Always look on the bright side of life. That is the wisdom that Monty Python urges us to follow and something I usually do on a daily--if not hourly--basis. But sometimes it just irritates me.
Well...that's not entirely true. The only time that eternal optimism really irked me was this summer after the break-up and subsequent attack. While it bothered me then, it seems to have grown into a quiet little fury in my soul that has only let itself be known upon some reflection.
After he hit me I felt raw and numb. My entire world and way of thinking had basically just been proven wrong. All I need is love? Love lifts me up? Love conquers all? Those were all myths. They were all complete bullshit to me. Fuck love--all it did was leave me shattered and with a bruised cheekbone and even more tender heart.
Yet the overwhelming response I got from people was "well at least you learned something from this. You'll know better for next time." The first time I heard it I nodded quietly in agreement. The next five times I still agreed, but grew a little more frustrated. By the tenth time someone asked me if I'd learned anything I wanted to scream. I was in no mood to learn anything--I had just been attacked by the person I had trusted the most in this world. Why the hell would I want to reflect on that? Why would I want to cause myself to hurt even more?
My therapist even said it to me. Granted, she didn't say it until at least a month after the incident, but even when she said it I flinched on the inside. This was one experience that I didn't want to take anything from. Couldn't I just heal, move on and leave this whole thing behind? Why did I need some sort of lesson or souvenir from the event? My wrist already has a bump that probably won't go away--do I really want to take anything else from this?
I know that it was said out of love and concern. They were just reflecting my usually optimistic attitude back at me. But this was one time where I didn't want to look on the sunny side. When something shakes you to your core you don't want to reflect, you want to burrow under the covers, eat loads of chocolate and cry until you're gasping for air and water. Or...at least that was my first reaction.
What I really craved when I told my story was understanding, a sense of connection. While the comments I got about growth and learning came from very good, very loving people, I don't think any of them knew just how deep the pain was...or really, still is. Everyone experiences a life-altering experience at one point or another, this is one thing for which I am certain. What I don't know is if everyone else's pain is as raw or deep or humiliating as mine. When I tell my story I want someone to understand that. Empathy is good, caring and love are better. But I have yet to meet another person who knows exactly what I'm going through. Who understands that this is the one that I don't want to see the sunny side of things. Who has been going along in her day happy and optimistic only to have a memory of what-used-to-be flash through her mind and send her into an emotional spiral of grief, guilt and unrelenting anger. Who knows that the healing process takes forever and still cries months afterwards. Who is still terrified that this could happen again...
Don't get me wrong--I absolutely adore every person in my life and each of them have helped me get to a better place. But this is the only time in my life when I truly feel like I'm battling alone. And maybe it's meant to be that way. Maybe there are lessons I need to learn from this like everyone says. I know there are. But I'm not there yet. I wish I could spout off an anthology of things I've taken from this, but it's just too soon. The tears still come too frequently and the pain is still a constant presence, though I wish it away every chance I get. Hopefully someday I'll get there. Until then I'll work on figuring out what love now means to me and I'll fight the urge to scarf down Godiva's goods. One step at a time...