For those that love too much – Part II*

_{*This is Part II of dairy entries related to my story with narcissistic abuse. For Part I click here}

I have come to terms with the possibility that I may never be in love again. If in love consists of a deep forgetfulness of self, or such longing to merge fully and completely into another, then I will choose this loneliness. It has been quiet since I left, and the only constant is the pain, a pain that changes shape daily, metamorphosing into an array of thoughts, ideas, feelings. They all come and go, but what remains is a distinct lesson that each brings. For example, I learnt to listen when the trees speak to me. Their stories satisfy. I can hear them in this quietness that surrounds me. I have learnt to love the mornings and welcome them with anticipation. I have learnt to love myself, even on the days when my body drops with heaviness, uninviting. 

Leaving you felt like a soldier sent home after a ghastly war. The journey home is packed with the prospect of freedom, of all that could happen, of finally breathing free, not watching every step. But soon he finds that although physically free, the mind is imprisoned. Joy is merely a concept, there yet never here. And home is there no more. In the same way, I found myself a prisoner of the confines of my dark mind. I knew that all it takes is one tiny step back and I could find myself flung back into your arms. Perhaps for a split second, I would feel joy. I would remember the warmth of loving you. And then the terror would begin again. Surviving was never a certainty.  

Although I change and transform, I will never forget. You; a dream – I chose to wake myself up as I seek to live a life of purpose. Always awake. Loving you was like going to war, and now I cling unto my journey to recover with both hands. 

What it takes is a visceral honesty to the Self. To look in the mirror and tell the truth, even when that truth means I miss him, I feel like I will never love anyone the way I loved him, I will never experience that chaotic happiness, the addictive turbulence of euphoria and despair. 

An honesty that allows us to say I am here today struggling and I want to let myself fall into the past like an accidental drop from the edge of a cliff. 

Then you will hear a small voice within you, your angel, the mysterious god you’ve harboured for so long – you’ll hear them guide you back to your heart. That honesty will bring you back home. I remember that on some days I will think of you, of the dream I once nurtured. But I will never trust the love that rises on these days, overflows – it is deceiving, an illusion just like the illusion that I created of you. 

Perhaps I never stopped loving you, but I began to love myself fully.

It’s been one hundred and seventy five days.