Questioning Love

Why do we fall in love with someone, but can never find the words to tell them?
Why does it seem like when the words appear our voice disappears?
Why do we obsess over whether or not they feel the same way?
Why do we feel like no one can ever love us because of the past that precedes us?
Is it because of the baggage that comes with us?
Or because of the scars that have yet to heal?
Why do we believe that love is a hallucination created by mankind to act as a social control?
Why do we feel like the more we look for love the less likely we are to find it?
Why does being loved by the wrong one satisfy us?
Is it because we don’t think there is a right one?
Do we fear being alone?
Is that why we settle for the one who loves us?
Because the one we love doesn’t love us back?
Is that fair to the one who loves us?
How about to us?
What about to the one who we will love and who will love us back?
Why should he/she be forced to live a life of partial fulfillment because we decided to settle?
Why are some of us destined to be alone?
Why does it always seem like Mr. - Ms Wrong are the ones who approach and bedazzle us while their counters are in the background waiting for us to see them?
Why do we beat ourselves up over the one who leaves us, but are never grateful for the one who finds us?
Is that fair?
Is such the circle of life…or love?
Why is falling in love so amazing?
But falling out of love so devastating?
Why do our gestures of love go unnoticed?
Why is it so hard to tell each other how we feel?
Why don’t we walk away when we know it’s not gonna work?
Why does goodbye have to equal failure?
Why doesn’t our soul mate come with sign?
Why do we accept sacrificing our hearts so our pride can remain intact?
Why do we let distance determine our fate?
Why do we feel our lives must be perfect before we commit?
Why must we taste every apple on the tree before deciding we prefer oranges?
Why do we dismiss the person who best suits us because we’re not ready?
Why aren’t we willing to work on ourselves while we grow with them?
Why no matter how matter how many questions I ask; no one will have the answers?

Turn the lights off on your way out...

Today started off like any other Sunday. I slept in, ate a little something, and headed to my sorority meeting. While driving I began to feel a little queasy, but that wasn't uncommon considering my mental circumstance. I had taken on the challenge of not thinking of him today. It was going quite well. I had only cried twice.

As I sat through the meeting, my stomach pain became more intense. So once the meeting was over, I drove myself home. I figured this either meant Mother Nature was coming early or my body was finally feeling the wrath of my broken heart. Just as a precaution, I prepared myself for the former, took 2 Advil, and laid down.

I curled up in a ball and quickly drifted off to sleep. I woke up approximately an hour later stunned, because my sweats were drenched in blood. I went to the bathroom and attempted to clean myself up, but the pain came back with a vengeance. I washed up as best I could, grabbed my purse, keys, and a trash bag for my car seat and drove myself to urgent care.

Thank God it was only around the corner. I staggered into the emergency room and just as I was about to collapse an orderly caught me and broke my fall.

I don't remember the specifics, but there were people talking, the room was moving, and my stomach was throbbing. I had no clue what was going on. I think I asked a nurse, but I don't think she answered me. All I remember is everything going dark and then silence.

I woke up sometime later in a hospital bed wearing one of their peek-a-boo gowns with an IV in my arm. I still felt nauseous, but I also felt extreme soreness, and I was groggy as hell. Just before I could hit the call button, a beautiful Hispanic nurse walked in. She saw me fidgeting and said, "Good you're awake, we were beginning to worry." I swallowed hard, but my mouth was dry so it took a moment to get the words out. "Worry?" I quizzed. "What is wrong with me?"

Looking flustered, the nurse hesitantly replied, "The doctor will be making his rounds soon, you can talk to him about that." She continued to check my vitals. Just as she finished documenting my blood pressure, I touched her hand and barely above a whisper I uttered, "Please."

My eyes must have communicated how desperate I was for answers because her expression softened and I could tell she was trying to choose her words wisely before answering, "The baby didn't make it." I didn't say a word, because they escaped me. "You had a miscarriage." she said trying to help me make sense of her previous statement.

After what seemed like a long pause I said, "That can't be possible. I had a cycle after the last time I had sex." I shook my head in disbelief. "Some women have a menstrual cycle their entire pregnancy. It's rare, but not impossible." she said softly while searching my face for understanding.

"Oh my God!" was all I could manage as I placed my hands over my mouth. Millions of thoughts, questions, and memories flooded my mind. But the reoccurring question was "Should I call him?" And that indeed was a conundrum. He and I hadn't spoken in so long, I didn't want him to feel like this was a ploy to get him back. More importantly, I didn't want him hanging around because he felt sorry for me either.

Nevertheless, I was alone, and I wanted him there; more out of friendship than anything else. I desperately needed a friend right now, and he was the ideal candidate, because this was his loss too. Our loss.

Even though neither of us was ready for a child, we had created one. My imagination began to run wild. I envisioned a beautiful caramel complexioned little girl with sandy brown hair and a smile that would light up a room. Or a hazel eyed little boy who was the spitting image of his father.

Realizing this would never be, hurt more than I would have thought possible. I should have been relieved, but I wasn't. And I cried silently. What is so wrong with me that even a child who shared half of my DNA didn't want me either?

I hadn't noticed, but the nurse had reappeared, or maybe she had never left. I couldn't be sure, but she walked over and handed me 2 pills. "The white one is for the physical pain, and the light blue one is for the emotional...stress." she finished, again choosing each word carefully. I took both without saying anything. "Are you alright?" she asked as if she already knew the answer.

"When can I go home?" I asked dryly. "In a few hours." she said cheerfully. "We want to monitor you a bit more." she concluded. I rolled over and faced away from her.

"Ma'am is there anyone we can call?" she asked the loaded question genuinely.

"No!" I snapped unintentionally. "Ok. Anything else?" she said lightly, obviously not taking offense to my previous answer. "Turn off the lights on your way out." my voice quivered.

Darkness

The Diary of a Brokenhearted Girl

Late Night Email Alert

I came home from the club slightly inebriated. I stumbled over every chord or wire in my apartment as I made my way to the bathroom to relieve myself.

(Ever since this break up (for lack of a better word), I have developed a slight drinking problem. Before you judge me, try to understand my pain. I am irrevocably in love with a man who does not love me back. At least not the way I love him, and if he does and I use the word if cautiously; he has never told me nor do I see it in his actions. I have been hurt many times, and I thought this was different. Wrong. He played me. Imagine that for a moment, and see if you fancy a drink or two from time to time. Back to today's events)

I washed my hands and stumbled back to the living room, humming "Break Up" by Mario. (oh the irony) As I reach the sofa, I kick off my heels, pull my dress over my head and throw myself on the waiting couch cushions. I grabbed my sorority blanket and curled up on the couch. I turned on the television, but I don't remember what was on because I was not really paying attention.

I must have nodded off because when my Blackberry rang with its familiar email alert I was startled. Since my BlackBerry is synced with my personal email, I knew that whomever was emailing me was someone I was either related to or knew me personally. With that in mind, I did not hesitate to check it.

Now imagine my surprise when I read his name in the from box. My heart was racing, my palms were sweating, and I froze. I didn't know whether to shit or shine my shoes. Should I delete it? I didn't know, but if I did I would wonder about it for all the days of my life. Funny but the subject line read "please don't delete." I chuckled a little, because he knew me too well. Then I sighed loudly at the thought.

My eyes kept scrolling back and forth looking at the name and subject line for what seemed like hours, but I know it was not. Finally I got the courage to check it, and it read:

My love,
I know I shouldn't be writing this, but in lieu of the text message I got from you last night, I knew I had to respond. Your words troubled me all day, but the answers you seek I cannot give you. All I can say is that I need space. I am not ready to be who you deserve me to be. I have much growing to do. I will always care for you, more than you know.

You are now and always will be "the perfect verse over a tight beat."

He'd always ended every text, email, card, or letter that way ever since we had seen the movie. He knew it was my favorite line.

Reading that email re-opened the wound, and lined it with salt.

P.S. When I woke up in the morning and attempted to re-read it, it was gone.

The Diary of a Brokenhearted Girl

A Drunken Text

My new pillow-top mattress had become the most uncomfortable place on earth. My bed seemed crowded even though I was the only one in it.

Search as I may, there was no comfort zone to be found. Then I began sweating profusely. It was hotter than summertime in hell in that room; yet I was longing for his arm around my waist or his chest under my face. I missed him. The tears began to well up in my eyes again, or were my eyeballs sweating?

I checked the temperature and the meter read a cool 65 degrees. How could that be; when I was obviously burning up? I shrugged it off and quickly set the automatic dial to 60 and continued to navigate my way through the darkness to the refrigerator. I poured myself a glass of Bacardi...ok maybe it was 3 or 4 glasses, but no matter.

I maneuvered my way through the darkness and sat on the couch. I grabbed the remote and turned on the tv. I don't know what I was expecting see on the television, but I know what I got; teenage love stories and soft core porn. All those did was cause the tears to fall more, but I saw no point in fighting it so I let them flow. I picked up what had to be my 5th or 6th glass of Bacardi and drank it way too fast. Even the stray tears falling into the glass did not deter me, and within a matter of minutes the glass and the bottle were both empty, just like my spirit.

I looked again at the screen and saw the couple making love and it dawned on me, it had been nearly 2 months since I'd felt the touch of man or the pleasure of an orgasm. "Fuck him" I screamed at the television. No matter what channel I turned to there was some form of love or coital bliss being displayed. Even on telemundo there was a confession of love going on that even I, being the non-Spanish speaker that I am, could understand them clearly. From their lover's exchange to the first moment their lips touched, it was obvious there would be no sanctuary on the television screen for me. The eye waterfall began to flow like the Niagara and I let them. Finally, I hit the power button.

For a few moments I just sat there sniffling in complete darkness. Looking for some type of distraction, I focused my attention on a nearly full pantry. "I could eat myself into a coma." I thought. But considering all the working out I'd been doing that would not have been wise. Besides, the next time we meet, I want him to see what he's missing. At that thought a slight smile crept up on my lips. My head started to spin as the Bacardi was just now kicking in, in full force I might add.

I looked to my right and saw my Blackberry. I quickly grabbed it to check for any missed calls or texts...nothing. I went to my saved texts and read some of the sweet messages he'd sent me, which now seemed so long ago. My mouth was dry, my stomach was tight, I felt like I might vomit. But once I regained control of my senses, I hit the reply button and typed a text that read:

You fucking bastard, why did you do this to me? You begged me to trust you, promised you wouldn't hurt me, and here I sit broken, in mind, body, and spirit. I let my guard down and let you in and you hurt me. What did I do to deserve this? I gave you more than I've ever given anyone in a very long time and you used me. How could you? I would have done anything and everything for you don't you realize that? What did you want that I was not giving? What did you need, that I neglected? Why take from me if you knew you never intended to give back? Why bother with formalities, I would have fucked you anyway had you just been honest about what it was? I'm grown.
Why did you pretend to care for me, to want me, to want me to want you then take it all away from me? I told you what I'd been through, I shared my pains with you, but you inflicted a new pain of your own. I've cried a million rivers over you and I will probably cry a million more. I loved you, yes I loved you. So tell me what happened, you owe me at least that much.

Send

Just then a flash of rational thought hit me. I was sure I was going to regret this in the morning. "What have you just done?" I whispered. But before I could fully think it through, sleep overwhelmed me and I passed out on the couch.

The Diary of a Brokenhearted Girl

Day 23...down for the count

I wake up 2 hours before my alarm goes off and stare at the ceiling. Re-engulfed in the pain that was temporarily sedated by the tears and sleeping pills which have now worn off. I lay here thinking about the whys, the how comes, and the what ifs. Driven only by the common sense that my job pays the bills, I reluctantly climb out of bed.

Now just because I'm moving doesn't mean I'm over it. It simply implies that I am capable of compartmentalizing. I stare at my swollen, sob ridden face and the only word I can muster is "damn!". I examine my puffy eyes and swollen cheeks; run my fingers across the now dry tear lines. Immediately, my fingertips acknowledge the new dampness that has made its way from the corners of eyes back down the familiar path ending under my chin. "Pull your self together baby girl." I say to myself barely above a whisper.

I grab a face towel from the linen closet, and turn on the cold water. Once the towel is completely wet, I carefully place it on my swollen apenditures. First my eyes, then my cheeks. I hold it there just long enough for the coolness to contrast and alleviate some of the swelling. The cold compress jolts me, but I do not move. After reapplying it 2 or 3 more times, I give myself a once over and see that my face is somewhat back to normal. I sigh.

I turn on the shower, drop my robe and step into the steaming hot water flow. The sound of the water mixed with the allure of the heat embrace my body and mind as I try to separate myself from last night's memories. Totally immersing myself into the momentarily bliss, I begin to sing,
"Very sentimental
And my cryings detrimental,
Tell me what I’m getting into,
I can’t lose my mind.
I think its time for me to let go cause my heart can’t take it no mo,
You were all I lived for but I leave you behind."

Before I could get out the most important line a huge lump built up in my throat and I was silent. Fighting back tears confirmed that I would not be OK, at least not now. I continued lathering up and rinsing off in silence. I stuck my face under the streaming water to thwart the tears and surprisingly it worked...or so it seemed.

I grabbed my towel and wrapped it securely around me and walked into the bedroom. The aroma from the soap began to dance under my nostrils and I feigned a smile at the memory of how this scent drove him wild. Remembering how many days I was late for work because he couldn't keep his hands off of me. My smile quickly disappeared when I realized I would not be late, but early because there was no one here to distract me. Feeling the desire to sob some, I grabbed my radio remote and hit play. Now why does it seem like every song on the radio is about you, when you're going through something?

First, I hear "If I can't have you, let love set you free/To fly your pretty wings around/Pretty wings, your pretty wings. I quickly change the station only to hear, "Sometimes love comes around/ And it knocks you down/Just get back up/When it knocks you down. I turn the station one more time hoping...no praying to hear a Lil John or Soulja Boy song so I can find the strength I need to put my clothes on. Then finally some salvation "Nuttin left to do but send her home to you/I'm through - can ya sing the song for me, boo?/One more chance/Biggie give me one more chance."

Now I'm grooving, putting my clothes on trying to tuck my thoughts of him safely away, at least until 5pm. I slide on my stilettos, adjust my skirt, apply my lip gloss and give myself an approving once over. "You're going to be fine," I say to myself as I search for my keys.

I place my hands on my keys and I shuffle through the room looking for my purse, the commercial commences. The DJs are chattering, but I was not paying attention. Just then I hear it. I am stopped in my tracks...paralyzed. The pain in my chest, knot in my throat, heat around my eyes. The tears fall, the sobs immediately follow, and everything goes dark. I barely manage to call in to work as the sound of Mary J tortures me:
Sleep don't come easy
Boy please believe me
Since you been gone
Everything's goin' wrong
Why'd you have to say goodbye
Look what you've done to me
I can't stop these tears from fallin' from my eyes
Ooh baby
I'm going down

And just like that I went down for the count...

The Diary of a Brokenhearted Girl