Improv Resource Center - Forums
This particular piece I wrote almost a year ago about a girl who left me shortly afterwards. While it was not written for her specifically, it was written about her. So far, this has been my best received piece. The original title was "Idle Musings of a Romantic Nature".
Joy shared is joy doubled. Pain shared is pain halved. - Spider Robinson
Love shared is always joyful for the sharer. - Allen Call
I can't sleep. It's something that affects me quite often... Some people talk about how they have insomnia because they don't like to go to sleep. Me, I categorize it. There's the popular "I don't want to stop what I'm doing so I won't go to sleep" insomnia. The common "I've got too much energy to go to sleep" insomnia. One that I'm not familiar with is "I'm so high/buzzed/dosed that I can't sleep" insomnia. However, the one that I am very familiar with, and which has me in its clutches right now is the "I'm so tired that I can't sleep" insomnia. I know this one quite well, it has been my bed partner for many years now. It is a very unique creature. Unlike many of the more common forms of insomnia, it's not a matter of not wanting to sleep. It is an inability to sleep. I can't sleep, and so my mind starts to wander down strange and varied pathways.
One thought that keeps coming back to my head is something that my girlfriend has said a few times to me recently. It is a simple phrase, and one that I understand. However, I have yet to be able to tell her my answer to it. I can see this wonderful Arcadia before me, rich and powerful with heady beauties, but I cannot describe it. My love tells me that she wishes she could love me as much as I love her. She gives me the impression that she is disappointed in herself because she feels that she is cheating me from love. I'm left trying to remember how to cry because I can't explain to her how much she has given me, just by being herself.
Like most of the population of the modern world, I did not have a happy childhood. Like most of the population of the modern world, my parents fought and my younger years were miserable. So be it, it seems to happen to everyone nowadays. What I feel makes me unique is that I can face the fact that I made my childhood miserable. Sure, parents fight and make kids feel awful. Sure, some of the punishments handed to me were horrible. But I did things to myself that would bring shivers to most mental doctors. I played with my own head. I did things to myself through the shear strength of my imagination. Forget flogging, I tortured myself nightly for the wrongs that I did that day. I still do. I cannot let myself go unpunished for what I have done, and maybe someday I can remember how to forgive myself. I have given myself illnesses, I have given myself phobias, I have given myself scars. And one night, many years ago, I turned off my emotions.
Can you imagine living a life of cold, hard facts without the ability to laugh or cry or scream? Moving through each day with the precision of a chess game, but locked in a stalemate just waiting for someone to make the call. Of looking at school activities and think of it, not in terms of fun, but in terms of advancement. Will this help me get ahead? Is this worth the time involved? Many of these questions pass through our minds each day, as we progress through school or work. Most of these questions leave us in the still of night as we lay to sleep, either alone or with loved ones, and allow our minds to wander off into eldritch worlds full of happy dream stuff, sad catharsis, scary boogie monsters. I know this drifting. One night, in a fit of punishment, I denied it to myself. I turned it off. And then I couldn't find the switch again.
I felt like I did not deserve to be loved. After all, I am a bad person. Bad people do not deserve kindness, or love.... or sadness. I thought that if I turned off all of the good things, the bad would go with it. Well, I was right. Horror of horrors, was I right. I lay there with those questions going through my head and no way to drift off. I remember looking at my family and thinking to myself, do I love them? What is love? And realizing that I was internally barren. No sense of loss, no sense of sadness.... no happiness.
To say the least, the time immediately after that was very confusing. I was 10 when I did this. I did not understand what friendship truly was. I couldn't comprehend what pride was. Everything was objectives, and the accomplishment of objectives. Bare, cold facts with no padding to cushion the hard edges.
It was a little over a year later that I even understood that I lost something. Books, those were the key. Reading a book for class, and realizing that I didn't understand what motivated the characters. Reading about loyalty, and love, and anger. They were abstract terms, and I could talk about them at length. They meant nothing to me, though. Empty facts with no basis. It struck me while reading Anne Frank that I had lost something, somewhere along the line. An emptiness filled me, a sense of loss. And then the horror set in.
I finally understood the nature of my loss, and how hollow my life was. It took a couple more years after that before I finally realized what was supposed to be behind a smile. I have unlocked many of my emotions now, but sometimes, late at night, I wonder if I have all of them back. I remember that I still can't remember how to cry. I think I've cried less than ten times since I graduated high school, and most of that ten was because of great pain from nasty injuries. I cried the night I ended a two year long engagement. I cried the night I betrayed a dangerous confidence that was given to me, to remain true to my friend.
Yes, I screwed myself up good when I was younger. It is because of the scars I gave myself that I appreciate certain things that I have now. Such as love. I revel in the fact that I can love. What I can't find the words to tell my girlfriend is that I am not losing anything by loving her. In loving her, I am filled with the joy of being in love. The wonder of looking at her and knowing that I accept her, with her flaws and merits both. The bliss of being able to love her, all of her, from that fairy smile to the sleepy crankiness, and everything in between. The surety that I do not need to look for anyone "better", because perfection cannot match the tiny, wonderful details that are her. The knowledge that I can love her as much as I do.
The love that she feels for me complements what I feel. She finds a physical beauty in me that I do not see. She sees the kindness in me that I cannot acknowledge. She tries to understand the twisted, knotted thing that is my soul. I love her for that... for the simple truth that she can love me.
I hear a lot of complaints about not being able to find someone to love you. I hear them alot, and know them well, because I made most of them. A simple thing tends to slip my mind when these types of complaints come out, and would help me feel so much better if I could remember it at those times. If you can find someone to love, then it is not so lonely. Love does not have to be returned to be experienced. It simply must exist within to be enjoyed.
I throw myself into love easily. I've lost a great many chances because she "doesn't want to hurt" me. I've watched these women walk away from the love that I offered, and never regretted loving them. Yes, it hurts. However, it is a bearable pain, and is better than to feel nothing at all. I know, I've been there. It's not true, it never hurts less with time. The ache never gets better no matter how often it is felt. However, it becomes bearable with each repetition, as the realization arrives that there will be another love, and another chance to experience that joy rise within myself. I risk it all, because I keep the joy and memories regardless of the outcome. And I'll be damned if I lose that one special one because I was scared of win-win odds.
My girlfriend feels bad because she doesn't think she loves me as much as I love her. I cannot find the words to tell her why it doesn't hurt me... until now. A couple in love... share their love. It's not a matter of I love you more, you love me more. It's a matter of we love, and we share that love between us. I love you, my Butterfly, and it fills me with as much joy as it gives you. You love me, my Butterfly, and it gives me as much joy as it fills you. We love each other, and that is how it should be. No matter what comes or what goes... No matter if we remain together or go our separate ways, we have this. We have loved, and been loved. That will be shared with us until the end of days.
Joy shared is joy doubled. Pain shared is pain halved. - Spider Robinson
Love shared is always joyful for the sharer. - Allen Call
I can't sleep. It's something that affects me quite often... Some people talk about how they have insomnia because they don't like to go to sleep. Me, I categorize it. There's the popular "I don't want to stop what I'm doing so I won't go to sleep" insomnia. The common "I've got too much energy to go to sleep" insomnia. One that I'm not familiar with is "I'm so high/buzzed/dosed that I can't sleep" insomnia. However, the one that I am very familiar with, and which has me in its clutches right now is the "I'm so tired that I can't sleep" insomnia. I know this one quite well, it has been my bed partner for many years now. It is a very unique creature. Unlike many of the more common forms of insomnia, it's not a matter of not wanting to sleep. It is an inability to sleep. I can't sleep, and so my mind starts to wander down strange and varied pathways.
One thought that keeps coming back to my head is something that my girlfriend has said a few times to me recently. It is a simple phrase, and one that I understand. However, I have yet to be able to tell her my answer to it. I can see this wonderful Arcadia before me, rich and powerful with heady beauties, but I cannot describe it. My love tells me that she wishes she could love me as much as I love her. She gives me the impression that she is disappointed in herself because she feels that she is cheating me from love. I'm left trying to remember how to cry because I can't explain to her how much she has given me, just by being herself.
Like most of the population of the modern world, I did not have a happy childhood. Like most of the population of the modern world, my parents fought and my younger years were miserable. So be it, it seems to happen to everyone nowadays. What I feel makes me unique is that I can face the fact that I made my childhood miserable. Sure, parents fight and make kids feel awful. Sure, some of the punishments handed to me were horrible. But I did things to myself that would bring shivers to most mental doctors. I played with my own head. I did things to myself through the shear strength of my imagination. Forget flogging, I tortured myself nightly for the wrongs that I did that day. I still do. I cannot let myself go unpunished for what I have done, and maybe someday I can remember how to forgive myself. I have given myself illnesses, I have given myself phobias, I have given myself scars. And one night, many years ago, I turned off my emotions.
Can you imagine living a life of cold, hard facts without the ability to laugh or cry or scream? Moving through each day with the precision of a chess game, but locked in a stalemate just waiting for someone to make the call. Of looking at school activities and think of it, not in terms of fun, but in terms of advancement. Will this help me get ahead? Is this worth the time involved? Many of these questions pass through our minds each day, as we progress through school or work. Most of these questions leave us in the still of night as we lay to sleep, either alone or with loved ones, and allow our minds to wander off into eldritch worlds full of happy dream stuff, sad catharsis, scary boogie monsters. I know this drifting. One night, in a fit of punishment, I denied it to myself. I turned it off. And then I couldn't find the switch again.
I felt like I did not deserve to be loved. After all, I am a bad person. Bad people do not deserve kindness, or love.... or sadness. I thought that if I turned off all of the good things, the bad would go with it. Well, I was right. Horror of horrors, was I right. I lay there with those questions going through my head and no way to drift off. I remember looking at my family and thinking to myself, do I love them? What is love? And realizing that I was internally barren. No sense of loss, no sense of sadness.... no happiness.
To say the least, the time immediately after that was very confusing. I was 10 when I did this. I did not understand what friendship truly was. I couldn't comprehend what pride was. Everything was objectives, and the accomplishment of objectives. Bare, cold facts with no padding to cushion the hard edges.
It was a little over a year later that I even understood that I lost something. Books, those were the key. Reading a book for class, and realizing that I didn't understand what motivated the characters. Reading about loyalty, and love, and anger. They were abstract terms, and I could talk about them at length. They meant nothing to me, though. Empty facts with no basis. It struck me while reading Anne Frank that I had lost something, somewhere along the line. An emptiness filled me, a sense of loss. And then the horror set in.
I finally understood the nature of my loss, and how hollow my life was. It took a couple more years after that before I finally realized what was supposed to be behind a smile. I have unlocked many of my emotions now, but sometimes, late at night, I wonder if I have all of them back. I remember that I still can't remember how to cry. I think I've cried less than ten times since I graduated high school, and most of that ten was because of great pain from nasty injuries. I cried the night I ended a two year long engagement. I cried the night I betrayed a dangerous confidence that was given to me, to remain true to my friend.
Yes, I screwed myself up good when I was younger. It is because of the scars I gave myself that I appreciate certain things that I have now. Such as love. I revel in the fact that I can love. What I can't find the words to tell my girlfriend is that I am not losing anything by loving her. In loving her, I am filled with the joy of being in love. The wonder of looking at her and knowing that I accept her, with her flaws and merits both. The bliss of being able to love her, all of her, from that fairy smile to the sleepy crankiness, and everything in between. The surety that I do not need to look for anyone "better", because perfection cannot match the tiny, wonderful details that are her. The knowledge that I can love her as much as I do.
The love that she feels for me complements what I feel. She finds a physical beauty in me that I do not see. She sees the kindness in me that I cannot acknowledge. She tries to understand the twisted, knotted thing that is my soul. I love her for that... for the simple truth that she can love me.
I hear a lot of complaints about not being able to find someone to love you. I hear them alot, and know them well, because I made most of them. A simple thing tends to slip my mind when these types of complaints come out, and would help me feel so much better if I could remember it at those times. If you can find someone to love, then it is not so lonely. Love does not have to be returned to be experienced. It simply must exist within to be enjoyed.
I throw myself into love easily. I've lost a great many chances because she "doesn't want to hurt" me. I've watched these women walk away from the love that I offered, and never regretted loving them. Yes, it hurts. However, it is a bearable pain, and is better than to feel nothing at all. I know, I've been there. It's not true, it never hurts less with time. The ache never gets better no matter how often it is felt. However, it becomes bearable with each repetition, as the realization arrives that there will be another love, and another chance to experience that joy rise within myself. I risk it all, because I keep the joy and memories regardless of the outcome. And I'll be damned if I lose that one special one because I was scared of win-win odds.
My girlfriend feels bad because she doesn't think she loves me as much as I love her. I cannot find the words to tell her why it doesn't hurt me... until now. A couple in love... share their love. It's not a matter of I love you more, you love me more. It's a matter of we love, and we share that love between us. I love you, my Butterfly, and it fills me with as much joy as it gives you. You love me, my Butterfly, and it gives me as much joy as it fills you. We love each other, and that is how it should be. No matter what comes or what goes... No matter if we remain together or go our separate ways, we have this. We have loved, and been loved. That will be shared with us until the end of days.