Love is a savage thing that cannot let me go

How many times can I say I love you only to be met by silence?
Is it the words you don’t want to hear or is it the emotions?
Do you believe that I must be lying?
Do you believe that telling me that you won’t ever feel that way will make me leave?
I know you don’t feel that way for me.
I can’t help how I feel.
I’ve tried destroying it.
Tried suppressing it.
Tried drowning it.
But it’s always there.
And, even if you told me that you hated me, that you never wanted to talk to me, never see me, never, never never…
I would be silent. Would never contact you, never be there. Because I respect you. But if you need me, you can say and I’ll be hurt. But I’ll help. Because I can’t stop loving.
It’s my fatal flaw.

Of course, if I’m with the person who loves me as I love them. All you’ll receive is my aid, my advice. Just because I can’t stop loving does not mean I’d ever hurt a person who I love for you.

My heart is a fool, my soul dances to his tune, and my mind imposes what order it can.

Shielding and empaths

People who feel empathy or are perceptive  and receptive of the emotions around them often talk about building shields. Building walls. Building cacoons. Building shells. They sequester themselves behind these walls and only venture out when they perceive things to be safe.

But things are never safe, not really. And when they get hurt they retreat behind their walls. And those shields, those walls get thicker. And thicker. Until even stepping outside them is painful. Until, like someone in a completely clean environment, the world itself becomes dangerous.

I say they. But I mean, we. Because I have done this. I built shields. I built a fortress.
Then I internalized the shields and instead of holding things at bay I turned off the thing that made the shields neccesary.

I turned off feeling. I turned off love. Turned off hope. Turned off joy. Turned off despair. Turned off pain. Turned off everything. Until only the highest high and the lowest low could get through. And both were the barest of sensation. So both became the same thing. And if I wanted to feel, either would do.

But this doesn’t really work. What I had done was create a retention basin. It was deep and large and I on the other side saw it as a done deal. But none of the emotions and pain dissipated. They all just seethed in my subconscious. Slowly building. Until the day that I decided, I’d try to turn my emotions back on.

At first, it was as if I couldn’t get to them. I had started the sluice but it took it awhile to get going. I felt despair. And it felt amazing. Pain like you cannot imagine. Sensation when there was none for the longest time, years.

Then the dam broke and I was drowning in it all. And I wanted to build the shields but I couldn’t. There was nothing that would hold back this onslaught. And slowly, I learned to deal with the pain.

Because there was no other choice. Hiding behind walls was not possible. So I had to find another way. Instead of walls.

I became like air, like water. Things could float to me, surround me, but I chose what to take in, what to expel. I bent with the current. Let it take me to joy or despair or love. And I took in what I needed. Sometimes I found myself drowning. No system is perfect.

But feelings can be learned from and dealt with, only when they are confronted, seen and allowed to effect you. It’s easy to want to be safe. But all safety based on walls is illusion. Only in the willingness and ability to protect oneself can one find any semblance of safety.

Annual rant about love

I hate loving as I do. It seems a form of madness to see this crack in someone’s facade and for the briefest instant see who they are, who they might be. Then to fall in love with them. It’s crazy. Everyone says, experts, psychologists, philosophers, etc. Everyone says love takes awhile to form. But for me, that only happens if I’m actively impeding it or if I sense something…off.

Otherwise the fall is inevitable. So yes I hate loving in this way because when I’m not with someone, I pine. I pine for all whom I love but am not with. Who say that “I mean so much or If only this or that.” And I rail against this cage of almost but not quite and shout “Why not!”

While I may accept the choices of others, because I must, I do not agree. Better to allow love to bloom in fullness, to throw yourself into it completely, to dance in its madness and delirious joy than to hold back and be safe or wait for more opportune times.

There is no perfect time. No mythical place where it’s easy. No set of actions that make life easy. But love, the luxury we have.
To not choose love is a blasphemy to me. A thing profane.

We live in a time and place where love can be chosen. Where who you are with is not dictated solely by economics and opportunity. We are not limited by social circle, physical location, or class. We get to choose.

How can the choice not be love? How can comfort be more important than the chance at joy? All the comfort in the world cannot make up for a lack, for the heartache, the silent loneliness.

That moment when my heart sped up, when you put your head to my chest, was love. Some would say it’s sex, but I say “Bah, boring.” Sex without emotion is empty. It’s the equivalent of eating candy. As compared to a meal of complexity and satisfaction.

Look me in the eye and tell me you are happy with your life. That your days all sit in the band between content and joy. And if not, define and discover why not.

If I am not the choice that brings you to the place of joy, then I implore, find it. Find love. Don’t just accept, strive. Don’t just survive, live. I don’t care if it’s with me, though I would prefer it. Choose love. Not just the love that is really like. Choose to exist in a state of love. It’s better than the alternatives. Even if it is fucking painful.

Synapse snap

Light shimmers to the beating of my heart
Falling so hard, falling so fast that the crash is like surfacing instead of stopping

Take harsh deep breathes
Feel every receptor, every nerve
Cold and on fire at the same time
Bathe in Quiescence
The semblance of normal

The flirtation that sparks the flame
Only this feeling, being connected, being needed, being loved
Only this feeling gets me moving, my blood pumping
Just to sit around and compose my words to the great expanse

This journey through a sky made full by storm
A heart made full by beating
The shimmers of blood pulsing through eyes

How I handle pain

I have had a revelation. I handle emotional pain the same way I handle physical pain. At first the pain is new and sharp. I drown in it. With physical pain I can shift it into pleasure, and that’s what makes me a masochist. That learned ability to shift one to the other.

With emotional pain I use it as fuel for poetry or songs. But long term pains don’t go away. They fade from my consciousness. I am shifting the emotional pain into a room and closing the door. I do the same with physical pain.

I acknowledge it, but if it is debilitating beyond my control, I shift it to my subconscious. My subconscious then handles it while my conscious mind goes about its business. With physical pain, this works and allows my body to function at a higher level for longer periods of time. With emotional pain it doesn’t work as well.

I need to unpack those pains and work through them. I can use my subconscious for some of that, employing my dreams to work through issues the same way I assign problems to my subconscious to work through. That results in occasional crying jags as my subconscious pushes something to the surface to be dealt with.

This process is thorough and I learn much about myself and my actions but it takes years to expiate the pain. With Sara it took eight years, a catalyst and then two more years to make it where I can remember without losing my shit, mostly. But I understand each emotional piece, each why and each feeling.

So that’s my realization. That’s why my pain lingers, and why people can see me as cold. My pain is a deep river flowing beneath the surface, only occasionally coming to the surface in ways other than writing.

Thoughts on love and my self.

I write poetry and stories here about love. Pretty much always. There are people who I’m romantically interested in who read my work. I wonder what they think of it. I also believe that people, not necessarily them, but I see a bit of overlap. People would think that I am fragile. Or maybe they think that because I love them, they are protecting me. I don’t require protection. I know my heart. I know my emotions. I can sit down and work through the why’s and the causes. I have coping skills. I’m a coping skill warrior monk.

Maybe they try to safeguard their heart. If so, tell me that. If I know that, and I love you, then I will make every effort to keep you from pain by my action.

Here is one of my many rules, for someone I love: I will endeavor, to the best of my ability, to safeguard your heart. Whether through my action, or by allowing harm to come by my inaction. If I fail, and it is possible, tell me. I will address the situation. Honor demands it.

How do you know if I love you? Ask. Ask me directly, not as a coworker or boss, as a person. Ask. My rules, which you probably will have heard about, obligate me. I must speak truth. So ask, “Do you love me?”.

Storm the gates

In the spaces you are, I find joy.  Your smile upturned, makes my heart beat faster, and only restraint keeps me from kissing you.

I want you as one cast out who seeks redemption in your heaven.
Even my private sanctuaries are empty without you. I am not unaware of your broken places.  I merely see them as the first flowers of beauty.

My ability to contain myself is coming to a ragged end. I must speak, even in this obscure forum, else lose my heart completely.