Let's Be Honest

The spiral started, well, how spirals start. At an infinitesimal point behind you that's hardly discernible once you recognize the endlessly loping curvature that looms above you. Round and round and round until the circular shape with its no-end-and-no-beginning ways keeps you from even trying to recall its origin.

That's me, now. Looking back at that spiral, not even trying to fathom how I got to this place at the bottom. And let's be honest - for awhile, I've been slipping and sliding down the spiral with reckless abandon. Acting like I was powerless against the sloping gravity of it all. Like an impertinent child sailing down the banister, I picked up terrible habits with an alacrity that was mind-blowing. The eating. The shopping. The sleeping. The self-deprecation. The self-loathing. The perpetual negativity.

That's me, now. Finally plopped rather decidedly on my arse at the bottom. My first impulse is to offer excuses. But I've been here before, and excuses get me nowhere. So I'm trying something new. In light of my present position, in light of the recognition of my free will to be somewhere besides here, I'm going to explore my choices with all honesty. I'm going to tell the whole truth - the whole ugly truth - and hopefully find my way away from the ugly something less hideous...something tolerable...something that resembles the fragile beauty of hope...

Image via Randall C. Page

Dear Stupid Heart:

Why, when you know it's not in the best interest of either us, must you always fall in love with men who do not love you back? You and your cursed unrequited pursuits, borne on a wave of saltwater. I would think you'd learned your lesson after repeated smashings, so many pieces to knit together again. And I know that we always do that - find the way with the needle of time and the thread patience to determinedly put you back together.

But this time - these latest times - I wonder why we must always go through this routine of reckless abandon. Of throwing caution to the wind and exposing you to devastation yet again. Of allowing - nay, being willing - to sacrifice you to the great unknown of What Could Be. Those naive hopes are piling up into an altar to What Never Will Be.

Oh, Stupid Heart, to be here again with you is excruciating. Gathering the pieces, wondering if I have them all, wondering if this is the time that maybe, just maybe, parts of you will go missing all together. Will the brokenness be such that it's too much for us to patch? And even if the pieces are found and the mending complete, we both know you'll never work quite the same. These bruises and tears never heal perfectly. Instead, you'll be tattooed with new scars of our failures.

I know, I said our. I blame you, but it's my fault, too. That's why I'm here, kneeling beside you, carefully sewing, trying not to cry when I catch my finger on the needle.

Love (Oh, Misbegotten Love),
Ash