supposed’ to work. Because true love is ‘supposed’ to work out right. Mock if you will. Not everybody lives in a world of black and whites. Some of us still try and believe in the happy ever afters. Perhaps most of them do only exist ‘a long time ago, in galaxies far far away’…but not everyone wants to settle for less than their vision, or hopes, or dreams.
Sure, reality dictates that in a million possible outcomes, the dream is not the most likely. But once you’ve seen that truth is possible, I don’t understand wanting less. I guess I’m a walking contradiction of settling for less for so long while wanting more. Perhaps we all are. But I resolutely don’t want to be. And being a stubborn bitch, it’s my right not to settle again. Even if it means staying wanting. Perhaps I have romanticised what I had, or have even been deceived into thinking I ever had something at all. Perhaps all the words and promises were just lies from the beginning. But to me, it was real, right from the beginning. And perception is everything. I felt it entirely. And that makes it real…to me.
The problem was though, while I saw the overwhelming emotion I was feeling, and the peace it brought me, I didn’t want to admit that it mightn’t flow both ways. My parents’ love was extraordinary, because they made it so together. It wasn’t just about connection or raw emotion. It was about reciprocal love, time and support. It was about compromise and sacrifice for each other. It was about understanding and acceptance of each others flaws and strengths.
You see, the fact that we can, and do, stand tall on our own, doesn’t mean that we don’t still need or want the support of others. Having unlimited permission from someone you love, to simply be yourself is a powerful thing. Having the commitment and loyalty of another person, makes you feel safe and loved. And…I never had either of those.
As for now, all of that has come to an end. Time doesn’t stand still, and there are things to be done, without hoping or waiting for change any longer. Wheels are already turning in the dusty, near forgotten grottos of motivation, and perhaps this year will see movement come to fruition on many ventures, adventures, or misadventures. Whatever comes to be, will do so however, perhaps from a disillusioned perspective, but one that will allow freedom of choice, and without the burden of hoping for something that will never be. I am tired, and there is no energy left to hold onto ‘strings better left to fray’.
Forward is the only way we get to go Kids. Best grab some strong coffee and lace up those boots…
Cheers
V
vampressa 