This is a repost from Mara. It was sent to her through e-mail. The author or source is still unknown so we couldn’t credit her. The situation sounds all too familiar to me.
I know someone who stopped believing in love. And it’s quite funny, because for the longest time, she was one of the few quite capable of fighting for it. She was tough, determined and inspired by the passion that only someone in-love could exude. But one day, she gave up. She lost direction, bowed her head, walked away and never looked back.
That was the day she realized she was fighting for love on her own. She was
disappointed, frustrated and angry at herself for waging war against things she could not change. Knowing what it took to make the love last longer than it should have, it hurt her more to see it go. Depression struck her like a plague. The world seemed to be closing in on her. Slowly, the emptiness turned into hatred. But with each heartbeat, her love grew. And she hated herself even more for that.
Each day, she prayed that those feelings would die. She began asking others
for help. They told her what was the right thing to do. But she knew that too. She was not looking for the right thing. She felt that righteousness had no place in whatever it was that she was feeling. And she had been wrong in believing that. The happiness brought by her choices was short-lived. At the end of the day, the emptiness was still there. And she would spend the rest of the night wondering why she could not make things right. She felt that his
actions were the measure of her worth. And since he repeatedly kept hurting her, she began thinking that she was not good enough for anyone. She saw herself being eaten away by love. And so she despised love for all its worth. She equated his love with her happiness. Day by day she discovered that she was being less and less happy, and she was scared of what that meant.
She decided to love blindly, to love not knowing if there was still reason to do so, to love even when it could not be returned. But that was not love. It was neither love nor hate. It was something in between. It felt like love and it hurt like love. But unlike love, it knew nothing of respect. It had no values. It destroyed one’s character instead of making it. And it hurt her not with the intention of allowing her to grow, but only to make her realize that to love blindly is worse than to not have loved at all. For quite some time, she stopped believing in love. She lost hope in that wonderful, elevating feeling. She had mistaken it for something else.
That something disguised itself as love. It gave the feeling of love. But in reality, it was nothing but a bag of hopeless yearnings and naive expectations.
It took her a long time to start believing in love again. And it will take her a lot more to start believing in herself. She realized that she tried to change things that should be appreciated as they are. She started accepting those things that hurt her, until they ceased hurting her as deeply as they did before. Yet, those things still hurt her…his being with someone else, his not knowing that he really mattered, his not being hers anymore. But she begins to understand that these things will hurt her only if she allows them. She
still feels something for him but is careful enough not to show it at a level that will pressure them both.
She gives that which makes him happy, but makes sure that she only loses that which she ought to give. She no longer complains of the pain. She knows that it is the price she has to pay for what she did not end when she had the chance of doing so. But she regrets it no more. She can only be happy for whatever he wants to do with his life.
And it is only now that she lets him go that she has indeed given him love. Love in its truest and most genuine form. She believes in love again. But she will not forget that she once stopped believing in it, and that will always be a reminder of how much she still cries but she no longer loathes this fact. She needs tears to get through this. And though her friends tell her that no man is ever worth her tears, she thinks it’s okay. It is because she knows that those tears are not for him, but for all the deception she has caused herself. But even as she still feels pain, she no longer feels empty. She ceased equating his love with her happiness. If he did love her is a matter that she does not wish to discuss anymore. She will selflessly give her love to those she truly loves. And she will not demand that they give it back nor will she blame herself if they didn’t. No bitterness can ever dwell in her heart again.
I know that she will someday love for a second time. It will be a relationship where she will see herself grow as the person she really is. I look at her in the mirror and I see a better person staring back. And that is why I no longer drink my coffee black.
Life is so much sweeter.
Seriously, it’s like someone wrote it for me. Can you relate to her story?
Me? I can.