Waiting for What?

My heart is broken.  I don't think I'm strong enough.  All I can dream of in this endless moment of despair is the free fall.  Of the throwing off and weightless sinking I crave to take the place of the gripping heaviness that consumes my twisted wretch of a core.

But I am adverse to bullshit.  And can't seem to bring myself to the avoidance of pain.  Though, at times, I question whether I am allowing it as a form of self-punishment.  A way to ease the deep seated guilt I feel.

I am so very scared of letting you down.  And so I stay.  I work through the moments of hyperventilating confusion and find tiny ways to embrace a growing love that heats.  And at times, burns.

I sense a distraction brewing in this writing.  A setting up of myself as the heroine who overcomes mighty obstacles, triumphing over the evils of fear and insecurity.  Seeking to draw out a happy ending because that is what fairy tales demand.

What if there is no fucking happy ending to a broken heart?  What if the jagged pieces we become are not to come back together as a new whole?  

How about I share a little truth here?  Well, the truth is I don't know if I will be ok.  I can't see the other side of my empty heart to a place where it feels full again.  And as I continue on the slide deeper into the hollow, I question my ability to make it up the other side.  Alone.

Because apparently I don't know how to be loved.  I haven't quite figured out how to receive to the extent that I give.  Or to share with others my needs.  And desires.

When someone offers help, I recoil.  Fearing charity and pretend.  And the burden of me.

And so I position myself an island.   No, less than that - a tiny rock on the island shore not yet smoothed by the current.  And it is here in my loneliness that I sit.  And wait.

What am I waiting for?