Diary of a Masochist- The BreakUp Pact.
I’m in a wonderfully deep friendship that calls for a lot of introspection. This friendship is often nestled in the deep of the night, amidst the twinkling Chicago skyline and under the watchful eye of the moon. I leave feeling like I have found and lost myself if many more ways than one. Last night we happened upon the profound realization that the knowledge of things can simply be enough.
I have struggled with my rebirth for a while. My rebirth into the world, the peeling away of sheltered eyes/mindsets and opening myself up to countless possibilities. And they came, hard and fast. With many things to consider, my brain caught in a swell of indecision. The new facts presented to me not only fascinated me but called for exploration, and explore I did.
The other day, I jumped into the ocean with nothing but my weak backstroke skills and a life jacket. The water called to me and a few trusted friends swam freely in the dark grey waters. I had never swam in so much as a lake but a part of me wanted to experience this freedom of the great unknown. So I had the captain strap me into a, quite frankly, oversized life jacket and slowly made it down the steps into the water below. The water was frigid but gentle, the salt was overwhelming but a welcome sensation. And as I floated above the great waters beneath me, I experienced nothing but pure joy.
Fear and joy were coursing through my veins simultaneously, the taste of the very essence of life sat in my mouth as it filled with laughter. I had experienced something new, something untouched, and allowed my body absorb it all — the sounds of the crashing waves against the boat, the smell of sea salt tinted with a hint of danger, the sight of the dark green-grey waters forming soft circles around my ankles, and the taste of life.
The high of new experiences is an addicting game. In this friendship, I have found both my dealer and my drug. It is almost comical to me to categorically refer to it as a friendship because it takes the form of many things. On Sunday mornings, it takes the form of yoga and açai bowls; on thursday evenings-the smell of charred duck and the fond taste of my favorite red wine. It is equal parts indulgent and equal parts decadent, like the rich chocolate cake we shared overlooking the brooding city below. But, in many ways, it would be a disservice to refer to it as something other than what it is- a friendship.
If you asked me wether my definition of friendship involved knowing the taste of the other’s lips, unearthing deep wells within you without a filter and lint rolling our furry friend’s hairs off my black leggings after a facial day- I would have laughed a deep throaty laugh, and worn my skepticism on the arch of my brow and the bow of my lips. Today, I say yes.
There is something so comforting about the separation; about the surety of the demise of something we will spend months crafting. Piece by piece we painstakingly construct this stained glass window in all its fragility and beauty. But, in the moments before we lifted our nimble fingers, we swore a pact to destroy it. No matter how beautiful it gets.
What continues to lead me down this distinct path of a friendship is the unknown territory of a relationship like I have never experienced before. The prospect of heartbreak does not scare me, instead, it beckons to me. It asks me what I stand to lose and wether it will be a worthy sacrifice for all I hope to gain.
I think what I love the most is how I speak my mind with ease; without fear of retribution, because if we’re on the highway to hell what difference does it make if I set it all ablaze with flagrant words? you love the heat. It keeps me warm on these winter nights. You’ve started fires within me I managed to quel and silence for years. You watch as my tongue flickers back and forth illuminating all the worlds within me, the worlds I let sit in wet black rooms under heavy gunmetal chains. You watch me light up, you watch my skin turn, you watch me rise and bubble- mesmerized by the sparks. And when I cool, forming a puddle in your arms you hold me till I turn again- from liquid to a formed version of myself that can take the external heat of the world.
-Anj xx
