The Fragility of Becoming

As of late, I've had a really hard time getting up in the morning. I wake up to shallow breathing and tears streaming down my face. I've lost feeling in my hands and don't have the strength to make a fist( I end up laying on them to regain some blood flow). Memories come flooding in and I'm reminded that what I went through is not a bad dream but a new reality. And it's goddamn terrifying. After a solid twenty minutes of laying in bed calming myself down and reasoning with myself that I need to get up and face the world, I go into my bathroom and look in the mirror.

My dark circles are a shade of plum, my complexion is sallow and dull, and my hair looks like it's been dipped in Vaseline. I strip off my pajamas and turn on the shower. I wait for the water to heat up and I can see what weeks of barely stomaching food has done to my body. I can count my ribs like planks on a xylophone. A sick part of me is pleased. Then I take a closer look. "Would he want me now? Am I enough now?" It's at this moment that I literally hate this person who has taken my mind and body hostage. I committed self-love suicide to hold onto a love that took me away from myself. I don't know who the fuck this weak person is that is standing in front of me. I feel uncomfortable in this skin as if it's been shrunk three sizes too small. I know this feeling well. It's the feeling of becoming. Becoming someone new, different, and unfamiliar.

I've spent almost a decade going through the garbage of my past in therapy. I carefully went through my childhood, made it through my formative years and started to embrace myself (with many hiccups along the way) into adulthood. I used to feel unstoppable in the knowledge that I knew who I was. Now, I'm not so sure of anything anymore. I understand that it is not "attractive" to acknowledge going through a hard time especially a breakup. It's like all social mores give allowance to traumatic experiences except for matters of the heart. I know that I am not showing the image of the unruffled, rejected female who carries on strongly despite her loss. No, I'm showing the realness of it all. Regardless of my loss of self-knowledge that has drifted into the ether, I do know that I am real. I've always been real and honest about what hurts.

I always thought, "I'm never going to lose myself to another human being. That's beyond unhealthy and no one should have that much power over a person." Well, that's logic talking and not emotions. The truth: I got lost and now I'm trying to find myself again with a bunch of fragmented pieces. The truth: I feel fucking broken and I don't know who I am anymore. And I know that is not a "flattering" quality for a person who should have self-respect and dignity. The truth isn't pretty and the truth doesn't always take into consideration self-respect and dignity; the truth simply is.

I knew something hadn't been right for a long time but I kept thinking if I was always trying then it would have to get better, right? I could feel myself slipping away. I was losing my fire. I am the only person to blame for this feeling and new way of being. But I wanted to keep wearing the rose-colored glasses. I had fought for a person. I had given almost two years of my life. I gave my all and then some, and I wasn't going to stop until I got exactly what I was promised: a future that was bright and filled with a love so deep that the ocean would be jealous (thanks Rupi Kaur for that metaphor). It was because of this "fantasy future" that I morphed into someone that I no longer recognize. I still had a voice but it fell on deaf ears. I could still feel that lion's roar inside me but it was quickly quieted because I would rather have him in my life than not at all. I chalked it up to, "Love is different for everyone and this is how my love is going to be."

I know the love that I gave was genuine, pure, and was abundant beyond measure. I'm not ashamed of the love I gave. I'm ashamed that I chose to be blind to things in the name of love. The person that I loved is not a bad person. I've come to the conclusion that they love differently from me. Yes, it broke me. I feel broken because of this loss and I pick myself up while cutting my fingers on pieces of the past. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I thought this was it, and I was getting everything that I waited for. As my sister says, "there are no 'supposed to be's' in life" and she's right. Just like the truth, life simply is. We broke up, that IS what happened. Our love didn't survive that IS what happened. Who I am right now, IS who I am meant to be in this moment in time.  Who I am right now IS a part of becoming a new version of myself.

I may feel fragmented, lost, and rejected, but this is the fragility of becoming.