Everything is a Mess | Ashley Kellem
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Everything is a Mess

Everything is a Mess

This year has been a repetitive act of my failings, done  over and over again. I have had years to get over T–and I am still here, helpless in the pit of my fantasies, my longings, my hopes. Chained down by my fears.

Do you remember J (or whatever name I gave him in the hopes of maintaining some sense of anonymity)? He is someone I never loved, but that I still longed for–that I still suffer for. An easy life. A quiet settling. Someone safe and tame, that didn’t hurt, but also didn’t quite fit into me the way T did. The way, people truly connected to you, apart of you, are supposed to.

I have a habit of failing to let go or put down or move away from, things that are no longer apart of me. I am like Lot’s wife, always looking back, stealing one last glance at what once was, fantasizing about what might have been. The girl that J is with, is a longtime family friend. She fits easily into that life in a way I was never allowed to with J. I know when they eventually become engaged, I will defriend him. More reminders of what I am not allowed (right now, or ever as it would seem more and more) are not things that help or comfort me. And they steal away what little joy and assurance and faith I do have in the way that things have shaped themselves to be.

I even glance every now and again at B’s profile.

I try to recall what it was exactly about him, that had me so, ensnared. If I loved him–because I referred to him as my soulmate, and if you can love someone, truly, that you know you will eventually come to hate and move away from.

When I look I hope that his life has fallen apart, sometimes. Mostly I just hope that looking will help me figure out what went wrong–why I felt so strongly. Why and how I was so lost. Why I am still lost.

And then there is T.

I have a bad habit of carrying torches. And his is one that burns ever bright.

I love him. I am in love with him. And I have tried, for years now, to pierce through his silence, and remain there, standing on the other side. I am often, barred from entry, and with this year especially, it feels ever more difficult to want to have any connection with him. And I dream him. Have you ever felt someone so, richly, so profoundly, before? Have you ever, known. But this year has been one harrowing disappointment after another, and so much has gone wrong, and been wrong. So much of life has shifted. So much of faith has dissolved into a bleak nothingness. I have nothing to hang on to. Not even love.

I am trying to find my voice again. It seems only fitting it should begin with writing–that it can only happen with writing. Maybe I’ll finally “fall in love with myself”, maybe I’ll finally understand what love is. Maybe it won’t be so difficult to wrap my mind, or heart around. Maybe this time it’ll make sense. Maybe this time it’ll last. Maybe this time it won’t hurt.

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