I came across this Hemingway quote that says “write hard and clear about what hurts”
I write almost everyday for myself. Here in this blog though, I write intermittently, I don’t post most of what I write. I try to make it pretty or put a nice photo when I do post. I try to process my hurt first, then write about it.
But today I felt like just writing it raw. not sure why. but here it is.
I don’t know what hurts right now. Anxiety is here in my heart. The daily low-grade anxiety, and some more on top of it.
Maybe it is more than about my worry about my fucked up knee or what happens next.
Maybe it is about wether I am making good choices. Am I making good choices with my knee, with my life, with my writing online or not.
I remember the post I saw yesterday of this girl who is an author and she looks radiant and beautiful. It was a video clip that her new fiancé had posted, with her showing her engagement ring and he had written “my wife”
I have the thought that she is living her best life. She got married to her boyfriend of many years before, then fell in love with this guy, and is now marrying this guy. She is writing about of all of this. I think the thought “She is being courageous. Doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She is saying yes to herself” and am I doing that?
I compare my fears to the post of her and her new man in the car, and she is showing her ring and it is making me feel like somehow I am making a mistake, I don’t know what is the mistake, is it being with a man who doesn’t believe in marriage? Is it that I have somehow come to not really believe in marriage myself, to think why get married? is it that I think I am gonna regret it?
That maybe I am fooling myself. Maybe I want that. I want to be proposed to, by a an attractive man who is independent, has his own life but says I want you to be my wife.
My boyfriend whom I find attractive, is independent, has his own life, and in essence is saying; I want you to be my partner, to live with me, I accepts you as you are, I let you be you, I don’t judge you, I support you, I cook for you, what I have is yours, I accompany you where you need me, I let you see the real me, I tell you about my life, I plan the next trip and the next year with you and the year after, I want to buy a house with you, one we will renovate together and live in…. but no promise of forever.
And I think, well, it makes sense. How can I promise forever to anyone? I may even feel trapped if I were to actually get married. I haven’t felt consistent love for anyone in my entire life, not my family, not even myself. How can I say I will love you forever? Even this girl who is engaged and looks so happy, 2 years ago she told the other guy “I will be with you until my last breath” and is now marrying this other guy.
A part of me doesn’t give a shit about getting married, doesn’t believe in it. This part of me has no doubt about my boyfriend’s love for me. I know he wants what we have now, forever but is also open to life and what comes. This makes total sense to me and I believe the same.
But what is it about that photo, this guy who looks like such a free spirit, such a non-marrying type, saying “this woman is gonna be my wife” that makes me feel like I am not loved enough, not worthy enough, not doing the right thing in my life, not making good decisions.
It takes me to that part of me that feels unloved. The teenage girl who was not attractive enough, too olive-skinned, too clumsy, not feminine enough, not savvy enough, not cool enough, not popular enough.
The one who found out one day that she doesn’t look like the pretty girls. Was told another day that she walks like a duck, was told another day that she is too loud and that this is not lady-like. And remembers so many memories of feeling stupid and uncool.
Then I come to the now, and realize I went from a photo of a woman, a man, looking happy, she showing her engagement ring, him calling her “my wife” to some very distant memory where I heard and somehow believed I am not as lovable, that I am lesser.
Here is the hurt. The wound in my heart that opens whenever I feel unlovable. The teenage girl. No matter how much better looking I have made myself to be, a nose job, weight loss, better hair style, plucked eyebrows, how many people calling me attractive.
None of that matters.
The girl that feels ugly, stupid, uncool, dumb, clumsy, not-feminine, not-desirable lives in me and is ready to feel hurt when “he doesn’t say or do what would mean he loves you and means you are lovable”