Death of a heart
Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame, darling you give love a bad name.
Dearly beloved we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Annetta Mother Smith.
The little girl who believed in a thing called love? Dead
The young lady who hoped for better? Dead
The woman who actually thought she’d get what she wanted? Dead.
My friend decided to pour cold water on the idea that I am just missing my boo, that I am a woman of phenomenal memory and mind and have experienced love for the first time. More like I have experienced adoration for the first time and I was bruised, broken and bleeding. I’d experienced kindness and I was recognising it for the first time.
She pointed out, with painful accuracy that I had been betrayed. Something I had acknowledged but without violence and bruality. She brought the blows.
So as a result, I am better off dead. “It is better to have loved and lost than not loved at all?” Wrong. there is nothing worse than desparately clingining, holding onto, begging life not to send you back to your cold dark cell of loneliness. Only to be sent back. When your mental health was so bad that death was preferable to dishonor, when you were on your knees for 6 months and someone wiped your face briefly. To be told to go back and choke on your own tears is too much to bear. While there was life, there was hope, but there is no longer life, there is no longer hope. My brain can’t comprehend anymore. What is there to live for? All I wanted was a kiss, a long, enduring hug. To fit the pieces that are broken and with the brutality of someone who lives a life of privalige. I was told to shut up about the first person to touch my heart. To not care so much about the first feeling I have ever had. The truth in my soul is that I don’t want anyone else. I’m sick of looking, I found what I was looking for and I’m done pretending that I don’t love because its inconveninent. I don’t love the way others love. People don’t understand. Not because its complex but because its devastatingly simple. No one has been so underloved as me. It hurts, I live in a world where it takes me twice the strength of a normal person to wake up in the morning. It feeds into my self concept. That I’m better off alone, because falling in love I’m not streetwise or savy and I’ll make a fool of myself. I want the pain to stop. I want people to stop knowing me and start listening to me.
I want this to be over. I can’t do another day. I only gave it 6 months because I found someone. If I hadn’t found someone, I’d have swung from a rope by now. They’re so cheap. £5 is all it takes to end me. I can’t do anymore pain. I need help. I need relief, there’s nothing I can do without feeling alone. I wake alone, I sleep alone, I travel alone I can’t do anything more alone. I can’t be vulnerable with anyone… because they’ll tell me to “stop” “stop wallowing” stop fighting, stop feeling. A feeling can’t be felt, and processed. It has to be an outcome. I’m not a man. I don’t want to do. I am a woman. I want to feel. I want to feel joy, I want to feel pleasure. Excitement. Something.
For now there is a hole in my heart and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Is he a hero or a villain? Can he be both?
Can’t he be messy and human and great and small? Because that’s the truth of it. I can accept duality. Why can’t others?
Don’t worry. I have taken her advice… I won’t come to her again about anything else. There will be nothing else. Either God saves me from this trial or he lets me rest next to my father. Either way I will rest in the arms of the man I love for eternity.
Grace and Courage
Annetta Mother Smith