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jsscy · 4 years ago

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a love letter to my friends

About a year ago, I went through a really bad breakup. I guess it wasn’t the worst breakup ever possibly conceived, but it was pretty up there--for me at least. In the span of that relationship, I distanced myself from my friends, both voluntarily and involuntarily. I was constantly guilt-tripped to not spend time with my friends, and rather spend time with my partner. The times that I did try and hang out with my friends, I felt guilty about it. I had to ask for permission. I had to ask if my partner was mad or upset, and he would reassure me at first that it was fine, but when I came back home it always ended in an argument that would last the whole night. So I started to distance myself from everyone. And things fell apart soon after that. I felt trapped. I felt isolated. I felt lonelier than usual. I had dozens of tough conversations with my partner. I had hundreds of tough conversations with myself. I made mistakes and owned up to them. I felt awful about everything. The poison was seeping into the relationship. Or perhaps the poison was the relationship. But owning up to my partner about those mistakes and being vulnerable and showing him how awful I felt just fueled his fire against me and against our relationship. And soon everything spiraled downward. I hit a pretty hard floor. I was gaslighted and made to believe that I was abusive. I was told repeatedly by him, his friends, his family members that whatever I did was manipulation, deceit, guilt-tripping, emotional abuse, lies. Whatever word you want to throw in there. In my heart I was fighting for our relationship, for a chance to mend things, to climb over this hill, fight against the end tooth and nail. But before I knew it was even the end, it had already come. I felt lost, alone, no place to go, like I fucked up everything. I didn’t even know if my friends would accept me back into their lives after basically disappearing on them for over a year without valid reason. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, nowhere to feel at home. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. I reached out. I went to therapy. I sought help. I reconnected with friends that were in the area that so graciously took me in with open arms, friends that were there for me, that truly cared for me, that were concerned for me, friends that I will never take for granted ever again. Those friends showed me what love is truly about. It’s not about who paid for dinner last, or who did the dishes last. It’s not about what the other person said during the last fight, or makeup sex. It’s not about a ring or a promise or whatever dreams of the future there are. It’s about friendship. It’s about empathy. Camaraderie. Trust. Vulnerability. Acceptance. Honesty. It’s the four-hour long conversations one on one deep into the early hours of the morning when your life feels like a black hole threatening to suck you dry of everything you have. The moisture in your eyes, the strength in your back, the lump in your throat that never goes away, the heaviness in your chest and shoulders, the sinking feeling in your empty stomach. It’s about those that stay there through all of that, remind you that you can pick yourself back up, eat a meal, take a shower, put one foot ahead of the other, that it’s only a dead end if you make it one. It’s about laughing with every muscle in your body until your face is frozen in a gaping smile, tears in the corners of your eyes and your belly aches in the good kind of way. It’s about sharing your deepest insecurities and fears, and feeling heard, feeling validated, feeling real. It’s about being there for each other in our darkest times, and not making that effort seem like a chore or an I-owe-you. It’s about falling asleep on the couch with a loved one--a different kind of love, a person you consider your kin. Fuck blood, these people are my real family. These people were here for me when no one else was. When I wasn’t even here for me. About a year ago I had a pit in my chest because of a breakup. Because of what I thought was “love”. And about a year ago, beautiful people that I am so lucky and honored and grateful to call my friends, filled my heart with so much happiness and warmth, and showed me what real love is. And I will never let that go. That’s love. Thank you. I love you.

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jsscy · 5 years ago

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magic

Up above in the second story of a tiny brick house lay a dimly lit room, its window halfway open revealing the sounds of gentle rainfall to the inside. A warm soft white light peeked through the curtain blinds, reflecting on the glass pane and illuminating droplets like tiny liquid stars. Following the light in, there sat a girl by the window with a pen and journal in hand, writing away her deepest thoughts. She smiled down at the words, her mind seemingly in a dreamy far away place through which she could transport herself through paper. In this place, her heart could sing and its song would fill the room with such bright vibrant music not even the rain outside could drown it out. In this place, butterflies flew out from her stomach and flurried into the cherry blossom scented air, speckling it lavender and baby blue. In this place existed no distance or doubts, no worries or reason, time forever standing still. In this place existed a magic and a secret so deep, she dare not whisper the word aloud. And her pen kissed the paper still, writing of the place of her dreams, the place she’d rather be. And she wrote and wrote, with each penstroke breathing life into the magic, willing the dream into existence. Rain fell harder onto the windowpane, the peaceful white noise lulling her to sleep. She closed her eyes, ready to let her dreams take flight, eager to be in a place to let her heart sing.

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jsscy · 5 years ago

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