This is about insufficiency. This is something I would not recommend to children. This will probably go all over the place. This might not have a solid plot. This might lack certainty. This may not even pass as a book. I want to tell my story in a way that would inspire others. I want to be so inspirational; people will call me Saint Amanda. Sinners go to hell, they say. And yet here is one, with an empty bottle of brandy on one hand and someone’s broken heart on the other. Or maybe I’m already in hell.
When people ask me how I feel, I say I’m fine. I look into their eyes and see curiosity not concern. It’s funny how I sometimes mistake one for the other. No, I am not fucking okay. There, I admit it. I’ve been bruised since October, 2018.
People come (cum) and go. I was not sleeping when that lesson bestowed itself on humanity. I had my eyes open when my heart got broken, for real, for the first time. But even the blind have their eyes open, right? So what’s that to say of me? Since then, I feel like floating. I’m here, but not really. I’ve been let down so many times by so many men, I lost count already. This never ending cycle of pain is not a foreign concept anymore. My friends say I’m pretty, smart, funny and anyone is blessed to have me. So why don’t someone come sweep me off my feet then? Don’t you want someone pretty, smart and funny? Don’t you want to be blessed? Or maybe you see the ugly, stupid and depressed side of me. No one wants a burden.
I look in the mirror and see nothing but scars. I see where you last touched me. I see where you last loved me. I look in the mirror and realize that after our break up, I became an entirely different person. I touch my tear stained face and feel something ache. This feels so familiar, like a long lost relative. I fucking hate how expressive my face is. I’m incapable of hiding my truth. It’s like wearing your heart on your sleeves. But on my case, I wear mine as a crown. That’s the first thing you’ll notice. And it scares you doesn’t it? Well, that makes the two of us.
They say that there’s a rainbow always after the rain. After getting drenched in the storm, I met someone else. No, scratch that. I met a number of potentials. Not just one. Each has something to offer. Each holds the promise of peace. And here I am, with my thick emotional walls up so high, they’re blocking the sun. This girl is hungry for connection and warmth but scared of the cruelty outside that may exploit… again… her nature. You think breaking up is the hard part? Think again. It’s what happens after that’s going to drain you.
Getting past the sudden change is difficult. Where do I begin? How should I be feeling? There are so many what ifs and yet no regrets. I should’ve known this would happen. Seeing you in a different light was scary. It scared the shit out of me. I lost my respect for you. I lost my footing and went stumbling down the fucking stairs, while you were there, right at the top, staring coldly at my aching body. You even pointed your fingers at me and said how everything was my fault. You used to be my guardian but right at that moment, you became one of my demons. Lucifer needed to be tamed so I put him on a leash and banished him down under.
Getting over a break up is hard but getting over you is harder.
That is a fact.
But darling remember, that moving on from someone like me is like doing your best to get rid of your childhood nightmare.
You can try… but that’s the most you can do. Try.
