Sunday, August 16, 2015


How we recover from loss, heartbreak, and trauma differs greatly from person to person.  We might all share similar emotions but no two recoveries are ever the same.  Some of us never recover. Those that don't walk through this world in a blurry haze, drinking or drugging away their pasts and their pain. Or maybe they eat to numb the pain.  They stop cleaning their house.  They become shut-ins. They stop dating completely.

You want to help them.  You try to help them.  You might even love them.  But you sit by, helpless, and watch them walk down the road of self-destruction while pushing you away. Whatever their scars are they have chosen to shut out the world, shut out love, and live in a prison of loneliness.

The irony is that the last thing most people truly want is to be left utterly alone.  So the paradox of their fears and their scars and their numbing and their pushing away leaves them doing to their own heart exactly what they worry you will do to it.  Essentially they are breaking it themselves, over and over again. only they don't realize it. Or maybe they do and feel helpless to stop it.  Or they do it before others would presumably have the chance to. You can fight for them.  And you should. But at some point, by holding on, you're damaging you as much as they're damaging themselves.

People give me advice about how I should handle my heart all the time.  I should not be so open.  I should stay open.  Having a giant heart gets you hurt.  Having a giant heart is an amazing thing. Don't be so trusting.  Trust people.  And, admittedly, I have had enough happen to me ten times over to be one of the most bitter, angry, jaded, man hating, walled off people on the face of the earth. Nobody would even question me.  Yet instead I remain... hopeful.  Open.  And I don't believe all men are abusive.  Far from it actually.  Most of all I am willing to still try.  To still put my heart out there and take the chance that it will get smacked down.  Risky?  Very.  But I'd rather come to the end of my life with a heart covered in scars instead of one preserved perfectly out of fear. I want to look back and know that I fought for all that mattered to me in this world.

I have known quite a few desperados in my life.  Their circumstances varied greatly.  So did their scars.  Each one of them I tried my hardest to convince that they shouldn't give up on humans, on love.  None of them would listen.  They all had their reasons.  And even though none of them probably thought I understood, I did.  I just have a different kind of heart.  If only we could reach into the hearts of those we care about and heal them and open them back up.  I know my way means I will accumulate more scars but I'm not getting any younger... and neither are you, desperado.