Renaissance Deux.

        

        Long time, no blog. I've never in the history of FTBH gone on a hiatus that lasted as long as this one -- it's been nearly one month since I've updated! I'd apologize for leaving you hanging, but maybe I'd be flattering myself by assuming you were waiting for my return at all... heh. ;)

        The truth is, I completely lost touch with my own world these past two months. My priorities as a blogger, writer, curator, and individual fell to the detriments of a "romantic narrative" in which I became unhealthily invested. I was so dazzled by somebody else's personal universe that I belittled my own into a cognitive oblivion. I stopped blogging, lulled communication with my friends to an irreparable standstill, and let my manic delusions of worth - and more often, worthlessness - erode my reality into a deprecated pulp, one that I am still working to mold back into a tenable habitat. I do not yet know harmony, but I recognize that picking back up the familiar pieces - like my blog, my photography, and my community online - is one of many cornerstones in the healing process. I want to be better.

I never really "believed" in love until recently, and even still, I am cautiously tethered to the contention that it's a socially constructed phenomenon meant to pacify people, to distract them from the perils of a mechanized, industrial world, and to reinforce the American Dream cliche. The 'feeling' that is love is dangerously real, but its assumed necessity is definitely not. I learned that the hard way.

Clearly not versed in the language of romance, I believed that the ultimate overture of love was "ego suicide.” I slowly killed off parts of myself to prove to my partner that I was willing to make any sacrifice necessary to improve our relationship because, intuitively, I knew it was doomed to fail. Yes, the nuances of healthy coping mechanisms are lost on me. But body language, vocal inflections, social behaviors and word choices are not at all – it was too easy for me to tell that there was a discrepancy in devotion therein my relationship. My error was in not having rationally done something about these impulses early on. I tolerated them all and punished myself, believing that I was at fault for my partner’s waning interest. There is nothing that I could have done about that – there is nothing anybody can do to reignite the singed wick that is an indifferent lover. But there are many ways to survive an impending heartbreak that will not weather your personhood as severely as mine have these past couple months. I was unfortunately too late to learn them before I had my own heart broken.

The unrequited love canon is not new to me. In fact, what happened in January reminds me of a pedantic line in a sonnet I wrote when I was 15: “I do fear my maieutic speak has pestered you for days / but how else will I know that length has not yet killed the spark?” Translation: I recognize that me constantly needing reaffirmation that you love me is annoying, but since we’re in a long distance relationship, I need to hear it to make sure that you’re not over me yet. Advice for anyone in a similar position, or easing into a new relationship and feeling intuitively skeptical – seriously consider the relevancy of this quote right now: “Never make someone a priority when all you are to them is an option.” If that is the case, do not lie to yourself about the reparations you feel ‘capable’ of making. Your partner has issues that they need to deal with independently of a romantic context. They may still have feelings for someone else. They may not share your passion. They may not be sexually attracted to you, emotionally attracted to you, mentally attracted to you. They may not feel attractive. Trying to solve these conflicts by throwing yourself even more earnestly into your partner’s arms will not solve anything. It is a toxic threat to your sense of self. It is suicide.

         No relationship is worth figuratively killing yourself to save. In fact, my willingness to ‘choke’ may have ultimately been what drove my partner to severance – he recognized that I would die for him, and maintaining the status quo would have made him accessory my own ego murder. He wouldn’t change for me. I would. I did. One week later, I still feel grotesquely out of body. This humming vessel is not my own – it is weak, sensitive, humiliated and humiliating. It is a permanent reminder that I am something I never thought I’d become, or thought I’d have been all along… passionate. I care too much. I love fatally.

        I want to say that I don’t know what it is that made my ex fall out of love with me. But I do know – it was my naïve persistence that he was ever in love with me in the first place. I loved him honestly and entirely and instantly because I am (can’t believe I’m saying this!) irrational. Yup. I am irrational. I am a manic, awestruck, saccharine sucker for love. He might be, too. But not with me, not that quickly, and not given our unfortunate circumstances. I was in love with him, and I was alone, and I sensed that solitude every time we were together. I thought that immersing myself more completely in his world, his domestic mold, his industry, and his being would serve as a noble and romantic testament to my affection. Maybe that insanity is romantic at the core… but to him, it was even more a reason to exact distance. It destroyed us. And because I became “us,” it destroyed me in the process.

        Love is yin and yang. Its capacity to devastate is as powerful as its capacity to save. I could easily escape the torment of having to miss my ex, to grieve his absence, to hopelessly crave his warmth and embrace by simply “switching off.” But if I did, I’d likewise sacrifice any hope of ever again experiencing the breathless elation his courtship brought me only a few months ago. I love that sensation too much to indefinitely give up. I guess, all in all, I love love. And the greatest, truest, most romantic ever way to prove it is to survive. I will not kill myself for love. I will live for it. Faithfully every day.

        Today I open a new page, start a new chapter, turn over a new leaf, and a hundred and one other foolish platitudes that are as true as tried… this is my ‘spiritual renaissance.’ Beyond survival, my excellence depends on defining myself independently of one other person. So we’ll start small. We’ll start here:

        Hello everyone. It’s nice to meet you again.

Everything really is infinite,

Bebe Zeva