Foreword: This post is actually dated from about four days ago, originally written out in longhand in a notebook. Yes, I know - pen and paper, how quaint. But now I finally have time to transfer it here so here it goes.
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Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Better to experience emotions to their full extent than to feel halfway. Better to live life to its fullest extent.
Better for whom, exactly? And better than what? What is the alternative? And if you've never experienced such strong emotions, then how do you know what's better? How do you miss something you never had in the first place?
Let's say for the sake of this circular argument that I accept that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. When people say that, surely the "better" part that they are talking about is the loving part, not the losing. And even then, loving someone isn't easy or always positive.
Love - real, enduring, all-encompassing love - comes at a terrible price. The price for every moment of joyful bliss is the crippling fear of loss. Maybe you don't feel both at once, but you feel it anyway. You feel it late at night; at that moment right before you close your eyes and feel the ripple of fear wash over you, puckering your skin in a sudden shudder. You feel it every time you say good bye and wonder if it's the last time you'll see your lover. You feel it every time you expect a call that doesn't come. That fear is always there in the back of your mind, crouching in wait until your defenses weaken and it can sink its fangs in for a brief, excruciatingly painful bite.
It's been a while since I've experienced the full horrors of sudden emotional pain and it never ceases to amaze me just how bad it can get. I've had a lot of time to think about it over the last few days; in particular what makes it so bad and in some ways so much worse than physical pain.
Usually, with unexpected and non-catastrophic physical pain, the start is as bad as it's going to get. It might hurt like hell, you may be bleeding, you may end up with bruises or you may have a sprain or even broken bones, but unless you keep re-injuring the same place, the pain will begin to recede. It may happen slower than you'd like, but it's a unidirectional process. Eventually the pain will fade to a dull background ache and then disappear. And let's not forget all those analgesics out there to help it along. Better living through pharmaceuticals as J. would say...
Not so with emotional suffering. In the beginning, your brain will try to help and protect you by deadening all the reactions and cushioning you. You'll be in shock but you won't realize it for what it is. Instead, you'll assume this is all there is to it.
Wow, that's not as bad as I thought it would be, you'll think in cautious relief. You may even test it out by thinking about whatever it is that is at the source of your distress and because you are still wrapped in the cocoon of shock, you'll find that you feel downright okay.
I can do this, you'll think,
I'll be fine. You'll feel positively buoyant as you go about your day, proud of your resilience.
And then it'll happen.
In the middle of a conversation with a coworker or as you are merging onto a busy highway, the shock will finally wear off. With no warning, the full horror of the situation will explode in your mind and you'll literally stop breathing. The impact of the hit can only be matched by the strength of the betrayal you'll feel against your own mind. And if you've been through this before then you'll recognize that this is only the beginning. It's just the first nausea inducing wave of pain, panic, and fear.
Unlike with physical pain, this will get much worse before it gets better. There isn't much you can do about it or the course it takes. You'll see the waves as they come but will be powerless to stop them from crashing over you and dragging you under again and again.
You'll want to tear your hair out, crawl out of your skin, scream until you are hoarse and your face is bloated from crying. You'll hit things, scratch your arms, bang your head against the wall, offering physical pain as a pale substitute for this agony, but it will all be in vain.
You can't escape your mind or the gruesome images it will paint to enhance the torment.
You may choose to drink and drink hard to shut off your brain. And you may even succeed; for a few breathlessly numb hours maybe you can make the pain stop. But then you'll sober up and it will feel even worse than it did before the alcoholic anesthesia set in with a false sense of comfort.
There is nothing to do but keep breathing and wait it out.
Eventually the next wave of despair will be just a bit smaller than the ones before it. Eventually the smaller and weaker waves will outnumber the tidal ones. Eventually you won't be afraid to take in a deep breath lest it come out as a wail.
Eventually it will be over.
Until the next time.
