People will always let you down.
Love is seldom forever.
The hurt will always come.
I don’t want to know one part of those closest to me.
I don’t want to see just one facet, one side of them. I want to see the ugly parts as well.
The whole picture, that’s what I’m after. The multi-layered biopsy of the soul.
I can’t be content to hear things like I love you and I would never hurt you anymore. Too often these sentiments have turned out to be lies. Maybe they weren’t intended to be lies, but time always tells the ultimate truth.
Perhaps this stems from my childhood. From never hearing I love you out of my parents, from never feeling at ease in my own home, from living with near-constant chaos and animosity. Or, perhaps the root of my insecurity can be traced to my failed marriage, or the many lovers who followed in quick succession that promised me the world and gave me shit, or who promised nothing and left me empty. Maybe – probably – it’s because I just lost something precious that belonged to someone I love dearly.
But, as Kurt Vonnegut once said, we are trapped in the amber of the moment. And in the amber of the moment, I am insecure.
I find ways into the secret places people where people think they have their privacy. They assume that just because it’s password protected they have an almost god-given right to absolute secrecy. So they say whatever they please, with no thought for consequences, and there I begin to piece together the less desirable truth.
I wish there was a way to become more accustomed to betrayal, but it’s like that feeling of vertigo you get when you take a step expecting solid ground and find air: it’s always unexpected; the heart always skips a beat as the body panics and tries to work out a way to minimize the impending damage.
But I don’t mean to say that I can’t see the full scale of the bad and weigh it against the good.
An ounce of goodness is worth a great deal more than an ounce of badness, and so in the end it becomes a calculation of risk.
Recently, I learned that the badness drastically outshines the goodness in one of those people who are supposed to love and care for me unconditionally.
I’ve also begun to piece together a picture of someone I want to love unconditionally. It’s hard, though, because the initial feeling of euphoric love wants you to believe in fate and synchronicity and meaningfulness, and it’s hard to feel that blind euphoria erode into a clear-sighted but happy contentment.
In the amber of this moment, I am scared.
I know time will reveal what the amber hid from my sight. Betrayal is almost sure to follow.
Because hurt is inevitable, people will always let you down, and love is seldom forever.
The trick is to find a balance between love and imperfection, to see things for what they are and nothing more, and move forward the best way you can figure.
And hope. You also need hope.