*A note from theStitch: This touching post is a submission from our very own Stitch community. We thank her for her honesty, and admire her courage to share these words with you all. Enjoy!
I am enough.
I am enough.
I am enough.
How many times do I need to write it, read it, or say it before I actually believe it?
E – N – O – U – G – H
The message on my Yogi tea bag reads, “There is nothing like you, there was nothing like you, and there shall be nothing like you.” I needed this reminder today. Deep Breaths. I’d be lying if I didn’t fess up to the long day of tears. That’s the type of truth that no one really knows about me. Over the past year I’ve been licking the tender wounds of a broken heart, which I find a bit comical to admit. A little junior sleuth investigative reporting via my social media links portrays quite the opposite. From the fly on a wall perspective, I am nothing but an adventure seeker, traveling gypsy, and party princess. Smile. Post. Laugh. Post. Sip. Post. Cheers. Post. With social media–the new theater of our times, where everyone has a leading role–all it takes to fool everyone are a couple smiling snapshots, maybe a tropical location, and caption about pineapples. BAM, you must be living it up. You must be SO happy; look at you!
Young – Beautiful – Healthy
Engulfed in an amazing place, having cocktails with successful people. Visually, yes, I’m living it up. Trying to drink up every detail I see, but on the inside I feel nothing. Am I nothing but a smiling, tan, corpse? Overdramatic? Maybe. Honest? Absolutely. Check my apple watch, yep… I have a pulse, so why do I feel so far away, so far from this moment, so far from anything that makes me feel alive? I’m engaged in the conversation, I’m staring at the view; yet, nothing is making my heart flutter. People’s’ jaws are dropping but I feel unimpressed, as if I’m inside a glass box. This beautiful vast world surrounding me that I can’t touch, feel, or even sense its breath. The more I ask myself, “What the fuck is wrong with me?” the more blatantly clear it becomes that my pilot light has been out for quite some time. Suddenly, I realize the only person with the power to relight it is… me.
If only I would stop blowing out the match.
The Bottom Line: I left St. Louis a year ago and to say it has been hard would be an understatement. My subconscious mind led me to impulsively accept a promotion in Kansas City and I haven’t stopped resisting yet. To be frank, this year of growth has been one of the hardest of my life. I must have missed the warning pamphlet on the way here; the one stating that the path to re-self discovery doesn’t look like the inside of a magazine. To be accurate, I think it would fall closer on the pain scale of having a child. Rebirth isn’t pretty no matter how well I have you fooled. Those social media posts everyone doesn’t see: the tears, sleepless nights, and lonely dinners. Deep down I know I came here to find myself again. I know I’m here for a reason. Subconsciously, I came here to save myself from the only man I’ve ever loved. Part of me was testing him to follow me, daring him to prove his devotion. The other side challenging him to actually get his shit together, to finally get help for his prescription pain problem. My rational mind said that I needed to get him to move where he has no supply, and then there’d be no more problem. Right? Wrong. Turns out, an addict is never going to do anything they don’t want to, especially when your ideas begin to threaten their comfort zone. It doesn’t matter how much you thought they loved you, how different this time was, or any of the milestones you had been through together. The 19-year-old waitress in risqué clothing at Twin Peaks is an easy fix. He is no longer alone, the pain of you moving away quickly forgotten. Looking back, I didn’t even talk to him about it. I just assumed he would follow me to the ends of the earth. I mean, he loved me, right? This is storybook bullshit we feed ourselves. #jokes
To be fair, I made my fair share of mistakes too. I definitely tested the boundaries of our relationship frequently and often. We both used each other’s insecurities as weapons rather than strengths. In the end, he needed too much verbal from me and I needed more attention than he was willing to give.
[Insert new reality: the new normal of being alone.]
I remember sitting on the floor of my new empty apartment thinking about the prison sentence I had just willingly walked into. Naïve was an understatement. I remember moving here thinking it would be easy to make friends, it would be fun exploring new places, and be exciting to be somewhere new. In St. Louis, I made new friends for sport. I’d travel to visit girlfriends on the weekend and always left with new contacts. But here, it felt harder. The pain of my break up has built this brick barrier around me. I can see the friendship but it’s not the unique and special connection I desire. I’ve tried to move on but nothing lights me up like he did. The first night we met, I fell for him. No safety net. Just all in.
I know one day my future self will be thanking me for getting free of him. I’m sure he is already thankful to be with someone who is safe and within his comfort zone. I definitely kept him on the edge, pushing him to grow in new ways. But now it’s time I turn this approach onto myself; it’s time to get back to the person I once was. Presently, all I feel is the perpetual pain of his absence. The only cure: surrender. Surrender to the unknown; surrender to a life of just me, loving me. That love being enough love.
Enough with the pity parties.
Enough with the self-doubt.
Enough with salting my wounds.
I am enough without him.
I am enough on my own.
I am enough.