All I loved, I loved alone.

“From childhood’s hour I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. As others saw, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone. And all I loved, I loved alone.” - Edgar Allen Poe

 

Some say it was negligence, others said confusion; still others said he was a self-absorbed douche that didn’t deserve my time, love or affection. They said he didn’t deserve my tears, my pain and the deep aching I felt at the very root of my heart. I still feel that aching. In regards to what he deserved, I have no thoughts on it, only that he held every part of my essence in his hands. Instead of accepting, instead of reciprocating or even finding solace in it, he ripped my heart from my chest and left it in a pulsating bloody pulp on the floor. It was the constant rejection that did it, I think.

I don’t know where it went wrong in all honesty. I’ve looked at it from every angle and I just can’t find the source. I was looking for my mistake for weeks when I was told that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. And I won’t let him put that on me, either.

As much as I tried to reach out, I was ignored. His actions told me that I was nothing but an afterthought to him. There would never be a place for me in his life. Eventually the feelings of pain and sadness turned to anger. I don’t like any of those feelings.

I have been told that any guy with the slightest bit of interest would make some effort. It existed in the beginning, but not long after that. At first I thought it was his confusion and he needed space. We never seemed to communicate effectively. Ever.  It wasn’t until someone actually did show interest in me that I saw what everyone had been trying to make me see for weeks.

It was one outing and that’s probably all it ever will be – but I can say during that time this guy I only saw in passing on a daily basis - made me feel as if I were the only person in the universe that mattered to him. It was exactly what I needed exactly when I needed it.

 

I had drafted a letter I intended to send to the object of my affection. I never sent it. Ironically, the same night I finished it he messaged me saying he wanted to talk about the events of the last 4 weeks. At first I agreed, however,  the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had nothing left to say. I’ve said it already. I’ve given it already. Every time I saw him in person he left with another piece of me emotionally, physically, or spiritually. I have nothing left to give.

It took me two years to get over a physical assault. I imagine it’s going to take me two more to get over this experience. Expressing love makes one vulnerable and because of how deep that emotion can run, the pain will run just as deep. It’s not that I’m going to close myself off from society and cease from living with compassion and positive regard, only that I can’t emotionally open myself up to anyone for a very long time.

 

 

“Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will did it. I have not broken your heart – you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong.”  - Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights