Love Struck? Or, Love’s Truck?

Life is a journey. It’s like a road. There are twists and turns, ups and downs, and smooth patches and potholes. And sometimes, you’re standing on the road, happy, energetic, ready to run to the finish. But, sometimes, you’re standing on the road dejected, beaten down, unable to take another step in any direction. Sometimes, a truck hits you out of nowhere. Or, maybe not out of nowhere.

You see, despite my visual impairment, I saw the truck coming. It was coming at me, slowly at first, but gaining more speed with each day. Its lights were shining and its horn was blasting. And, I tried to get out of its way, I did but, I didn’t. Or, at least I didn’t get completely out of its way. I may have mostly jumped out of its way. Or, convinced myself I still had time to move. Or, I may have said I was out of the way in my mind, but my body wasn’t actually listening. Whatever the reason may be, I got hit. Hard. And it hurt.

Because I was semi-prepared (haha get it. Semi-prepared, semi-truck). But, I guess I had always held out a little bit of hope that I wouldn’t have to move out of the way. That the truck would prove not to be a truck, but to be my ride. My vehicle through the next part of my journey. But, surprise, it wasn’t. It was a truck. And it hit me. Crushed me. I had told myself I was braced for impact, but, I didn’t brace myself hard enough, thinking the impact would never actually come.

And now, here I am, in the middle of the road, dejected, beaten down, and unable, unwilling, to move. My physical wounds are not nearly as painful as the emotional ones. Because it hurt. And, ever since the impact, I’ve asked myself so many times how I could be so stupid, how I could have such a false hope, how I could think the truck wasn’t going to hit me. I wondered if I had been more obvious about my presence if the driver would have seen me.

And so, here I am, laying in the middle of the road. Watching my life play out. Watching my hopes and dreams being achieved by another. Watching my life, as if a movie, except I am no longer the main character. This life I had planned for myself, this life I had hoped for myself, happening, but happening to someone else.

Because, I am “actually a pretty great person.” But, maybe, I’m not good enough. Because, apparently my years of trust, of openness, were not what I thought they were. Maybe my openness was scaring him away. Maybe I wasn’t obvious about how it was that I felt. But, whatever, the reason, I now have to learn to get over the impact. And five, no, maybe seven, years of bracing myself for impact while simultaneously hoping it wouldn’t come made me think I would be okay. There were signs along the road. Signs which I read to mean that I wouldn’t have to brace myself for impact. And, eventually the signs changed, and I could tell I was probably misinterpreting them, but I pretended I wasn’t anyway. Because I’d have seen the truck. I’d have been able to see the signs. But, then again, I am blind.

And, so, again, here I am. At a crossroad. Laying here. Slowly but surely getting up. Ready to stand. Unsure how to begin. Unsure how to pull myself up and stand amidst the pain. But, I’m figuring it out. I’m doing what I can. I’m filling up word documents and journal pages with words. With emotions. I’m taking in air; despite how much it might hurt. I’m figuring out how I’ll stand up, crawl around the wreckage I left behind, and move on. And, I’ll figure it out eventually. It may just take a while. Because processing a heartbreak seven years in the making is tough. Watching my five year long dreams, hopes, and wishes come crashing down around me hurts.

So, I am doing what needs to be done. I’m writing. I’m shedding tears. I’m talking. I’m giving myself space. I’m sitting in the bathroom while the DJ plays one of my favorite songs because I just can’t bear to hear it. I’m listening to that one song on repeat. I’m avoiding being the one to initiate contact. And, for a while, I’m avoiding some of the things I used to love because he loves them too. But, I’ll come around eventually. It may just take a few weeks, or months. Hopefully not years. Because I am determined not to let this setback, this heartbreak, set me back.

So, maybe I’ll be less open to people. Maybe I’ll be more open. Maybe I’ll be more cautious about who I tell my deepest intimate secrets to, because maybe I’m worried it’ll scare them away. Maybe I’m worried they’ll think I’m too much to handle. Maybe I won’t change anything. I don’t know. I know that I’ll survive. I know that it’ll take a while to get over it. I know that I am trying my best. I know that I don’t want to let this get to me, even though that is incredibly difficult not to do. I know that there will be tough days, and tough conversations, in the future.

But, I know that God has an amazing plan. And that this heartbreak is just a bump in the road of His amazing plan. And, for now, even though it still hurts, and there are still sores, I’m finding good in the small things. I’m finding things to be thankful for despite the pain. The friend who walks across campus at one in the morning, in the snow, alone, just to sit with you, talk, cry, vent, and throw some pillows. The friends who sit with you in a bathroom stall because you can’t be out there with all the people, not yet. The family who drove to school to pick you up, take you home for dinner, and listened to you share the news. Who were upset with you, and for you, but who also gave you great advice as to how to get up and move on.

The sister who, despite the fact that you weren’t sure if you wanted to tell her, or even how to tell her, allowed you to come to her room and watch a movie. Who didn’t ask to talk about it, but instead just sat and watched a movie, trying to make you laugh. And, who used her million and a half flex dollars to buy you some mozzarella sticks. I’m finding joy in the little things. And being thankful for the small things. And, I’m waiting for the day that I can look back on the wreckage and prove to myself that I can get over it. That I can survive. That I can thrive.

“I remember when we met, I was young and innocent
And they told me you were all a girl could need
So I wrapped my life around you, I felt safe cause I had found you
But security’s become my enemy
You’re the only road I’ve ever known, but it’s time to move on

Cause the truth is I’m finding that it might not go my way
If I hold this life too tightly, my heart would break
And it’s time to say goodbye to everything I’ve ever known
But I choose freedom so this is me letting you go”

– Letting You Go, Jenny Simmons

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