How soon we forget our pain. Women keep bearing children because they forget the hours of agony that labor can cause, romances bloom from the ashes of broken relationships and shattered hearts that can wreak havoc on one's soul, countless tattoos are etched into skin after the first sting of the penetrating needle is forgotton. We all forget how badly things can hurt, emotionally and physically.
I've always considered myself someone who has a high pain tolerance. Running taught me to endure the pain of endurance, rough-housing and moshing taught me to love and cherish certain aches, pains, and brusies. Part of my sexual satisfaction even comes from the occasional sharp bite, strike, pull, thrust of an overexcited lover. I enjoy the process of getting pierced, and I love the process of getting tattooed even more. The momentary pain is worth the shaky knees and zen-like state that comes afterwards.
One thing I've never learned how to love, however, is the pain of distance. I must admit, I really have not gotten a terrible amount of practice: I rarely got homesick during the six months I lived in France, I broke up with my then-boyfriend a month after I left and proceeded to forget him, and I've already been back to see friends from that time. Still, I remember. I remember lonely nights, sitting alone, wondering if anyone would ever be there to put their arms around me and comfort me again. I remember feeling my heart literally ache for my ex, despite the fact that he was a cheating piece of scum. I remember missing my friends, my family, my bed, my language, everything, so badly that I would feel like I was going to explode. My therapy resided in my journals, the one thing that did nothing but listen sympathetically while my pen sketched out the anguished thoughts that were floating freely around my brain. Yes, that I remember.
From these memories, I've concluded that it is probably better to forget such pain, because of moments like this one. I'm realizing that I want to get far away from this place, and I want to go abroad again-- this time, for as long as I possibly can. I'm not worried about missing my family (even though they're moving to the other side of the planet themselves), I'm not worried about missing my friends. I'm not worried about leaving my school or this godforsaken town I live in; that's half my motivation to leave. I'm worried about leaving the one person who means the most to me: my boyfriend, my best friend, my lover. He means so much to me, words cannot even begin to describe. I love his perfections, and I love his flaws even more. I love that we're different and yet so alike. I love the fact that he loves me more than anyone has ever loved me, and so selflessly. I am completely enamored with this man, but I have a feeling in the deepest corner of my heart that I am going to leave, and I am going to hurt him. Its what I do best. And I hate that, I hate that so passionately it hurts even more. I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to lose him. I want to love him, to expand his world, to expand his heart, and to give him all the joy that he's ever given me, and more. I love him, and I don't want to lose him.
I don't think anything is going to prepare me for what seems to be this inevitable pain. It is times like this that make me wish I couldn't feel at all.
I've always considered myself someone who has a high pain tolerance. Running taught me to endure the pain of endurance, rough-housing and moshing taught me to love and cherish certain aches, pains, and brusies. Part of my sexual satisfaction even comes from the occasional sharp bite, strike, pull, thrust of an overexcited lover. I enjoy the process of getting pierced, and I love the process of getting tattooed even more. The momentary pain is worth the shaky knees and zen-like state that comes afterwards.
One thing I've never learned how to love, however, is the pain of distance. I must admit, I really have not gotten a terrible amount of practice: I rarely got homesick during the six months I lived in France, I broke up with my then-boyfriend a month after I left and proceeded to forget him, and I've already been back to see friends from that time. Still, I remember. I remember lonely nights, sitting alone, wondering if anyone would ever be there to put their arms around me and comfort me again. I remember feeling my heart literally ache for my ex, despite the fact that he was a cheating piece of scum. I remember missing my friends, my family, my bed, my language, everything, so badly that I would feel like I was going to explode. My therapy resided in my journals, the one thing that did nothing but listen sympathetically while my pen sketched out the anguished thoughts that were floating freely around my brain. Yes, that I remember.
From these memories, I've concluded that it is probably better to forget such pain, because of moments like this one. I'm realizing that I want to get far away from this place, and I want to go abroad again-- this time, for as long as I possibly can. I'm not worried about missing my family (even though they're moving to the other side of the planet themselves), I'm not worried about missing my friends. I'm not worried about leaving my school or this godforsaken town I live in; that's half my motivation to leave. I'm worried about leaving the one person who means the most to me: my boyfriend, my best friend, my lover. He means so much to me, words cannot even begin to describe. I love his perfections, and I love his flaws even more. I love that we're different and yet so alike. I love the fact that he loves me more than anyone has ever loved me, and so selflessly. I am completely enamored with this man, but I have a feeling in the deepest corner of my heart that I am going to leave, and I am going to hurt him. Its what I do best. And I hate that, I hate that so passionately it hurts even more. I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to lose him. I want to love him, to expand his world, to expand his heart, and to give him all the joy that he's ever given me, and more. I love him, and I don't want to lose him.
I don't think anything is going to prepare me for what seems to be this inevitable pain. It is times like this that make me wish I couldn't feel at all.
ninapoe:
Thanks for the comment ! 