- the last three years of my life — I wanna go through college again, see my high school friends more, make more friends in college, focus on myself more
- the best antidepressant in the market
- a new beginning
Three years didn’t matter.
Almost a year of being okay didn’t matter.
I’m left wondering what really does matter in the world. They, the rest of the world, always seemed to describe love as the epitome of all that is good. Perfect and worthwhile, but fragile. Painfully fragile. Once it’s gone, I’m left holding the shards and I realize that love is empty.
Love holds nothing inside. In its absence, nothing remains.
I feel like I’m searching for some meaning. I’m desperate to hope that the last three years of my life did not amount to nothing. All my soul-searching dives are coming up short. There is nothing there. It is not that I don’t believe that she cares. Whether she does or does not isn’t significant. What hurts is the realization that love and happiness really does have no guarantee.
As a human, I am essentially drawn toward the idea of permanence, anything to defy the concept of limited time. In the end, nothing is permanent. In the end, does anything matter?
Depressing meme of the day:
Verdict: I think I’m feeling everything but forcing myself to feel nothing to cope.
Officially post-love from this moment on.
I feel like that’s the most apt description of what I’m feeling.
Disenchanted with what exactly?
Most probably, love. Falling in love that last time was a disenchanting experience.
Love is always perceived as an enchanting phenomenon. Waking up in the morning as the first thought, going to sleep at night as the last. Constant wondering and daydreams during the day, with ache of longing at night. The rose-colored glasses, the spine-tingling kisses, the legs that threaten to topple you over and spill you into the concrete, just so that you can effervesce into the cracks of the sidewalk. You know that view of love, I’m sure.
But this love — this last love — was a disenchantment. Freedom from the illusion of love, I suppose. This may sound nihilist and painfully bitter, but it is the one by-product from that past relationship that feels crystal clear to me at the moment. I feel ultimately disenchanted by the idea of love.
Love is work, they always warned us. Love takes a lot of hard work. I never realized how much until this one. People change drastically, and so do our feelings toward them. I had never experienced such a wide gamut of emotions toward one person: affection, desire, pride, contentment, anger, resentment, melancholy, disappointment, and so many conflicting emotions, often in one day. There were really days when I questioned why I stayed. There were days when I could barely remember who we used to be.
I guess we disenchanted each other.
In the end, wasn’t this a service of sorts? To disenchant means to disillusion, to reveal the truth, to undeceive. I no longer feel like love could possibly have any more surprises for me in the future. I have seen the true face of love. Though I truly did love, I don’t think I’m in a rush to go looking for it again.
Perhaps, more than being disenchanted with love, I feel disenchanted with myself.
I am not the idealistic romantic I may have once been or once imagined myself to be. I know myself better now. I guess now I just have to figure out if I like this true self of mine, and what to do about it.