Personal musings on love and loss

Love is tricky subject, and is one of the most written about things in human nature. If we as a species do have it figured out, then this particular specimen just doesn’t “get it.”

I have spent the better part of 18 months trying to get over a lost love. Throughout that time I have absorbed and attempted to live out the advice given to me by best friends and family, but despite the best efforts of all involved, I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. The emotional, sensitive side of my brain can’t seem to conjure up anything useful on the subject but pain, and the logical part of my brain seems to go into overload with the stinging contradiction that my silly “feelings” bring to the surface when I think of what was had, and lost. I just don’t know how in the world to cope with loving someone so thoroughly, and yet hating them at the same time for their part in what they have deprived you of. There are moments where I just want to get on a giant soapbox and scream to the world about how much bile I have stored up over this person, if for nothing else just so that there is a chance that she might have to experience as much misery as me.

Despite the laundry list of problems that there were at hand with the person who has come and now permanently gone from my life, I can’t change how I feel. Burying it didn’t work. Denying it didn’t work. Being angry about it seems to cause as many problems as it fixes. A select few women have come and gone since then, but have only exacerbated the wound instead of doing anything to heal it. I can’t expect other people to do my healing for me, of course, but there is a such thing as pouring vinegar into an already festering wound.

I’m not sure what I expect to accomplish with blog entries like this, but I suppose there is a certain amount of burden lifted by just getting feelings out in the open. If there is an actual message that I am trying to get across, it may be surmised like this: the man who once wrote, “it is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all,” was wrong about that. I have not known of any greater agony than to have had such a thing and to have lost it. It was better not knowing.


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