Delicately Broken

I cried pretty tears over you, almost as deadly as the day you broke my heart.

You never meant to hurt me, with your whispered words and the way you spoke, not-quite-love but as close to it as a tangible dream. Yet still, years down the timeline of us, you broke me into shining pieces without even knowing. They glittered on the floor by your feet but you didn’t look down; you skirted around them as if they didn’t exist. Perhaps it was better that you didn’t see me breaking, shimmering down the slope of the happiness you gave me. Perhaps it was better that I cry without you.

The walls of this room were filled with the memories of times long gone, where things seemed as easy as wishing for the sun and it appearing at your window. It felt like for a second, the sky and world and universe were ours; you could reach out and touch the stars with a fingertip if you tried. In the quiet of midnight, we held each other in a lose embrace, never thinking it was necessary to tighten our hold. I was quite simply impervious to worry; I was strong.

Rolling past me in a wave, your perfect destruction ruined me, gradually. It is only now that I break completely, clean down the middle as the happiness, built by the thought of forever, reels back. It’s almost a poem, with one stanza left to scatter in the wind, the rest of your stanzas moving forward. If I were not your forgotten verse, I would rejoice.

I do not blame you for looking at the wings of a girl who greeted you with a smile. A mirror of it freezes on my face, cracking like a pane of glass from a scream: it slips away, such a precious thing stored in a locked box. You had the key, wrapped in silver paper. When I ask? You will say you have lost it. You will say you have given it away, that I must break the box in order to retrieve the thing you chase after now.

You’re on the other side of paradise, myself too tired and too weary to run to you. We are two wilting flowers in a sea of wilted flowers and I can’t help but take comfort in that. You have separated us, snipping our thread with scissors made of “sorry” and there are too many aches in my heart to mend it. Is this the end, then?

I sit here and cry pretty tears in a pretty room. My heart is so exquisitely broken that it is almost like a song, yet the song has no voice. It lies there, hidden behind pretty eyes; it stays put, behind the shadow of a shattered smile; it beats in the quiet of an untold story. Nobody waited for it and so it waits for nobody, glorious freedom just out of reach.

I ask you this: if my tattered wings fanned out behind me in the most graceful of goodbyes, would you notice?

This was a piece I’ve been wanting to write for a while. I really hope you like it!

From Elm πŸ™‚

Letter to a Liar

Dear you,
I have a nagging, horrible feeling that you lied to me, somewhere along the way. Maybe it’s my constant paranoia, but maybe it’s not.

It would be absolutely terrible if you had lied about that. What it was, when it happened, how it affected our relationship moving forward from me finding about that. The latter, if touched by any lie you told, would just make things… Wrong. I’d have to re-evaluate my feelings towards you, towards our previous (and dare I say, current) friendship, so here’s to hoping I never find out for sure whether you did or not.

I’m being elusive again, like I was in my last letter. It just means that yet again, I won’t reveal who this “you” is. The exact thing you might have lied about won’t be said either, because that’s too invasive, and barely anyone knew when you told me – though maybe a thousand different people know exactly what occurred that day, from your perspective.

It breaks my heart to know that I have so little faith in you now that I’d even consider that you lied – when we were close, or much closer than we are now, the thought of you lying about something so important to you and I was inconceivable. I scoffed at that idea, because I was absolutely certain you would always be honest: you’d tell me when I was awful; you’d let me know if something happened; you’d be the person I could rely on. For a time, you were that, like my own little light in the confusion that was my head, but you aren’t that now.

The reality is that I don’t trust you. I’m not sure when I stopped, and I could easily dive back into the well of trust that you and I once had, but that would hurt. When you’re not sure if the foundation of your friendship or feelings were based off lies, it’s difficult not to fall into a different kind of well entirely – one of endless worry. Luckily, I’ve not despaired so much as to be like that, yet, and I never want to get that low.

Some people say that I never should have trusted you in the first place, but I disagree. You were something special to me, that I’ve moved on from but still hurts in a little corner of my mind, and I can’t forget that. You brought me happiness and laughter, security and friendship before any pain. What you did wasn’t your fault, I know – and not mine, though I convince myself it is. Somehow.

I can’t talk about untruths, because I lied to you too. You may not know it – you may suspect – but I did, after it all. Never did I lie during our friendship, or whatever you want to call it. It was only after: after my morals twisted a little and I became even more suspicious of everything, that I told you things that weren’t the truth. Like a lot of liars, I did it to stop you hurting, to shield you and me from something – your anger, my hurt, my fucked up sense of what was right? I don’t know.

I wonder – did you do what I did? Perhaps I’ve overthought this, but let’s go with the idea that you lied: did you do it to save yourself, or to help me? I wish I’d known, and you’d known, that lying only brings complex tragedy. Wishing for changes in the past gets you nowhere: ultimately, we didn’t know and so the web of lies that I now can’t reveal to certain people for fear of fucking things up even more than I have has entangled me.

In a parody of thought, I’ll be honest with you. I miss you, but I miss the version of happiness we had. One that wasn’t tempered by cynicism and careful dancing over subjects that would reveal that I’d been dishonest, or you, or either of us; I don’t know what’s reality any more when it comes to what we had. That’s the thing: I could have avoided lying, and you could have too, if we weren’t so scared of the other’s reaction. Fuck knows if, and when, you lied but I know that I was so petrified and still am that if you find out the truth of what I did after things went to shit, you’d hate me and never speak to me again.

I’m done with lies, and secrets, and stupid amounts of care to get my words right in case I step over the line. If I don’t trust you, and I’m worried you lied, maybe it’s better if I remove myself from this situation. It hurts, but you don’t deserve to think about someone who got so overwhelmed and miserable by her situation that she spoke to the one person who hurt you, who did the same thing to you that they did to me.

Perhaps people are destined to lie if they have to, but that doesn’t mean it’ll continue. I’ll never find out if you told me the truth that day, but I don’t really want to know. I want to love who I love without being terrified that they’d lie to me without thinking, and then get so caught up in lies that we run away. I think that’s what we both did, and that’s okay, because moving forward, I can remember to always, always be honest: it’s what you taught me, then and now, when your honesty made me happy, when it didn’t and when your lack of it made me think.

I won’t be bitter over something that might not have happened the way I thought. Life’s too short for that.

From me πŸ™‚

Positive Things that Have Happened

Recently, I feel like I’ve been drowning in a sea of painful thoughts, tears and too much chocolate (I like eating it – what can I say?). I kicked myself today when I thought that everything was terrible and that nothing positive had happened, because that’s a complete lie. With every shitty cloud comes the sliver of a silver lining.

I caught up with Pine today as we walked down to assembly. She’s a really old friend of mine; we became friends in year 7. I’ve missed her immensely, and within 20 minutes or so we had updated each other on everything, and how we felt. With her, I can state things in a matter of fact way and not cry about it, and she can tell how I’m feeling without me having to say it. Talking to her helped, because all I had to say was “Everything is shit inside my head” and she understood. She’s one of the people who can cheer me up just with a simple comment, and I felt closer with her than I have in a long time.

The four other girls in French are lovelier than ever. Last Friday, we worked on a presentation together which was broken up with laughter and general confusion over vbers. What remained constant was the companionship, and the joint goal of getting it done: we worked as a cohesive group, none of us taking over as leader because we all knew’ instinctually, how to work together, despite being so different. To be included like that, when I’m used to working on my own, was amazing: we sat together, laughed without worrying about judgement from others, and social groups didn’t matter then because we were working. My heart filled up with so much love for them because they make me feel welcome, not clunky and awkward in the things that I say.

My Critical Thinking class is pretty amazing. I sit next to Swan – someone I’ve got much closer with, from my friendship group – and around me are people I’d never ordinarily speak to. In the lesson, we have debates about politics – or rather one guy insulting the Labour party’s ideology constantly and me getting angry – and our teacher rarely gets pissed off when we get sidetracked, because she then brings what we’re talking about into the lesson as an example. I love working like that – having my thoughts listened to by a teacher, and being able to speak without feeling stupid, even if my arguments are usually bullshit. A boy that I had the largest and most superficial crush on ever in year 8 sits in front of me, and we’ve been speaking a bit more – just a comment here and there – and I think he finally sees me as a human rather than that blind girl. I laugh at myself whenever I talk to him because it’s so surreal; 13-year-old Elm wouldn’t have been able to string a sentence together.

For the first time ever this year, I got an A in an essay that I’d written. It was for English, on The Great Gatsby; I finished it last night, and worked so incredibly hard on it. I may have taken longer than you were supposed to, but my confidence had taken a hit when I realised that my essays for the poetry section were well below standard, and so I put extra effort into this one. It payed off; when my teacher told me that she was blown away by the way I expressed my arguments, I was nearly in tears. I’ll update my poetry essays, and work on practicing ones for French and History too. Perhaps this will give me the push I need to get properly motivated.

By no means are my thoughts amazing right now, but it’s not all bad. There’s sunshine somewhere, even if it’s just a dot of it. I’ll take all I can get right now.

Hold onto the positives. Through the slight tears I’m inevitably going to cry tonight, I’ll remember the laughter and smiles” There are so many more positive memories, little snapshots of images, but I’ll leave you with these for now.

My heart still hurts but it isn’t all filled up with misery. I’ve got a chamber for happiness, too, and I’ll keep adding to it until the echoing void I feel doesn’t seem quite so insurmountable.

From Elm πŸ™‚

1 Month and I’m No Better

Around this exact time, it’s a month since everything officially went to hell with my love life. A month. Admittedly to my surprise, I feel no better: in fact, cumulitively over the past few weeks, it’s all been screaming inside my mind.

If you don’t know what’s been happening, it’d be good to read this post and if you have time, posts relating to that situation, but that’s the starting point.

Oh my god; it actually happened. They kissed, a month ago, and even though there had been little breaks in my heart in the week before that, that night was when it finally shattered.

It’s a month since I told someone that I wanted to die, pacing up and down my room and gasping like I was choking, unable to comprehend truly how fragile I felt. How everything – not just this – had built up, into an unbearable chasm that tore itself around the edges. That feeling of wanting to die has surfaced more, emphasised by the fact that I haven’t properly spoken about this in a while except to two people (who helped me).

I am horrified. Silent tears in Paris are invading my mind, an embrace I wish meant more, but could never again. All of the negativity over the last year has roared into a crescendo. It’s almost too much, so I’m dealing with it all now.

Last night, and the night before, I cried so hard that my heart felt like it was bursting. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why this had to happen to me, why he couldn’t be a shittier person – because that would make it easier. Why now, I’m being ignored and why I feel so fucking lonely.

When I think about it, I’m terrified of my mind. There’s a history of bad mental health in my family, and I’ve been known to get violent towards myself and I don’t want that to turn into anything serious. At the moment, I can barely write through a haze of worry and panic and half-numbness.

I am not okay. I’m not alright; I sobbed a few minutes ago until I didn’t feel like me any more. Remembering everything, drowning in memories that were half-lovely and half-shards of pain, because how am I supposed to pick myself up? I’m wishing for something long gone and god, I want these awful attention-seeking tears to stop.

My hands clenched into fists, trying to reconcile with myself that this wasn’t even a noteworthy or serious thing. That really, being alone where I could let tears slide down my face was preferrable to anyone seeing me that way.

The heart of the matter is that I want the people that are involved with this situation to care, but at the same time, I want them to forget about me so that they can find happiness. I want them to know I’m sad, but i don’t because they don’t deserve to and I’m just one person. S and Pansy are wonderful people, and it’s just me here bitter and so miserable that I want to tear out my hair.

How did it come to this? When I thought I would be okay, in the days after, I envisioned me in a month’s time finding it easy to smile. I knew that it would take time, but I didn’t expect me to still be crying now.

What burns is that he’s moved on and I haven’t. I can’t. I still have feelings, stupid illogical feelings, and it hurts when my friends tell me he’s nothing but a dick because he isn’t. He has always told me the truth, and I’m not deluded into thinking like I did with Ash because I know the signs of that.

I’m not naive about THIS. I know exactly what messaging him and receiving no reply does to me; I know what it’s like when I think of them together, because they’re travelling with each other this weekend. When I realised that, I knew that my mind would invent scenarios of them being happier that I could ever be, and that started the cycle of me remembering I’d been replaced with a girl who’s a brilliant person.

The laughter. The good memories. They’ll have it, and I had it and I don’t any more. That simple reality is choking me, because I miss him and I miss it and I miss my easy smiles. Simple, solitary things remind me of it all: a certain phrase, someone talking a little like him, anything: it sets me off into a spiral of sadness that I can’t stop.

At school, I pretend to be at least semi-fine. Otherwise, I’ll break down, and never be able to get up again. My work’s okay, but I can’t pretend to be great any more. Not when I feel like the people that matter don’t care, when deep down, I know they do. It’s just everything in my mind telling me that when I cry, people are only pretending to help. That if I stop, nobody will remember.

I don’t blame myself for this, but I still hate myself. My clinginess, the fact that I’ve completely neglected my friends; I’ve shut myself off. It’s high time I realised that it’s over, get the hell over it, and stop my heart from feeling so incredibly void of love.

Why did I have to get cheated on? Why am I left behind; why do I still want to disappear? Only for a second – not permanently – but it’s still there. It’s not healthy and I want to get help. In fact, that’s something I will definitely do, because at the moment I need it.

I can’t be expected to let go right now. I’m too utterly screwed over from everything, and I almost don’t want to lose feelings for him yet because I’d be forcing it, and that would be worse. It’s important that I give myself time, that I ldon’t make myself do anything, because time heals all wounds.

I wish I could tell you that I’ll be happy soon, but I won’t. I’m just going to hold on and I know you’ll be here, as you have been for everything.

I’m sick of it. Sick of feeling broken, sick of being broken, and sick of feeling like everything I say is so melodramatic and over-the-top. Without me there, without even the thought of me, they’ll forget and move on and that’s good. I don’t want to taint anything, because at the root of it, I just want them to live and smile and love. If I’m just a speck on the indefinable horizon for them, it’s just life, and it will be okay.

There’s no conclusion to this. No “don’t worry about me” because as much as I believe you shouldn’t, I couldn’t change your mind if you are. No “this is what I’m going to do”, because right now I don’t care; maybe soon I can figure it out but all I want to do is cry.

No “I’ll find someone else” because I don’t want to. I can’t move on at the flick of a switch, and I’ve suppressed so many emotions over the last few months that they’re all going to come back and overload me.

I’m just going to be, and not pretend I’m doing good. I’m not – not yet, though I know I will be. Showing that to you will help me, in the end.

Love from Elm πŸ™‚

Hey, Let’s Ponder the First Time My Heart Got Broken!

SCREW that title.

I’m feeling oddly bitter today, and synnical and also unloveable/unaffectionate, if that makes sense. Prepare for a lengthy post that will just go round in circles. WOOOOO πŸ˜€

I feel quite sick. Not physically but emotionally, like something’s crawling through my insides or clenching the emotional part of my heart. That makes no sense, but I guess I just feel ill with myself. And guess what? I don’t bloody know why.

I think I’m frustrated at people, and how people think. It all started when my friend Holly told me that one of our friends “wants to experience the feeling of having your heart broken.” She understood how ridiculous that was and then I went on a tiny rant, but I couldn’t rant to her even though she knew what had happened. Actually, I don’t even know what happened; I only remember feeling my world flip upside down as I grew the hell up. I thought I’d grown up before, but I was wrong; I did childish things even in May but THEN I grew up. Goddamnit.

Heartbreak teaches you things, guys. It helps you in a way. But you know – you DON’T WANT to feel it. Why would you put yourself through that? It seems poetic when you haven’t gone through it, like it’s some sort of journey, but it isn’t. THAT’s why I’m bitter, because now I’m remembering things that weren’t even serious.

When you’ve had your heart smashed, left at the side of the road, kicked and put through a blender, you end up feeling sick when you remember it all, ESPECIALLY when the person didn’t even know they broke your heart. It’s sad when I think on it now, REALLY sad, because I haven’t grown up yet. We never will; we’ve still got lessons to learn and we’re going to get hurt and the fear of that ALSO makes me feel ill. It’s how life works – how WE work, and we just have to live with it and take it as it comes.

Where the hell is this post going? I don’t know. I’m irritated because people just don’t understand, but neither do I; I don’t often understand the things my friends go through. The heartbreak thing – it’s bothering me. One of my friends seems to think that love can fix everything, but it can’t.

Love’s an emotion, carried by humans with HUMAN emotions. It’s not infallible, because WE’RE the ones feeling it. Love’s not some magical thing, because it just is; heartbreak isn’t an adventure, because even though you learn from it, you want to scream and cry and burn things when it’s happening.

I’ve got the best boyfriend I could ever ask for, for god’s sake, but for some reason I’m unhappy right now. Like I’m twisted or something, or my heart’s gone on holiday for a while. I’m not sure where this all stemmed from, because by ALL logic, I’m happy. I’m content and I’m NOT considering my first heartbreak or feeling cynical about everything, or getting angry at people who don’t understand even though that’s hypocritical of me. But I AM feeling those things.

Is it okay to have bad days? Is it alright to feel as though those shitty “wounds” that my heart decided to have opened again, for NO reason. I’m not all that upset about Ash right now, just sad because I’m hurting. That’s weird, right?

Sorry, it just occurred to me that you guys will be reading this, but that doesn’t bother me. I’ve learned that it’s okay to post this because who’s judging me? I need to let it out. I’m scared to tell my friends because I don’t want to ruin their evening with something worthless, old, not important enough to be mentioned because IT’s OVER.

I still feel bitter and sick and my heart’s thumping rapidly, but why? WHY am I not okay, and why now? ARGH. Rationally, this is stupid, but your heart isn’t rational.

Are you all okay? I miss reading your blogs.

From Elm πŸ™‚