Ex-Factor

 I just had quite the embarrassing cry today…the first
cry here in Iran.  I woke up this morning rather
distraught from a dream I had last night of getting my
heart broken by someone that I loved.  I had been
writing in my journal all morning about the dream and
my mind seemed to grow into this dark forest where I
lost myself to its hopelessness and an inevitable
shadow came over me.  I began to think very
forebodingly about the love in my life.  There are
times when I can see things so simply, and I am
appalled at myself for complicating them needlessly in
order to justify my own weakness.  But if you’ve ever
been in love, you would understand.  There are things
that you might want but that you cannot ask for
because you know that you won’t get them, and you
don’t want to lose what little you actually have.  So
you complicate the situation in your mind, so that you
don’t have to confront it directly and sadly realize
that you aren’t getting what you want.  I don’t know
if I’m making much sense but let’s just say that I
loved a boy who didn’t love me back.  I tried to give
it time, but he never quite came around to loving me
fully.  I tried not to love him but still be in his
life, and that didn’t work either.  He cared about me,
but it wasn’t love.  I had never really been so
uninhibited with my love before.  I came up with
excuses for myself as to why I should wait for him
even though it was becoming more and more clear that I
shouldn’t.  Every time I felt that there was
reciprocal love, he informed me that it simply wasn’t,
and every time I wanted to abandon him, he pleaded
with me not to for the sake of friendship, not because
he loved me back.  But friendship is not possible when
it comes to unrequited love, and the littlest gesture
of his had my heart pounding with some vain hope
renewed. 

 I don’t know when it started happening exactly, but I
began sacrificing the best things about myself to fuel
this destructive fire.  I gave up my power completely,
to someone who was unconcerned with me.  I gave up all
the love, which I originally had for myself, to him,
and then realized that there was none left for me when
I needed it.  I gave him my thoughts, and my time, and
my care, and after all this giving, I had crippled
myself beyond recognition.  Obviously, it didn’t work
out.  Don’t ever love someone who doesn’t love you
back.  It is an utter waste of your self esteem, among
all other good qualities that are yours to contribute
to the world.  I realized how much I had changed
because of it.  There was a time when I felt on top of
the world…I really thought that no one would ever be
able to bring me down.  I walked differently then.  I
walked like I loved myself, and that that love was
unflinching.  I did things for my own satisfaction,
and only surrounded myself with people who made me
feel amazing and totally irreplaceable.  However, once
you love someone who doesn’t love you back, that whole
state of mind is substituted by one of self doubt and
emptiness.  Realizing that you are never going to get
that love back and that it is wasted forever is
utterly depressing; accepting that you waited so long
in vain for something that was never coming is even
worse. 

 Right when I was thinking about all of this, a song
came on my computer and I burst into tears…that is all
it takes sometimes.  Right then, I heard my aunt in
the other room saying that we had to go and see some
family who we had agreed to let dye our hair when they
came over yesterday for tea.  The thought of trying to
understand their speedy Farsi, and answering the same
questions for the fiftieth time, and then sitting
there idly while conversation about old lady things
ensued, right when a spark of tear-induced inspiration
had just hit me seemed all too much for me to handle.
On the other hand, trying to explain to them why I
needed to sit and write at the moment instead of
getting my hair dyed seemed even more difficult of a
task.  Fighting my tears, I put on my uniform and was
fiddling with my impossible scarf when my aunt came up
to me to fix it.  She saw that my eyes had been red
from crying and asked me what was wrong.  I collapsed
into tears right in front of her and my grandmother,
holding my head in my hands helplessly.  They thought
I was crying because I didn’t want to get my hair
dyed.  But explaining to them why I was actually
crying with the little Farsi I know was just pathetic.
Both of them married men that their families
introduced them to – they didn’t have any option.  I
still don’t know if they know what loving someone who
doesn’t love you back feels like.  Plus, according to
them, I’m not even supposed to be cavorting with boys
at all.  So in the end, I just ended up saying that I
like a friend who doesn’t like me back – quite a
pathetic excuse to break plans with family, I know.
Frustrated and drained of any energy to try and
explain myself further, I walked into my room and
started writing this blog.  Right now…this very
minute, I feel like I’m at the very bottom of my
depths for what feels like the umpteenth time.  I feel
empty, and foolish.