Old Teapots and Poisoned Wells
I don’t believe that hearts break like porcelain.
Our minds are organic like the rest of us, and capable of healing. As are relationships. That’s why I’m not afraid of stitches and hiccups, whether they are caused by misunderstandings, thoughtlessness or even stupidity. I believe open and honest communication coupled with respect, understanding, willingness to change, and a good dose of time can repair almost any damage. As long as you want it repaired.
And yet, when I fall apart, it’s nearly always along the same old fault lines. I feel like a teapot that once broke apart, so skillfully glued together that you can only see the cracks if you know where they are. Yet, tap me just so, and I come apart again, spilling this vile old brew of emotion all over myself and whomever is closest.
I have written about him before, that guy who broke my heart, who destroyed my trust. When I hit the bottom, my thoughts turn to him and how he haunts me at those times, and I start crying because it feels like he’ll never go away. Like he’ll taint every relationship I’ll ever have, because he taught me in a most personal, painful way that people lie. Like I will have to live with suspicion and insecurity for the rest of my life.
Like there is poison in the well.
It’s terrifying to think that I might not heal. That I truly am damaged goods. What’s the second hand value of a broken heart?
But I keep reminding myself that I’m not the person who judges my value in a relationship. Someone who chooses me does so for their own reasons. Maybe they see the cracks or maybe they don’t, but either way it’s obvious that they must find me beautiful enough to love. And why should I question their love, even though in dark moments I feel compelled by fear to question their honesty?
And I also keep reminding myself that I believe I will heal. I am, in fact, not a teapot. And my tea isn’t brewed with water from a poisoned well.
I just feel like one, sometimes.