I wish it gets easier over time, losing people. I wish the pain in our chest and the fear of emptiness fade away the more people leave; I wish we could shut off the feeling of getting close, of getting attached to something we know is so mortal, yet feels so good.
Maybe if we keep distance, despite the melancholy of loneliness, maybe then it doesn’t have to hurt so bad. Maybe if people stop hurling around our lives, breaking the walls we built in between, knocking down our defenses, maybe then it doesn’t hurt so bad to watch them walk away.
It happens, it always does, but this time it is not fair. I’ve loved, and I’ve lost, but it’s been so long since I’ve let someone in, and I just realized that. I had people that I have loved a lot, and when they left, I felt nothing, and I thought I was just too occupied or too busy to feel the loss, but that turned out not to be true.
Now, it feels different, my heart is aching, and I cannot eat, and I have tears in my eyes, but I cannot cry because I have people around me, and I would hate for them to know.
I haven’t really had the best week, and I have been emotional since Monday, even crying in public. Right now, it feels as if there is no safety anymore, as if I’ve lost not one, not two, but five of whom should have always been here. They should have stayed.
It doesn’t seem right, and I know it won’t feel like this forever. I know it will get better; next week and the week after, I will numb the pain of the abyss in my chess by avoiding places and music and the thought of you. The next month, it will get better, I will be colder, and the bleak will become part of me. The month after, it will be okay, and I will search for new reasons to live. It passes; everything does.
Even if we don’t want it to.
I’m accustomed to the pattern, I know how it goes, and I’m very aware of the process, but the pain of loss in the very beginning is still as severe as ever, as burning as a fresh and open wound. I wish this in particular; I wish we could sleep it away; I can’t with the pain.
As always, in times of sadness, I find myself yearning for my 16-years-old-nour-playlists. Here’s what I’m currently listening to while writing:
Also, apologies, I know this blog always has its way to get depressing, even if I don’t want it to. I’m not a sad person, I promise you, and it’s not that I live in denial, but even medically, I’m not diagnosed with depression or any of the sort, I just happen to like writing about suppressed feelings, things I cannot talk about to others, and they happen to be close to sad, so apologies.