I Knew Better. And Yet... (A Confession)

This isn't a Dear Diary thing. It's more of... well, I'd like to share something for a moment.

I was unsure about sharing it, but I know how you, my dear reader, love the tea from someone's life. And if it's about Yours Truly, you are more interested than ever. Don't deny it! The numbers speak. Come on, I'm not judging you. I know you're intrigued. So without any further adieu, let me start.

Last year end, I got a little hasty with myself and finally decided to jump into the dating pool. I expected a different experience than I had in my 20s and I did come across someone.

Things moved quickly between us. Our conversations became part of my routine before I even noticed. We smiled, flirted, laughed, shared, argued, consoled, patched up, and spoke endlessly. I finally felt like the woman I was supposed to be. I felt safe in the comfort of his voice. And all that without even meeting! I felt like I belonged and that maybe, just maybe, this was it.  

Boy, was I wrong.

Here's the most important thing you need to know about human nature: you cannot use your brain and your heart at the same time. They don't walk hand in hand. You can't think clearly when you're feeling deeply, and you can't feel deeply when you're thinking clearly.

So naturally, I became braindead during the course of this phase. I ignored warning signs, misbehaviour, and misconduct, all in the name of emotions. I knew I couldn't change him, and that was never even my intention. I just didn't want to change myself either. I wanted to meet him in the middle.

I tried. I failed.

At the end of that tragic episode, I could see reality clearly, but my heart wasn't ready to accept it. Even today, there's a tug of war between my heart and my mind, and for the life of me, it is making me more miserable than anything else. I feel defeated and lost at the same time. It feels like a loss I don't know how to grieve, and I cannot soothe or reassure myself no matter how hard I try.

I'd been sad for days. And somewhere in that sadness, I realised I had also lost the writer in me because it feels like he took her with him when he left.

I've tried multiple times to write. Something. Anything. All in vain. All I do is stare at a blank page while tears roll down my cheeks. And that scares me, because this is all I have that is entirely mine. The writer. There is nothing and no one else I can call mine and stand to lose.

I keep telling myself, this is just a phase. But I'm not sure this time if it is.

Maybe I'm overwhelmed. Maybe it's an emotional congestion thoughts too tangled to find their shape, feelings too loud to be put into words.

This post is just an attempt to get back to it. I haven't got it back yet. I don't quite know how to. But this is all I have to offer right now, a vulnerable, scared, and confused version of words that ask for nothing in return.

The Queen of Random Things