Warning: While writing this and thinking through it was incredibly helpful for me, it probably won’t be for you. And it’s long. Ridiculously long. So unless you’ve got tons of time on your hands and you feel that you really need a crash course in self-assessment (my self-assessment)–better skip this one…
My mom cut out the following article for me, which discusses the very real physiological implications of heart-break. As days pass, I think I will be reflecting on some other online WebMD articles on the subject of love–as the physical and emotional pain of things looms repeating again as these months goes on.
Click on the image if you want to see the full picture, including the guy on the right side. I love this guy, he’s like “Gosh, I’m kinda bummed out about this heartbreak thing…oh well. Hey! Anyone got some construction paper?”
I guess I’m kinda like that, haha…except my construction paper is the web…and I might be taking things a bit harder than this guy…
Ok on to the main event:
The part of this helpful article I wish to reflect on is “…how much talking to the person made situations seem worse, how much the respondent would have liked more practical help from the partner or friend, and how much more the person would have liked to confide in the partner or friend.”
I have had maybe two, let’s say “indirect”, conversations with the partner-or-friend since, and I realize that I have just made things worse for them with each one–something I never meant to do. Just my physical proximity, my reaching out, my own static was mussing up their picturesque recovery. I should have, could have just veered away instead. Even while trying to take selfishness out of my system and modus operandi, I was still selfishly committed to confronting my heartbreak–to having it addressed and discussed, at all costs it seems; and I thought at the time that this was reasonable and not at all an issue of burden or impossibility for them. But to be selfless is to truly let go of the idea of “resolution” or “closure” especially with something as abrupt and (given the expansiveness of my former ego) unexpected as this all seemed to me.
In one of the two conversations, I had just had my first brush with bitterness (ever!) a few hours before–and it was turning my world absolutely upside down. Was this…hate? “How can I look at you and love you and hate you at the same time?” It was confusing, and while I just wanted to be continuing on my commitment-to-self (entailing kind words and self-repair and doing/saying nothing of heat or confidence in my life), I was overwhelmed quickly by these new feelings. I hadn’t the foggiest what was going on–I was like: “how could bitterness be happening to me? ME?” Haha. Alhamdulilah, I excised that bitterness pretty promptly–but while it was there (and thinking on it after), it did help me realize the gravity of the situation– the logistical impossibility of things: after all, if two hours of bitterness one Friday night could make me taste hate (or at least that bizarre love-hate mix) ever-so-briefly, but intensely, the next afternoon, what had months of bitterness done on the other end to them, to whatever love was left in their heart?
What dangerous medicine! Sometimes venom is tribal medicine (or even a source for many of pharma’s medicines), and though a venom may be tried and true, we trifle with side-effects when we go to far and medicines are applied prematurely, carelessly, or in excess. Side-effects we might not see til much later, if ever, (in retrospect) clearly outweigh the benefits of killing the pain, or addressing it at all. I think that’s my position on bitterness–I could be over this tomorrow, but that medicine is just too strong and too dangerous. Now if I could get the pleasant numbness of delusion and arrogance out of my veins all together, now that I realize how often I was pill-popping. Ya rabbi, ihdini. But the writings of Ghazali and Imam Al-Haddad helped me with their own antidote in the aftershock of this brief bitterness, with some general character advice. One helpful caution was articulated very similarly both in “Inner Dimensions of Islamic Worship” and “The Book of Assistance,” respectively, the latter of which is quoted here:
Beware of being callous, coarse, obscene, or difficult to approach. The Prophet said, may blessings and peace be upon him: ‘God is only Merciful to those of his servants who are merciful; those who show no mercy are shown no mercy.’ pg. 91
And then there’s a bit more in the text on being easy to approach. Maybe, maybe I’m easy to approach. But I could see right away that this bitterness would make me callous, even more self-justified, coarse, and perhaps even obscene in my general behavior. I pray that, though this is a public discussion of recovery–something usually private and hidden and incomplete and prolonged, that it does not venture into the obscene or the untoward and that readers will correct my missteps if they see otherwise. In any case, with each idea I get out on paper or receive feedback on, Allah moves me infinitesimally along towards peace, inshaAllah. And with each reflection I expand upon in poetry or prose or banal writing, I see some of my delusions for what they are. And I try to settle some of these better aspirations and traits I’ve been flirting with into my more permanent demeaner, inshaAllah.
And, like 3 people read this anyway, so clearly I’m not doing this for my adoring masses.
What a reaction to have, bitterness–it must have been destiny that of all days that was the one during which I had just seen bitterness. For on all the days of March before it or since, even when I saw or heard that friend, that other, and they seemed angry or opposed to me…it truly made me smile. I have enjoyed happening upon this state. I must say it is a total 180 on how I used to deal with the little daily hiccups (or life events) that contradicted my “plan.” I used to consider seemingly abrasive actions or possibly undeserved frowns to be problems I had to confront (nevermind the fact that I was making mountains out of molehills half the time). But now these everyday things make me smile, I can not only tolerate them, but embrace them–I think that’s important. May Allah keep me on in that way. The next step is fully and completely and smilingly embracing the big hiccup!
It’s funny (tragic*) that I’m just learning how to be (inshaAllah inshaAllah!) appropriately supple and admiring, now that this admiration and it’s object are none of my business. Now that it would be better for me if I didn’t think a thing on it. And funny how this admiration can flourish despite the fact that I can actually admit that, logistically, if not emotionally, things will never come back together, unless God wills (which be quite a turn of events–it would mean that everything that is so very clear now, somehow changes). At any rate, I certainly know there’s nothing I can do or say for such a radical change to become reality. Hence the completeness of my admission, my resignation.
The other conversation with them, though, was perfect for me. Ok I droned on and I kept repeating myself (and I was so enjoying it that I selfishly took wayyy too much time)…and I didn’t actually say anything of substance–and perhaps these things are to be expected with such intense longing and present confusion…but the conversation itself was soft and nice and just like I remembered and I felt like my feet were on the ground for the first time. I miss that feeling dearly now. And despite being treated well, I was surprised at how sane I became after: I was able to counsel myself behind the scenes in my mind to let go of (most of) whatever silly hope was saying “see, things can be nice and beautiful…maybe there’s still hope,” for I, by that time, was beginning to realize that I did not want to take advantage of the other’s momentary inclination to help me. That was uncharacteristic too, I think. And it felt good. It was a tough struggle, but overnight I told myself, “just take that conversation and use it to move forward.” And yet…I needed a bit more of that help and that softness. Too bad that things were intimated to me after the conversation that lessened its niceness and regressed me a few weeks or months (or years) in my cheery march on. However diminished, I still clung to that soft conversation. I needed that (perhaps I still need that) to move on. I really think that’s the way to go. Apparently a number of people suffering from heart disease wish the same… I wonder if this assails the cells and vessels of my heart while I sleep and I do not even realize. Then one day hence I will be in bed and the pointlessness of today’s misery will seize me with infarction, just as things start to get on track…la qadr Allah…morbid thought–but certainly another great reason to “get over it” if ever I can; since this kind of physical ailment appears to be a reality for so many who cannot take things in stride. And I don’t know if it’s the whole darned bulky emotional clot that just needs kindness from that other to wash it away clean or if I just hate being hated…I suspect it’s the former.
At any rate, the other was the only person on the planet I thought I could confide in and the only person whose practical help seemed to stick. Even my family couldn’t and can’t make a dent. And that is my fault, that the other was the only person I ever let fully in–and even then, not properly. I love my friends so dearly for helping me and advising me, but no one can cut straight to my heart like that other. For good or for bad.
A semi-related aside about power
Given that the other has decided a clean break is the best thing for them, I am left with just how messy that break is for me. It would seem my break’s messiness is the cost of their break’s cleanliness. For all I have done and said wrong, I do hope that counts for something, ya rab. I wonder if there is really such a thing as a clean break. I wonder if I should change the heart icon in the custom title-bar image to more accurately reflect what a clean break really means…
Someone commented in advising me the other day that, as tough as it is to look at it this way, these things are about power. Another friend commented that she’s had to relinquish some dignity and some emotional normalcy to get things back on track, that she’s had to beg for “another chance” but that things worked out and got back to a good (or even better) equilibrium. That’s wonderful. In that way, power is an illusion, for when it is really shared, it is not a fixed or finite commodity. But when a normal conversation (let alone the opportunity to sincerely beg, or talk, or just be) isn’t even entertained, as in my case? That is having less than no power. Maybe my blog should be titled “Less than nothing.”
I’m ok with no power, surprisingly. Certainly it seems, from this side of the tracks, that having the power over decision making and reducing it from a bilateral to a unilateral process makes the break an emotionally easier thing on one of the parties involved…that’s how it seems things are going over on the other side of the tracks. I’ve been there once before, I can remember. I’m still amazed, though, that someone who has been there would ever force that on someone else. I guess sometimes you just have to take care of yourself or else no one else is going to do it for you and then things become unilateral and somewhat justified…
I don’t know. I don’t think I could ever do that again, now that I know. Perhaps I would be this dichotomous friend: you can’t have me, but I’m always here for you. As I talk to my friends, it seems like certain relationships (when both parties have a certain level of experience) are capable of this kind of amiable break.
But the idea of not having power in the relationship or in life really isn’t the thing that bothers me at all–which would perhaps be surprising to my friends. In fact, I think if someone had said “Here is what relationships are about: serve the other and never expect anything in return except abuse–take anything else as a pleasant surprise,” I think I would have seized on that. I love practical advice that seems difficult to implement and maybe a bit extreme, but then pays off when it plays out. I love things that, when the going gets rough, echo in my head: “no, do X instead…” For example, when Qur’an happens to occur to me while I am in a bathroom or near something unclean, I have trained myself to say “no.” Simple. “No.” Then I stop my train of thought and think about something mundane. I have no control over when texts or ideas occur to me, but I’ve been conditioned for years now and the “no” just brings me back to my surroundings, curtails the daydream or internal recitation, so my mind and lower self doesn’t wander free and disrespect the Holy Word.
Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever described that aspect of my inner monologue to anyone before. Reader, we just shared a special bond of self-discovery and sharing. *cheesy-kodak-moment* I, just…I feel so close to you right now. Really man. I love you, dawg. *man-hug*, *man-tear*
More recently, whenever I find myself wanting to contradict something or somebody, I tell myself “no, you (the self) are wrong.” It works wonders: it gives space for me to chill out and plenty of time for the idea to proceed along the channels of my mind, unrestrained. And I have thereby allowed myself to see a great deal of good in arguments and positions I never ever would have inspected before. Positions that I was repulsed by (not out of any kind of defensible or moral stance) because arrogance or incidental predisposition had made me intellectually and emotionally brittle. I think even in that heedless state, with a few external reminders, I would have practiced the “No. Serve. Serve and enjoy it,” state-of-being fairly well. Granted, I would have missed out on so many other internal confrontations and shortcomings, but it makes me wonder what little practical things I can remind myself of frequently now that I might be missing out on, even as I aspire more dedicatedly to good character. Reader: If you’re still with me, you must really love me (or be really worried about me), perhaps you’ve got some suggestions from the life of the Prophet (upon him be peace), personal practice, experience, or texts on things to repeat to my soul as it forges on through the day-to-day?
So…knowing a lot (read: a little) more about relationships, if I project that servitude and that selflessness on a future relationship (and if the partner is healthy, inshaAllah, and not actually prone to abuse…which is a reasonable thing to expect inshaAllah), it could be pretty sweet. Every unilateral good makes a bilateral good and every unilateral bad…is garbacious.
Through all the pain, I do at least have a few more of these new practical echoes in my mind to be thankful for, for sure. Alhamdulilah!
Now, thinking about how I’ll strive to be in my current life and, moreover, in the next relationship somehow makes things as they are seem that much more severe. These last few nights have been the roughest. Even as I am the most sure that things are logistically impossible, that the past is the past, and even now that I have the most hope that everything will work out for each of us, inshaAllah–even now as I have the most hope that I can be patient and open-minded regarding how the future visits me–even now…an admiration of the other fills my eyes’ sight and my mind’s wandering and I get lost in tears until the night is gone, my throat is rough, and my chest is sore. And it is not some idle, deluded admiration (some have suggested that we can idolize the other in retrospect)–no, these are well-acknowledged beauties, skills, writings, quirks, angers, and aspirations in the other that resonate in me strongly. They only do so now with more vigor because I am finally taking a moment to stop the day-to-day grind and write, to reflect, and to understand my life. But it’s hard to ignore this. When a bell plays and the ears hear it, it is so difficult to tell the mind: “the ears have heard, but you, mind, must mind not.”
A new, more terrible dichotomy.
That even as I delve further into myself with my parents’ and my friends’ help, attempting to reflect on how best to be healthy and think healthily–about how best to continue my road to softness and self-reflection inshaAllah, on this new project of easy-goingness and other-centeredness (inshaAllah, inshaAllah)–I contradict myself with the presence and necessity of pain and I contradict myself by allowing what seems true, overwhelming loneliness. For trust in Allah entails contentedness and, I would have told you a few months ago, contentedness does not entail melancholy. Oh but it can, it would seem, as the waterwheel that powers my heart dredges up again old muck with each night’s turning; this even though the engineer is content in his knowledge that the wheel will keep on turning through it soundly. But he sure does know the same muck will dredge up again tomorrow…
For some time now, whenever I catch myself longing for the other, I funnel that longing entirely into longing for God and into love for His messenger, peace and blessings of God be upon him. This is all I need in life, to know to whom I am thankful to (for my health, for my opportunities, for my sustenance, for my family, for my friends, for my books, for my capacities, for my faults, and so on). All my soul ought to need is to give and show thanks. And my guide: the Prophetic Example. My striving is to know how to access this shining example for men and to follow it. Softness. Ease. “Don’t get angry.” “No. Don’t get angry.” Ever. Mercy. Patience. Easier said than done, sometimes.
But this new state: where logistical longing is no longer the matter–this state in which my longing has given way to simple admiration and penitence, this weeping is harder to quickly convert into ease.
And, just as I tell myself whenever I cannot hold onto something in memorization or when my thesis adviser is getting on my nerves or when my parents are nudging me down a track that they would prefer (but I feel would be detrimental)–patience: walk away, do something else, when you return it will all make sense. But tell that to my 3 AM self who seriously seriously considered selling my computer and using the money for plane fare to Yemen! New blog: The Yemeni Spider! Haha. Well, at least my 3am self knows to go to sleep and freaking finish this thesis before up-and-changing everything…
One day inshaAllah I will have a person to share stories with and a white picket fence and little youngsters whipping through corn-stalks and adolescents who share my blood studying in hammocks. But even if my entire life is consigned to thankful loneliness, isn’t the reward given to one with patience, who shows sincere thanks, enough to give me a lifetime of contentment? We have so much. This whirlwind of concern and tears and loneliness is just more selfishness I am afraid.
Patience, then.
*Allah, mighty and sublime, says in Surat Al-Baqarah (Chapter 2, Line 216 of the Holy Qur’an), a meaning approximately given by:
It may happen that you hate a thing, which is good for you, and it may happen that you love a thing, which is bad for you. Allah knows, you know not. Of this I am cognizant. And in dedication and patience there is truly no tragedy except in the love-story, Hollywood, Shakespearian, self-absorbed sense of the word.
