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Progress?

Jessie MaComment

I’ve always thought of love the way I think about coffee

it’s good when, and only when, ice-cold or steaming hot. Anything in between, no one would drink. Have you ever heard, “One lukewarm coffee, please?”

So, for a long time, I rejected any feeling that was anything but fire or ice. Burning passion or cold hatred.

I never knew how to just be okay.

I know what it feels like to be in love. I don’t even want to try and describe it. You’re probably sick of the “butterflies, fluttery, sweet gooey high” descriptions, too. I’ve given up, and it seems better that way. Love is inexplicable, that’s what I found. That’s how great it goddamn feels.

And I’m just as impossibly familiar with heartbreak. And that’s how I was, where I stayed, for a long time. I didn’t believe in “working things out” or “getting better.” It was either there or not. Perfect, or not worth it; close “enough” is never enough. I chose to stay heartbroken, because love is many, many things, but “indifferent” is not one of them.

I grew indifferent.

I became one of those people I’ve looked at with pity, the poor things I’d only hoped for someone to come and stretch their hearts’ capacity for. The ones who knew nothing outside of the room-temperature as I jumped from jacuzzi to ice-bath and back.

Because I’m waiting.

Maybe I’m waiting for nothing. And that’s the scariest part of all. I want so badly to have a love that touches and moves me, yet I feel no imminent presence, no hand or body in my line of vision, that inches closer.

It’s not like me to be practical. That’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s also something I’m very aware of, thus have no problem admitting. I’m dramatic. I’m romantic. I’m sensitive and irrational. I get hurt. I get heartbroken. I let it affect everyone and everything around me.

But I’m at a place where I can’t afford to do that anymore.

1. I’ve lost so much by doing this in the past. Being a slave to my emotions, giving in to my depression. Wasting days and nights crying alone in my room, feeling like I was the loneliest, most dejected and hopeless soul barely alive.

2. I have so much to lose right now. Life is getting real, and the potential consequences of not “having your shit together” aren’t just a bad grade or a pissed off friend. There is a larger chunk of the world counting on you with every day that passes in your human life, and a part of your responsibility as an inhabitant of the universe is to not fuck it up by crying all the time.

I used to write with so much feeling, and I know it’s been different lately. I’m a lot more real, practical.

Because I’m indifferent,

emotionally. Maybe it’s a part of growing up, just being able to put your life into perspective without coloring it with so much “love” or “heartache”. Maybe it’s the absence of a huge emotional stimulus (sucks) recently. And it’s not that I’m numb. It’s not that there is so much hurt or happiness that I’m trying to ignore. Rather, it feels like someone cut away my emotional sensory system and now I’m just missing that part of me that lets me experience or express that much.

I mourn the loss of my softness,

but I also know there’s no other way I should be, at least right now. Maybe. Hopefully. One day. I can be as happy as I was. Or even as hurt as I was. My capacity to love, to feel, to be, has shrunk, along with my innocence and hopefulness about a “happily ever after.” I miss her. That girl who just was, so much. I miss her, but I don’t want her back. Not right now. Because

I have yet to find the harmony between soft & strong

Being soft does not require you to be weak, and being strong does not require you to be emotionless. I’m trying to learn a way where head and heart coexist working in synergy rather than competition. And eventually,

I want to write about love again,

not when I’m hopped up on a boy-high or digging myself out of a hole of defeat. I want to write about love while loving, about vulnerability and strength, about sweetness and insecurities, without crying over my keyboard.

I want to love, that’s it.

No tears. No pain. No “indifference.” I want a love that makes me love. Just love. With warmth. Without burning or freezing me to death.