I Fall, and Pick Myself Up

I never thought of another way to love then to put my heart, my soul and myself into the relationship. I never believed in loving someone with only a fraction of my being, I never believed in entering a relationship anything less than wholeheartedly.

And because of all that, every rejection, every break-up, every goodbye, causes a tremendous amount of pain for me internally. I may seem all right on the outside, but no one truly knows the internal turmoil that I am in. Years of tacit meditation and observation has helped me slowly control the outbursts and limit their damage, but they still occur should the rational side of me fail.

Each time I fall, I stay on the ground dazed, looking up at the skies above and wondered why I fell. Then, with much difficulty, I slowly pick myself up again, dust myself, and carry on walking. It used to be much easier to do all that; I was younger, with more ideals and less worries about the world, and not to mention having the support of close friends. As time goes on, when people start drifting away and I start to find myself getting more and more alone in the world, I end up doing most of picking up myself. I obviously don't do a really good job alone, as seen by all the nonsense that I had to put up with just not too long ago.

At least now, I know how to find allies who can help give me that extra yank to pull me up to my feet. Despite all their help, despite the many falls that I had, despite the many times I picked myself up, I always have a single one word question that I never quite seem to be able to answer in totality: Why?