fused at the wound
is it love or is it addiction
why not both
she knows tears + I know anger
together we almost made a whole person for a while
fused at the wound.
but our little house of lies isn’t big enough to hold us now
she won’t stand up for herself + I can’t stand up
for both of us at the same time anymore
so we ride the broken lover’s seesaw of staying + leaving
one foot in + one foot out
we dance in the kitchen like unloved children + wait
for fulfillment of old pain’s expectations.
so anxious to leave           so anxious to be left
so anxious to be right            so anxious to be hurt
so anxious to be disappointed
so anxious to be alone again.
when this whole thing started
I wanted us to be immersed in each other
I wanted us to fix each other
I thought that was what people were supposed to do
I don’t want that anymore
I don’t need that anymore
but I still don’t know
how to love someone I don’t want to fix.

–Rick Belden

“You’ve got me scattered in pieces, shining like stars and screaming.”

I’ve been doing a lot of reading on Narcissistic Personality Disorder lately. It’s a personality disorder I am intimately familiar with. I spent a lot of time learning how it works and why it happens in an attempt to understand the relationship I had with my father. I was convinced as the years ticked past that I would never have to deal with another relationship diseased with this disorder.

But something can be right under your nose, or in between your sheets, and you don’t see it. Things started out far too perfect. We had a fairy tale romance and all of that crap. But after the abrupt and traumatic ending I was left with the dust and debris of what was once a great love, crumbled around me like ancient ruins. And the only thought running through my mind was, “why?”.

I’ve been desperately searching for reasons why, asking what I could have done or said to have prevented it. It was obviously all my fault. I made him depressed, he closed himself off because who would want to be close to me? I’ve lost my looks otherwise he wouldn’t push me away or shudder anytime I touch him. It was me.

He told me to leave. How could he not?  So I left. The hardest thing I’ve ever done. But then there was the back and forth. The late night phone calls, the text messages, the emails. All glimmers of hope that it would be okay, that he would let me come back. He lit me up like the night sky, then he’d disappear and make me wait. “Why?” continued to rush through my mind.

Then one day, a very keen observer answered the question in three words: Narcissistic Personality Disorder. But how could it be? I know all about NPD. It wasn’t in my relationship. No way. But the memories came flooding in. Interactions and exchanges that seemed innocent at the time were now stripped down to their true reality. Manipulation, degradation, guilt, emotional torture. I had made excuses for all of it, I had blamed myself for all of it. In the years we spent together, how much of that time really was perfect? The rest of the time it was an act. We were so good, we even convinced ourselves for awhile.

The more I refresh myself with this disorder I’m surprised by my response.  Instead of pity, anger, validation, I feel a deeper sadness, deeper compassion. He can’t help his disorder. He doesn’t understand why he feels the way he does. He’s in pain. He doesn’t know who he really is. He’s lost and confused. All he knows to do is to continue building a false reality to protect himself. That’s why to him our entire relationship was a facade, the icing to mask a burnt and inedible cake.

But you see, no matter how fake it really was, it was real to me. My love was real, the life we shared was real, the future we planned was real.

I loved that cake, no matter how burnt or inedible it was, it was mine and it was real.

When I named my blog, it didn’t take long. My life was, and is, full of love. Love of family, friends, fashion, food, writing. Lately I haven’t been giving love a very good name. Sadness has taken over the pages of my blog, and my life. I realize the dichotomy. It’s funny how you turn to writing down your deepest emotions and the tragic tales of your life when it all goes to shit. It reminds me of people who turn to God in times of turmoil.

To heal a broken heart you can’t forget to celebrate the good, the happy, the moments and the people that make you laugh. Don’t get me wrong, you also have to acknowledge the negative that is coursing through your body. But it’s a balance. And sooner or later happiness begins to tip the scale. As you emerge from the fog you come out a different person. You may look and sound the same (you may not), but inside you’re wearing your battle scars, your burns and cuts. And that’s okay. That means you made it and you fought hard.

As I forge my way through the muck, slowly making my way back to the person I recognize, it feels a bit like Wonderland. The excitement in the beginning, the rush, things you’ve never experienced before or even thought were possible, then things start to change. Everyday things somehow look and feel different. You look and feel different. And before you know it the Queen of Hearts is trying to chop off your head. And some days it may seem like she succeeded.

But the thing about Wonderland is, you can get out. You can climb your way back to real life. And when you do, you realize Wonderland wasn’t all good or all bad. It was the best and worst of you. I’ll look back at my Wonderland with a sense of realism it never had before… And I’ll smile.

Blank space. Emptiness. Loneliness. Sorrow and pain. I’ve never felt so small and distant when surrounded by so many people. Tears allow some of the pain to escape, but just enough. Just enough to keep me looking normal on the outside. Life has become a stage and I just an actor playing a part. I am the pretty girl, the best friend, the one who’s always up for a party, the productive and successful employee, smiling always, laughing to drown out the silent screams of pain and fear. Constantly pushing, pushing everything down. Masking, hiding, buying, drinking, sex. Each a force to keep my true condition buried. Hands always shaking, leg always bouncing, fingers always picking, nails in mouth. Anxiety is my constant companion. Like a junkie seeking their next high, I constantly search for intimacy, validation, affection, at all costs. Watching my phone constantly, looking, listening for the sound of approval. When it finally comes the high is fleeting. Gone as quickly as a shadow exposed to the light. Then the crash. Falling deeper each time into a crater of despair, confusion, and anger as thick and sticky as tar. Feelings melting together like crayons in the hot sun. Love was once such a bright and shiny blessing. Now a dull, rusty burden filled with deceit. Laughing as it clings, dragging behind me. So proud of the job it’s done. Another victim claimed. Another lie believed. Just another blank space.

Love, love, love, love, love, love, love.

It causes so many problems and yet so many of our greatest moments. Despite the ups and the downs of the last few months, I still remain a firm believer that love alone is worth the fight.

Where this will get me, we shall see. But I will never be the person who turns away from love out of fear. I will fight hard and bloodied.

All the while, I’ll remind myself that love alone is worth the fight. And hopefully, in the end, I’ll be the one to prove it true.

Breaking up while remaining a couple is something I imagine only a small few have experienced.

When you leave behind your entire support system to move across the world with the love of your life, it takes a gigantic amount of faith. I remember Lover Boy and I constantly cooing into each other’s ears “love is all we need.” Well I’m here to call total bullshit on that one.

We’re one year into our lives in Sweden and I find myself no longer planning a wedding, but a move back to the United States alone.

It seemed in the months following our engagement, little by little things weren’t right. Things that can’t be explained, just felt. The love was there, and still is. But there are bigger things at play than just love. Lifetimes of experiences, some good, mostly bad, that were never dealt with. When you live your life burying these ghosts of childhood’s past they can find their way to the surface quite quickly once you start planning a future. Thoughts of your children’s childhood, memories of things you’ve worked so hard to keep hidden start clawing their way to the surface. Doubts begin to creep into your mind. Then one day, you can’t keep it hidden anymore.

Lover Boy and I have fought and fought to keep things the way they used to be in the beginning. But some things can choke out the light. So as my days here in Sweden are numbered, it becomes more and more difficult to imagine a life away from here. A life away from Lover Boy. The decision to leave was an immensely difficult one that took several weeks of discussing what is best for each of us before the flight was booked.

Lover Boy will remain here in Sweden, fighting the fight over those childhood demons. I will return to the U.S. where I will very slowly and painfully try to rebuild a life there. Through it all, we have refused to call it quits on us. We are still together, still in love. Just very lost and very confused. We are hoping that our paths, though now running separately, will run parallel and eventually cross again, very soon.

In the worst moments, usually at night, when I lay tossing and turning next to the love of my life with tears running down my cheeks, I find myself softly repeating “love is all you need, all you need is love” in hopes that the chant will bring with it some magical powers to break this curse.

Until that curse can be broken I suppose I should adopt a new motto:

If you love someone enough to spend the REST of your life with them, shouldn’t you be able to somewhat easily plan your wedding together?

LIES I tell you, all LIES.

I thought once I slipped that cushion cut sparkler onto my eagerly waiting finger that life, plans, schedules, would all just fall into place. Wrong. Wrong again.

Since December, we have changed the wedding date, theme, size, city, location, and continent, FIVE times. As an adult, I’m finding it very interesting that the wedding I imagined as a little girl, the wedding I thought was of my dreams, is actually of my nightmares. The money, the bad DJ, the feuding families, the dress worth more than my first car, the endless choices, decisions, offenses. Ugh, I say!

I’m starting to see why Carrie and Mr. Big ended up at the court-house. If only my Mr. Big saw things the same way..

Here’s to a lifetime of love, happiness, and indecision.