Its been the longest 42 hours I have experienced in awhile. It feels like years of heartache, emotion and pain all came spilling out within this short period of time.
There is nothing like the scream of pain, holding someone you care about back from hurting themselves, and then watching them being taken away in handcuffs and knowing you put them there because you weren’t strong enough. The agony of knowing you failed them. Not just failed them, but broke their spirit, pushed them to threaten themselves and their life because you broke them down. The heartache of having to remain strong while hearing them sob and beg to come home, to fix things. The pain of staying true to your conviction that you can’t allow them to suffer any longer because you are the cause of their suffering.
To feel this, I have learned is … it’s called love. Wanting them to succeed, to thrive, but failing over and over again to help them because you just care so much. You’d do anything! But anything, turns to desperation… and desperation turns to sorrow.
I wasn’t strong enough that I didn’t listen. I no longer trusted the outcome. I pushed and became a dictator rather than I loving and supportive friend—no—girlfriend. The opinion of others, whispering in my ear, drowning out my own failures because I had justified my reasons “for the greater good”. No, selfishness. My own immaturity. Immature in love and relationships, because I don’t know how to be treated, I don’t know how to be a team, I don’t know how to rely on anyone! Because, I suppose, this only proves, that I truly am cursed. I am poison.
The worst of this all, is the domino effect. Now they are stranded hundreds of miles away, you can’t reach them and the only thing you want in the whole world right now is to hold them in your arms. This, this is what alone truly feels like.
This—thing, called love, its grace, its forgiveness no matter the fault, its endurance, its power, its desire and its sacrifice.
I don’t deserve this. I probably won’t ever. But love isn’t given to the deserving, its a choice made by two weak and broken people to become stronger together.
Those fairy tales of rose petals and wine, long walks in the late evening and deep conversation about life and happiness. Those are utter lies. That’s not love. That is treatment, a bandaid, a pill to fix a symptom. Love is the fight, even if victory is no where in sight.