Lesson 2 Exercise: Sorrow

Sorrow:
I sit cross-legged next to him on the bed in his room. The sunlight is desperately trying to make its way through the thick, drawn curtains. It’s a wonder there is any sunlight at all, the view is of a brick wall. The rumpled black sheets are soft under my long, pasty legs. I wipe away a tear with my fingertip as it tries to escape and trickle down my face. I am determined not to let him see me cry, though my cracking voice betrays me. It was hot and cloistered in the room. And though thankful for the darkness, I feel as if I am suffocating. He is talking, more at me than to me. I can’t hear the words though, it’s just noise. Like when the talk on the radio is almost, but not quite, drowned out by static because the station’s not coming in strong enough. From what I can decipher through the noise in my head is that he thinks I am a great person, amazing even, but we will never be more than “just friends.” I will never be special to him; he will never care for me in that way. He wants to keep me as a friend above all. He reasons that if we were to enter into a relationship and it goes sour, he won’t have me in his life at all. No, he can’t chance that, best to just stay friends. He says this over and over, so many different ways. My thoughts start to race at a jagged pace. Each word he throws at me causes my already fragile heart to crack a bit more. Why is it that your heart physically hurts at moments like this? I know it is all in your head, feelings and such; it is all neurotransmitters and biochemistry, so why should your heart hurt when it really has nothing to do with it at all?

I’ve always sort of believed that there is something inherently wrong with me, that I am somehow fatally and irreversibly flawed. I’m sure my shrink would say that it has something to do with my relationship (or lack thereof) with my father. This is confirmation of that belief, that I am flawed. Rejection always stings, but especially so when someone who knows and understands me so well could see this elusive flaw (that I still can’t pinpoint) and reject me. I sniffle and clear my throat as quietly as possible. “What is it about me that makes you feel this way? What is wrong with me?” The words tumble out of my mouth tripping over themselves as they spill out. I have always wanted to know the answers to these questions. I can’t stand feeling helpless, and I feel helpless now, like I have no control. It drives me mad that I am apparently unlovable and there is nothing I can do about it because I don’t know what to fix. How can you fix what you don’t know is broken? He fidgets for a minute, playing with the edge of the sheet. I am sitting very still, barely breathing the heavy air. I know I’m making this hard for him, and for that I am sorry. “There is nothing wrong with you. I don’t know why I feel that way, I just do. I can’t explain it; I just don’t see us having a lasting relationship. And you ARE amazing, which is why I want you in my life.” He tells me. This, to me, is not a satisfactory answer. It doesn’t even remotely answer any of my questions.

My mind is filtering out the compliments and niceties and focusing entirely on the rejection. I’m not very good at not getting what I want. Why do I love him? What is it that makes me so happy when I’m with him? And why do we do this over and over? He is very patient with me. We have had this same conversation maybe a dozen times, and his answer is always the same. I can’t outwit him, he always bests me. We shouldn’t have ventured into that gray area, the one between friendship and a relationship, if he knew he would never care for me. He admits that he did lead me on. However, I always thought that I would change his mind about this, that one day he would wake up and realize that I am awesome and he’d want to be with me. Denial and disillusionment are funny things. He keeps talking, saying the same things over and over. He never ever clarifies his answers or gives me a reason, not during any one of the dozen times we’ve spoken of this. I’m not even listening to him now, and yet he talks. He always has been uncomfortable with silence, and now he is talking, trying to make me feel better, because he knows he is hurting me. I’m staring at the wall fiercely paying attention to my body. I am sitting up so straight on that cheap IKEA bed. My grandmother would be proud of my posture. I can hear the blood rushing in my head and my heart feels like its simultaneously stopped beating but is beating for all its worth. And it hurts. The pain spreads from my core to my extremities. “So, this is what it feels like to die from the inside out,” I think.

I have completely retreated and I am now totally inside my head. My surroundings might as well not even exist. I don’t hear him anymore, I don’t see the sun struggling in through the curtains, and I don’t feel the bed under me. There is nothing but the inside of my head. Love. Such an odd, bewildering thing. Above all, I want to be loved. What is it that causes this intense need? And how can I need something that I don’t understand? If you think about it, really think about it, you have to earn love, from anyone. There is no such thing as unconditional love, I think. People grow to love you as they get to know you or they don’t, it’s as simple as that. But no one just instantly loves you. Not even your parents. You have to earn it. So what is it that I am doing that prevents me from earning his love? My shrink says that you shouldn’t have to earn love, it should be given freely. But, you don’t just love anyone and everyone; there is a reason to it. No matter how you dissect it there is no such thing as unconditional love. Some conditions are just less superficial than others.