An Unusually Deep Look into Something Rarely Seen
On the hierarchy of terms used to describe human experience, visualized as a multi-colored flowchart with arrows and boxes of explanation, tragedy is worse than sadness. Sorrow is a selfish pain, a heartbreaking, soul-wrenching ache that burns with doubt, regret, and pity. But sadness has ego. It is affected. The arrow from the “tragedy” box on the flowchart takes you through sadness no matter what; it is a box and world of its own—tragedy is the eye of the hurricane of human suffering. When struck by tragedy, for a while there is no movement, no wind. Only the dull and dawning realization that your life, all you know for sure that you have, has been permanently altered by something completely out of your control.
According to that description, I have been struck by tragedy. I have been as forgiving, kind, beautiful, funny, compassionate and companionable as I have the ability to be, but my life has changed without my permission. My security has been blown out of the water (although I still weakly insist that I don’t need security), along with my comfort and a large portion of my happiness.
At the moment, I am trapped inside the sliding hopeless feeling of being thrown out of love with yesterday’s newspapers. The situation came about suddenly, and the stages of grief I’ve gone through are very similar to those experienced after hearing from your lover that a mutual friend, whom you both loved dearly, has died and you’re the last one to find out. My boyfriend is currently one half of his most serious relationship to date, but claims to have fallen out of love. He’s leaving to the country at the end of the summer and hopes to find a sweet English rose to hold in his heart forever, as a part of the total experience. Plus, he wants to fuck around. But his explanation also includes that he feels like our spark has gone out, the twisted stomach weak kneed beautiful relationship sunrise spark, and he just can’t continue loving me with out that spark. I love you but I’m not in love with you.
Unfortunately for me, I believe and Redbook has reassured me that in a deep and healthy relationship, that spark tends to give way to a deeper love, the form of companionship and friendship that he and I have now. We have both recognized this unconditional love, yet he does not feel that it is relationship material.
But I can and will not try to convince him of this fact. Thus, I am doomed to suffer the loss of one of the best relationships I’ve ever seen—in movies, books, television, or real life. We’ve only grown closer since his confession that “this thing should end with the summer,” sharing our romantic hopes and where our sights are set and what we hope for each other. There have been moments where I’ve felt him doubting his decision, but my choice not to exploit that has caused him to become increasingly confident in his decision to end the best relationship he’s ever had, with the best lover, friend, and confidant he knows (so he says, anyway).
The eye of human suffering has proven both a lonely and a terribly comforting place to be, because here I know two conflicting truths simultaneously:
1. I am alone.
No one can completely understand what I am going through, and I do not have the words to explain it correctly, try as I might. In one night, my view of the future was completely turned around, all of my expectations were let down, and my heart was broken in half like a stale sugar cookie.
2. I am not alone
I am not the only person in this world suffering, nor would I be suffering worse than millions of people, if the flowchart of descriptive words were turned into a list with a rating scale. No one has killed my family, I am not starving or the victim of a genocide, the place where I live is at war but not war-torn. I can turn on the radio and listen to sympathy from people who are singing songs about heartache. I can read novels or self-help guides to help me get along because my emotions are universal; I am not the only person to be thrown out of love or security. My situation tugs at the heartstrings of my closest friends, so I can cry on their shoulders or watch their faces quiver while I tell them my story with a stiff upper lip, and I still go home and sleep in a warm dry place.
I guess tragedy proves true the idea of the lonely crowd.
So, as the player dealt the worst hand in this particular game, I’m going to try and bluff my way out. I have refused to become paralyzed by the depressingly hopeless feeling of being thrown out of love; instead I have been forcing myself to live as completely in the moment as I can, to kiss and cuddle and enjoy what we have now, knowing that we’re on a deadline and it ends with the summer. I am accepting this loss forever, as Kerouac wisely advised, with the knowledge that this relationship has served its important purpose to us both. I am now embarking on the process of living past love and into friendship without waiting for love again, but holding on to the heartstring that connects us. It’s hard—it’s very fucking hard. But life won’t stop and I won’t stop and maybe love will come back sometime, with somebody else and hell, it could be as good as this one, or better.
According to that description, I have been struck by tragedy. I have been as forgiving, kind, beautiful, funny, compassionate and companionable as I have the ability to be, but my life has changed without my permission. My security has been blown out of the water (although I still weakly insist that I don’t need security), along with my comfort and a large portion of my happiness.
At the moment, I am trapped inside the sliding hopeless feeling of being thrown out of love with yesterday’s newspapers. The situation came about suddenly, and the stages of grief I’ve gone through are very similar to those experienced after hearing from your lover that a mutual friend, whom you both loved dearly, has died and you’re the last one to find out. My boyfriend is currently one half of his most serious relationship to date, but claims to have fallen out of love. He’s leaving to the country at the end of the summer and hopes to find a sweet English rose to hold in his heart forever, as a part of the total experience. Plus, he wants to fuck around. But his explanation also includes that he feels like our spark has gone out, the twisted stomach weak kneed beautiful relationship sunrise spark, and he just can’t continue loving me with out that spark. I love you but I’m not in love with you.
Unfortunately for me, I believe and Redbook has reassured me that in a deep and healthy relationship, that spark tends to give way to a deeper love, the form of companionship and friendship that he and I have now. We have both recognized this unconditional love, yet he does not feel that it is relationship material.
But I can and will not try to convince him of this fact. Thus, I am doomed to suffer the loss of one of the best relationships I’ve ever seen—in movies, books, television, or real life. We’ve only grown closer since his confession that “this thing should end with the summer,” sharing our romantic hopes and where our sights are set and what we hope for each other. There have been moments where I’ve felt him doubting his decision, but my choice not to exploit that has caused him to become increasingly confident in his decision to end the best relationship he’s ever had, with the best lover, friend, and confidant he knows (so he says, anyway).
The eye of human suffering has proven both a lonely and a terribly comforting place to be, because here I know two conflicting truths simultaneously:
1. I am alone.
No one can completely understand what I am going through, and I do not have the words to explain it correctly, try as I might. In one night, my view of the future was completely turned around, all of my expectations were let down, and my heart was broken in half like a stale sugar cookie.
2. I am not alone
I am not the only person in this world suffering, nor would I be suffering worse than millions of people, if the flowchart of descriptive words were turned into a list with a rating scale. No one has killed my family, I am not starving or the victim of a genocide, the place where I live is at war but not war-torn. I can turn on the radio and listen to sympathy from people who are singing songs about heartache. I can read novels or self-help guides to help me get along because my emotions are universal; I am not the only person to be thrown out of love or security. My situation tugs at the heartstrings of my closest friends, so I can cry on their shoulders or watch their faces quiver while I tell them my story with a stiff upper lip, and I still go home and sleep in a warm dry place.
I guess tragedy proves true the idea of the lonely crowd.
So, as the player dealt the worst hand in this particular game, I’m going to try and bluff my way out. I have refused to become paralyzed by the depressingly hopeless feeling of being thrown out of love; instead I have been forcing myself to live as completely in the moment as I can, to kiss and cuddle and enjoy what we have now, knowing that we’re on a deadline and it ends with the summer. I am accepting this loss forever, as Kerouac wisely advised, with the knowledge that this relationship has served its important purpose to us both. I am now embarking on the process of living past love and into friendship without waiting for love again, but holding on to the heartstring that connects us. It’s hard—it’s very fucking hard. But life won’t stop and I won’t stop and maybe love will come back sometime, with somebody else and hell, it could be as good as this one, or better.
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