Maybe I have had my heart broken before. That dark summer between my freshman and sophomore year of high school that I spent in my room writing bad poetry and convincing myself I would never find anything worth my while again – that was the first time my heart was broken. The sad thing is, I never did find anything worthwhile after Brian and that summer (and what we had four years later off and on for three years... oh, yeah, that relationship). I still haven’t.
My friends tell me that it will be okay. But I don’t even feel empty yet. I feel like the vacuum where my ever-cold heart is supposed to be is now more than just empty. It is sprinting away, tearing all the little bones and inside bits with it, twisting them, but not breaking away. Just pulling harder and harder, taking a break to rest, and then starting up again with renewed strength and energy.
At work today, I couldn’t even hold conversations. I ate four brownies. I cried on my drive home. Last night, my friends and I hung out, but all I wanted to do was sit in the dark with my eyes wide open, thinking. Except not-thinking. More like a void of thoughts that becomes noise and flashes of light and pictures. I don’t even know why I’m sad. I should just be rational and realize I will be fine and that this meant nothing and that I will be more than okay.
But it is just Brian distilled into four weeks’ time, it is nothing, it is nothing. If I could make it through that, I can make it through this easily. Then again, Brian hadn’t kissed me, hadn’t held me, hadn’t told me secrets and made me promises at three in the morning. Not yet.
The funny thing is, I have decided to do this on my own, have decided to break my own heart in a way. Because I don’t want to be disrespected, taken advantage of, have someone lower my self-worth. So now I have to suffer the consequences for living with pride in myself, for being too smart to be walked all over.
Caroline wrote me a note today. It made me realize that maybe I do have things to look forward to in
3 comments:
Let me tell you something about thinking about things: Don't. Try really, really hard not to do it. Thinking is very bad for your mental health. I guess you already know this.
And that's the real problem, because you can run away from people, you can run away from places; but you can't run away from your own thoughts. They are always there, looming, waiting to remind of what could have been—the memory of another life you could have had.
I couldn't agree more.
Wherever you go, there you are. And I'm not even one for cliches.
Oh, and cheer up for tomorrow. It's your last day! Yay! You accomplished something! *clap* *clap*
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