The Door
That Opens and Closes
When we first started talking, I felt so connected to you, our energies seemed to hum together. We just clicked. You were all the way across the country, but your words and care very quickly wrapped their way around my heart. You saw me so clearly over so many miles. You held up a mirror to help me see myself in the best possible way.
Our friendship became a portal that allowed me to dig down and understand myself more deeply.
At times, it glittered so bright, it felt rare and precious. But as good as it was, there were also times when it was dull, dark, and broken.
You said some terrible things: we were trauma-bonded, that our relationship was too complicated, and maybe we shouldn’t be friends. Our arguments slowly chipped away at me.
You disappeared over and over, you blocked me, you weren’t there when I needed you.
And then a few months later, you would appear again. This time would be different, circumstances had changed. I always wanted us to work. And we did work…for awhile. Then you’d crush me again, like a finger slammed in a door, painful and throbbing. It was always a shock, like how did that just happen?
Your happiness with me seemed to hinge on getting exactly what you wanted, which was something more, or different, than I could give. It was on your mercurial terms. I was certainly not perfect in the situation but I always tried to make you understand how much you meant to me.
The last time we spoke before you disappeared again, I told you to please use your words if you needed some time away and not just become a ghost. I told you that one more blow may just break us.
It came when I reached out because I so desperately needed you, when it was actually a matter of life and death. I was calling and texting, again, into the blocked void. You couldn’t hear me wail and cry that I’d lost my mother in the most horrible circumstances. Your silence was all that was audible, and echoed so loudly.
Just recently, as if nothing had happened, you reached out and apologized and asked if we could try again.
If I have one strength that I am sure of - if you allow me to toot my own horn for just a second - it is that once I love you, I will keep loving you. I will exhaust all options to fix whatever is broken between us. My burning heart nearly always leaves the door open for what is sacred.
I’ve been thinking, long and hard, about how to move forward.
Our whole story reminds me of the old wooden door that stood as the front entry of my home for most the seven years I’ve lived here.
It was large and grand, unique and special, but somewhat dilapidated. I painted it cobalt blue to hide its many imperfections. It was a nice pop of color with the red bricks and black accents on my house. I liked the door, and to hell if I was going to replace it after I’d had to replace almost everything else in my fixer upper of a home. It still worked, goddamnit. I’m sure this door was a sight to behold when it was new. And honestly, nothing is perfect. I don’t need everything to be immaculate.
But some things don’t age well.
The door mostly opened and closed. Sometimes it got stuck by some seemingly invisible force, like humidity, causing the wood to swell. Usually, it would relent and open with a pull so significant it often made you wonder if you’d dislocated your shoulder. And then, it wouldn’t close all the way. You’d find yourself hip-checking it to make it flush with the frame. Pieces of the bottom were beginning to splinter. I will also admit it never fully locked. It wasn’t safe at all.
It was frustrating when you had to quickly exit to chase after a wild child running through the front yard, or the doorbell rang, and it wouldn’t open in a timely manner, and the person on the other side would snarkily make some sort of comment like: think you need a new door?
It did work effortlessly sometimes, with no rhyme or reason to it. As if it somehow magically fixed itself. It also withstood wind, rain, and snow over many years. It was good for some storms.
So, I dealt with it, I ignored its drawbacks. It was still somewhat functional and until recently, money I didn’t want to spend, especially for something that absolutely didn’t need to be replaced.
But it was “fixed” too many times. It had exhausted its chances.
People who used, or even just observed the door, said it was pretty annoying it always had to be forced.
I have a new door, just as of the last few weeks, that was professionally installed. It is steel, black, not as grand, but it opens and closes with ease. Just like that. No force. It lets so much more light in and showcases the funky fixture in the foyer. It locks. Maybe no intruders will be able to get inside now.
Every time I pass by it, somehow I can breathe again. I had no idea how much the old door’s deterioration was affecting my life…until it wasn’t. How much energy I expended on it, simply trying to get it to open and close properly every single day. Or, dealing with its unpredictable nature.
I still love and miss the old door. It was integral to this home’s history, and it did serve its purpose.
But the new door has somehow changed me and helped me feel so…grown-up. It has made something click. Somehow I can see more clearly through its frosted glass.
Everything in life is a mirror if you look just right - even a new door.
Within a few days of using it, it taught me something very important:
Just because something isn’t entirely broken, doesn’t mean it works.
How much dysfunction can you tolerate? What can you no longer cover up? You learn.
And maybe not everything in your life has to work just perfectly, but sometimes, you have to think long and hard about how much energy you must expend to make something function.
Is it worth it?
The answer is complicated; it is fluid and dynamic and can change with the breeze.
The new door also has a large screen that allows warm or cool air in, if I choose to open it.
At this moment in time, I’m honestly so relieved…and finally at peace with the door fully closed.
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I knew someone like this.
He was bipolar. When depressive, ghost you.
When manic, frantic to fix and ignore what they did to you. Sad to love someone like that. Glad you got your new door. Ït was time.
A relationship has to work in both directions. Sometimes it’s necessary to close the door.
Excellent metaphor, Holly.