If we were having coffee, I would tell you how tired I am, both physically and emotionally. I just finished doing a week’s worth of laundry; believe it or not, I both hand washed and washing machined them. I am backwards with laundry like that.
But my physical tiredness is not match to how emotionally exhausted I am. Apparently, physical exhaustion is something you can wake up without after a good rest. But not a broken heart and a wounded spirit no matter how long you stay asleep to escape it all.
Ain’t it funny how things can change with just a blink of an eye or, to make it more exact, just because of an invitation of your long-time friends for a simple get-together to celebrate friendship. Then everything went wrong from there.
Like a piece of clothing that has been washed over and over again, the color of our love, which once vibrant, has slowly fainted. Next thing we know, we have gotten this far trying to revive a relationship that has sunken deeper and deeper into the ocean of hatred and carelessly crafted lies. You probably do not know, but it has taken its toll on my mental health. Everything has gotten so messy and too much to deal with that it feels as if the only option we have left is to stop. But we never dared taking that step, and now both of us are miserable (or maybe just one of us, and that’s me).
We are living a dreary cycle though I cannot understand why we let ourselves. I would walk up to you and confront you about the culprit of our downfall. You would apologize and promise me things would get better. I would convince myself to stay and hold on. But I would find out you were just lying and that you have broken your promise.
And then, confrontation would happen again, sorrys would be said, promises would be made, but would only be broken again and again. And that has been going on like a cycle for years. Tell me about exhaustion!
But still we try. We would reach out to each other only to find ourselves groping around the thick walls that has grown between us. We would remedy this by sharing amusing stories with each other about matters that mean something to neither of us, with fake smiles and superficial laughter at supper that betrays our tears and pains. We would talk, but only about shallow things that do not address any of our issues at all; like the latest movie one of us would want to watch or the new silly thing the other discovered on the Internet, and that disconnects us more than it connects us.
Until one day, I woke up and realized I cannot hold on any longer. My hands have been sore with blisters, not with hand washing too much laundry, but for holding on too long. I have nothing more to give because the pain has powdered my heart to dust, and my pride has been shattered to million pieces.
So, I told myself, maybe this has to stop. Maybe, we would make things better if we just let go. Maybe, we could only do it if we dare take our last option. Maybe, the right time for that is now.
Or maybe not. Maybe it has to wait until tomorrow when my laundry has all dried up, so I can pack them up, walk out the door, and never come back.
Thank goodness I did the laundry today.