“It’s better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all,” said someone who’s never been in deep, over your head, crazy love. I hate this phrase and I hate when people say it to me. I’ve only had it said to me maybe once, but when it was I had the sudden urge to punch that person in the face. I know it’s meant to be comforting. But it’s really not. Of all the things a person could say they choose that? Thanks for not even thinking about the effect it will have.
So you find yourself in love, the last thing you want to do is loose it. Because when you do a huge, dripping chunk is ripped from somewhere deep inside you, whether your love dies or leaves you, the feeling is generally the same. Here is a person you let inside. They broke down the walls and everything about you is exposed, they become your new walls. Holding you together and letting you hold them together too. When you’re together you’re strong, unified and devoted. Once they’re gone your left leaning on nothing. You could crumbling down because your walls are gone so everything vulnerable and undesirable about you is out, quivering in the open for the world to see. At that point you just don’t care about anything, what you still have or what you may have in the future. For once in your life you’re totally focused on the now, the searing, ripping, coldness of being alone for the first time in years. You can’t see to the next hour let alone the next day. You are probably certifiably insane and a danger to yourself and those around you. The smallest things can set you off on a crazy streak of depression. And you wonder all the time at the world, at your life, at your choices.
Eventually you have to choose if you’re going to rebuild yourself. You have to decide to be strong enough to build and hold up your own walls again. But with the loss underfoot the foundation is soft, shifting and you have to keep a constant eye on yourself to make sure you don’t loose your grip. Otherwise you’ll revert back to being crushed by the rubble. I’m told the foundation will get harder with time, that fewer and fewer things will upset you and shake you to your core. But mine is still puddy with people leaving footprints and when I stoop down to examine them my walls begin to tetter. Loosing that love, that crazy, real, deep, deep love is the worst thing I can imagine so don’t tell me, “Welp! At least you had it…once.”