Ignite My Soul

Chapter 24.2 - You Are the Worst

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Told me that I'm bad for you, told me not to chat to you
Gave you all this space and now you come in with this attitude
You know you're special though, so unforgettable
But all this beefing in public is unprofessional
I know you sit and wait up by the telephone, but I never phone
But girl, I told you I'll show up the minute you're finished and you decide to grow up
I'm just hoping your decision's before I make it and blow up


I don't need you, I don't need you, I don't need you, I don't need you
I still you
I don't mean to, I don't mean to, I don't mean to, I don't mean to
But I, but I love you

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"There comes a time when the pain of continuing exceeds the pain of stopping. A threshold is crossed. What seemed unthinkable becomes thinkable." – Gary Zukav.

For a year and a half, I was holding on and convincing myself that it doesn't hurt when it cuts deep like a slightly blunt, rusted Machete. You see, the initial stab was unexpected and painful, but I managed to dress up the wound and nursed my body until the gapping flesh became one again, and I wore my scar like a badass Pirate. I told myself that this was the price for stolen goods. You enjoy the treasure, yet you are always on the lookout for fellow Pirates who can claim your treasure box or the owners finally tracking down and reclaiming what once belonged to them.

From that very first stab, you are kind of a victim of the battle, yet there is no guarantee that you will survive the war. War?!... What does war have to do with love? I walked in, eyes wide shut and handed over my heart as a prize. Little did I know I was fighting an even bigger war. The kind of war where the winner has to die in order to live again. Where victory is not a pop champagne, joyous moment that you can fully and easily claim. Nope, you climb a mountain lacking in self-love, full of doubt and looking for validation and each time you do not receive it, you start stabbing yourself to feel something. It is the residue of an internal war.

You cover the wounds up in activity and expected behaviour. Dress them up so well in smiles each time you spot a sign of a little attention. You shut down your thoughts and emotions, become fully present, and respond to body language—mistaking lust for love, desire for caring, attention for affection and familiarity with belonging. You know you should not stay, so you believe leaving will hurt you more. The vicious circle continues until your mirror shutters and shows you that you are in pieces. Pain forces you to stop because you have reached a dead end. You have to stop because there is nowhere to go.

You need to stop and start something new, something You. You need to trailblaze through the messy, rocky, thorny, flesh-ripping bushes you have left unattended. You must create a new path as you start walking your journey.

Khaya telling me he was talking to another girl was not a dead end, only a stop sign. As long as I could still make out the road ahead, I was not ready to stop. I was not even afraid of the uncertainty of what we were. The pain was too familiar, and he had not hurt me beyond my pain threshold. Where is your Pride, you may ask? Well, Pride takes a back seat when you have a soul lesson to fulfil. When love reaches out to you, fear takes the back seat, including her cousin, Pride.

I thought the overwhelming love I felt was for him, but self-discovery awaited me on the other side of my pain threshold crossroad. That, by the way, is part of why a lot of women stay in abusive relationships. I am not in any way implying that he abused me, and I am not exempting him from his behaviour, but it was time to pay the piper and take responsibility for my actions, too. After his confession, I took a couple of days to decide if this was worth breaking up over, and I decided we needed to talk and mutually decide on a way forward.

He came over to talk, and we let our bodies speak more than the conversation our minds and hearts were intended to have because I am a fool. In retrospect, I realised that deep down, I was not ready to own up to my need to stop. I expected Khaya to tell me to stop loving him.