zondag 12 maart 2017

About staying soft when the world doesn't want you to.

I was in doubt. Did I ruin it by choosing to deviate from the plan? Or actually by not choosing at all? Because that was what I had done, wasn't it? I had let myself be guided by my impulses. I hadn't thought about it for too long, as I would have done a few years ago. My former self would have been proud. I had followed my intuition and it proofed to be reliable. So why did I feel torn?
It wasn't until you blamed me for ruining my own plan that the pain set in. I still wondered why this whole thing made me feel so bad. I mean, this plan had never been too important and it wasn't like there were any promises involved. There was much I didn't understand, much I couldn't grasp, but one thing I could no longer deny: I had made a mess and it felt as if I had broken something of value beyond repair. I was confused. I desperately tried to reconstruct all that had happened in order to try to understand what was going on. Yet, there was no point in trying to do so, whereas the pain was devastating and left no room for clear thoughts on how to fix this. I sank to the ground behind the desk. I wished I had never left home, while sitting there, trying to get myself back together. I wrapped my arms around my knees, because it felt like I was going to crumble like pastries any minute. Sometimes, when really bad things happen, it physically hurts. Maybe that's just me...

I could hear the sighing and groaning of people who were working their asses off just a few metres from where I was hiding. When my brother announced we were getting started, I faked a smile and walked into the strength zone of the gym. I hoped actual physical pain would at least put a stop to the maddening explosion of thoughts inside of my head. Normally, fitness functions as therapy for me. However, I just couldn't find the strength to push trough. I was in desperate need to find some relief, so I unlocked my phone and opened my notes. I opened a new one and instinctively started typing. "'I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up...'' I kept typing these three words on repeat until some of the weight that was hanging on my chest started dropping down. Now that I had survived the tidal wave of pain, grief came to visit. I put up with it until I was alone with my brother. On our way home tears rolled down my cheeks.

Days past by and I found myself an explanation for that night. I jumped at the conclusion it was a combination of exhaustion and panic about what direction to give to my life. I had had a long week at work and had been working overtime figuring out whether I should start studying or travel the world next year. It sounded like a solid explanation and involved facts only. The solution was easy as well for I was only 20 years old and it was okay not to have figured out my entire life yet. Even though I solved the mystery and it turned out not to be too much of a problem, I still felt lost for a few days.

When you asked me again why I had been so sad that day, I opened my mouth to simply give you the same answer I had given you the first time you asked. The same answer I had given myself. Apparently you weren’t willing to accept half of the truth. And now, suddenly denying was no longer possible. There was more to it. I closed my mouth, because I’m not the type to lie. I walked away to change clothes and get ready for my work-out. Standing in the dressing room I finally had the courage to look critically at myself. I had known it from the moment this all started. I had been so sad, not because of anything tangible. I had been feeling sad, because I had lost myself somewhere along the way. My deviating from the plan wasn’t what had killed me, it was the deviation from who I am that made me feel sorrow.

I had always been the girl that was feeling too much. Who cared too much. For a long time I felt like no matter how much they would take & take & take, I would still have so much left to give. I wanted to be kind and strong, but at some point I couldn’t bear it anymore to get my heart broken over and over again. To get wounded, because of my vulnerability. I hardened. I decided to anticipate. To be ready. To always be one step ahead. Now that I had mastered these skills I wasn’t much like myself anymore. I could see it wouldn’t take too long before I would make my first victim. Maybe I already had, unknowingly. Just by acting like I didn’t care, while actually my heart was filled with love. I was lucky enough to be a good actor, but no matter how hard I would try not to care, I would never pass the test. That’s when I decided to stay soft, regardless of the consequences.

I will try to stay soft, even if I feel like the world doesn’t want me to. 

2 opmerkingen:

  1. Is er een reden voor het Engels of voelde dat gewoon natuurlijker? Het werkt namelijk heel erg goed en het komt echt over.

    1. Blogs ontstaan meestal eerst in mijn hoofd voor ik begin met typen. Dit keer begon het met een aantal Engels zinnen en toen heb ik dat maar doorgezet. Voelde inderdaad natuurlijker.