Broken hearts and broken bones

I've been thinking much about my life. The intricacy with which these thoughts surround me seem to not only make me nauseous but also make my head spin. These alcoholics hold nothing to my confusion. It's not even so much the way my thoughts envelop me, but it was the subtle, supple way they wrap around like a snake and squeeze desperately until something easy pops from its place. It drives my heart rate through the roof and sends me spiraling in constant motion and increasing speed towards another break down, another panic attack and yet another wave of a depression so desperate, it makes one's toes curl and skin turn to ice.

I promised myself once not to allow myself to got so close to someone that I allow myself to break down my safety walls and say "Come in, Darling, this is who I am", for doing that only makes me more vulnerable and I end up regretting the move with such suicidal desperation, that weeks will be forfeited tot he simple act of laying around motionless and catatonic. I sit and watch these emotions of mine run out of control and feel an awkward sensation of deja vu, of watching these little druggies freak out.

Now, the difference between the rational mind and the heart cannot be thoroughly explained without causing some form of social aneurysm and banish oneself to "the sock drawer" until further investigation. No, to explain how the mind abuses the heart and the heart threatens the mind would be a complete waste of my time, not as precious as one might venture to think, but just precious enough to not be wasted on the incomprehensible.

To go so far as to venture in the thought of long distance relationships, would mean to dismiss all my fears, all my worries, all my needy reactions to the individual with which my infatuation seems to grow, despite all trials to 'nip it in the bud'. It seems that my heart cannot manage to seal itself to the desperate self destruction that still manages to destroy my progress at the sound of its destroyer's voice, messages, emails and so on. No. My heart is stupid.

And so, the struggle begins to rationalize this NEW state of infatuation with an individual nothing like the previous; so different, that if I were to venture off my path, I'd be landed back into this unfamiliar and yet totally known territory of RELIABILITY. It seems I have forgotten the feel of what it is like to actually rely on certain individuals without actually being disappointed by the thought of disappointment itself. I don't remember the pure theory of KNOWING indubitably that said individual will be there to pick up one's slack and make sure she remains standing, even after all odds.

It's a sad day when one realizes she doesn't know what it feels like to not be disappointed with the object of her infatuation. She doesn't remember how it is to know for a fact, she is realistically as treasured to the person as he is treasured to her. No. This cannot be permitted. The state of desperation and fear is a familiar one, and yet, the sadness in itself is getting old, yet however ancient it may get, the fear persists and she backs away from any other chances at possibly being happy.

Sadly, the way my heart pines for a man I did not only never meet, but never quite failed to NOT love so adoringly it would be made into a horrific teenage love film that would later on make the stomach of well adjusted individuals turn and stretch, but it would make the same individuals diabetic in its sweetness and intoxicating puppy love.

How is she to drop the very idea of adoring a concept when he in of itself, flawed to a degree that if all knew about none would offer him a second thought, is the sole reason for her beating heart? Even with her knowing better about all other relationships, she cannot help but fall for the same old tricks, the same old lines, and the same routine she herself established as an unwritten, unspoken rule that seems to happen despite the trials of both parties.

Break my heart, for in this moment I am yours,

I am naked, I'm exposed, and I am absolutely terrified.

Break my spirit for it wanders far,

It runs through lives, places, and far away paradise.

Break my body, for it will do you wonders,

Never straying away, but available to be abused.

Break me, hurt me, kill me, do with me as you please...

For that seems to be my sold purpose for existence.

Between broken hearts and broken hopes, between broken thoughts and broken bones, how is she to open her heart back to this concept of love, when she wants nothing more than to be accepted and be allowed to heal in the arms of someone who really gives a shit?