It’s not your fault
Posted on | June 12, 2018 | No Comments
In my brief experience with intense trauma after a housefire, I learned that you can accept death as long as you realize that there is nothing you could have done to prevent it. That guilt is in some way a desire for control. And that this desire for control can manufacture very excellent cases against you as a person.
Now what I want to talk about is another form of death. Break ups. People use this analogy all the time. Because you have to grieve. Because things will never go back to the way they use to be. Because you can collect evidence that will tell you that you were solely at fault. That the problem wasn’t in the relationship but in you. Because this idea again is oddly comforting. It gives you control over the feelings of other people. It offers you a solution to these problems if you just get over your bullshit. After all in many ways it’s like the person you knew has died. So something has to have killed them. It’s natural to believe yourself to be a murderer.
The problem is that sense of control is an illusion. The other person in the relationship isn’t a controlled variable. There is no mathematical equation that will explain why two people stay together and two people break apart. Even if they are faced with the same problems, the same backgrounds. Not because they aren’t a million factors but because there are too many to count.
One of the saddest parts of the end of a relationship is going a person going from everything to nothing in almost an instant. The reason for this I think partially this artificially created but torturously comforting idea of blame. Because when you talk to them you are no longer talking to a person who confirms your greatest hopes for yourself but someone who affirms your greatest fears. The distance between you is the end of hope and the insecurities that protect us from believing that pain is an inevitable consequence of being alive.
I think friendship is possible in most cases.
Once you recognize it isn’t your fault. That the end of love isn’t proof of your inability to be loved.
PTSD is about a belief that you could have changed things if you’d only tried a little harder. You refuse to let the past become the past because you think you should have changed it and can’t accept it. As a result the memories don’t integrate and you constantly relive your terror.
The end of love is the same. You don’t relive the love. Only the failure. Because you think if you hurt enough you can change it.
In many ways it’s like the person you loved died. The only way you can get over it is to realize you didn’t kill them.
Comments
Leave a Reply