I have often wondered: why is calling someone a heartbreaker a quasi-compliment? Referring to someone that way is often expressed with reverence. We hate the heartbreak, but we admire the heartbreaker. Is it that we're in awe of those who have the ability to inflict that specific type of pain on someone else? Maybe the title has some kind of implied strength. But all it suggests to me is cowardice and a lack of honesty. The reason I wanted to write more on my blog was to be more honest; this post is about as candid as I could possibly get in a public forum. Read on if you're interested in something other than a fanciful outfit post this morning.
It's officially been a year since the person I considered to be the love of my life broke my heart. I'd had my heart broken by other careless boys before, but those small pains paled in comparison to this. This one hurt. It still hurts -- much more than I would care to admit. We talked about our future in terms of "when," not "if." We spoke about marriage so often that he had vintage wedding ring websites bookmarked. We devoted an entire road trip to figuring out the names of our hypothetical children. So what do you do when you still haven't fully accepted that everything you envisioned for your future is just
gone?
This is something that's always on my mind on some level, and it's also right on the surface for me -- so much so that it can make me cry at the drop of a hat. I don't want to be accused of bad-mouthing him (though he may deserve it) or be ridiculed for holding on when I should let go. I know that I absolutely should, and I beat myself up a lot for not being over it. There's an old adage (or is it a quote from
Sex and the City?) that says it takes half the time you were with someone to get over him. If that's true, I guess I have another six months to go. But I have a hard time putting an expiration date on grief at all. Everyone mourns in his or her own way, on his or her own time table. As much as I sometimes wish I could, I cannot simply make myself get over it and move on. I'm an impatient person by nature, and even though I know that time heals all wounds, there is a part of me that wishes I could have moved on as quickly as he did. But there is another part -- a much bigger part -- of me that realizes that I'd rather be deeply affected by our breakup than pretend our relationship never even existed.
I really didn't intend on writing about this. I was hoping to not have to commemorate our breakup with a post like some weird, twisted anniversary. But then I start to wonder why it's socially acceptable to openly mourn the death of a loved one, and yet we're all in such a hurry to get over the person who, at one time, meant more to us than any other. For all intents and purposes, a breakup is a death, and this one has always felt especially so because of its complete and utter finality. I feel haunted by the ghost of what our relationship once was, and of the person who -- very suddenly and without any subsequent closure -- removed himself from my life. He moved on way too quickly with a girl who is my exact physical opposite in every way. (I don't think it can be considered a rebound when they're still together.) I'm not proud of the jealous and unattractive version of myself that comes out when I think about her or when I've seen her photos. Sometimes I feel as if the only way I can gain some semblance of control is to snark on her to anyone who will listen. And I hate that. It's not her fault that he hurt me, but I have to admit (and please don't judge me too harshly here) that it makes me feel better to hear superficial, positive things about myself, and negative ones about her. My ex did such a number on my self-esteem that it's hard not to want to hear that I'm prettier than her or am otherwise superior to her. And it's hard to reconcile the fact that my ex
always made me feel so attractive during our relationship with the fact that he did a complete 180, told his friends that I got fat, and immediately started dating a girl that he would have formerly found physically repugnant. According to a mutual friend, the boy that I knew and loved is basically gone; he's apparently a totally different person now. It makes me wonder if I ever knew him to begin with (or, that old chestnut, whether we can really know anyone), or if he really knows himself. And if everything I thought we had was built on a lie. It's a painful idea to have to entertain.
That same friend told me that it was almost as if my ex committed a crime and walked away scot-free, while I'm stuck doing the time. I do feel as if I were framed sometimes. I was blamed for everything and he got to start a completely new life, without a second thought, without ever taking any responsibility, and without ever looking back. And I'm still not sure how to pick up the pieces. I know I am the only one who can decide to not be held prisoner by my circumstances, but that proves to be easier said than done. I fully acknowledge the mistakes I made, and I am constantly working on ways I can improve myself. But even with my faults, I still deserved an ending that was indicative of the special and loving relationship I always believed we had. Or, barring that, I deserved an ending that was at least respectful. I am fully aware that breakups are never pleasant. They are rarely mutual, and in this situation, ours was always going to be painful. But after three years, I deserved more than a cold-hearted phone call from 400 miles away. I deserved better than to be blocked on social media and erased from memory. I deserved some semblance of closure. Ultimately, I guess it's up to me to create my own closure. He essentially refused to provide that for me at the time, and I don't think I'll ever get it from him. I can't let anything he does (or doesn't do) continue to affect my life. And maybe that's one of the hardest things to come to terms with -- that our lives are no longer intertwined. I'm still mourning the future with him that I'll never have.
I think heartbreak is one of the most awful conditions that we as human beings have to endure. In my experience, it's far worse than physical injury. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. And if you're currently experiencing it, please know how sorry I am. There's really nothing anything that anyone can say to take away the hurt. You just have to surround yourself with as much love -- the unconditional kind -- as you can. I still miss him every day. Some nights, I still cry myself to sleep. I dream of him often. I wish I were in a place where I could get past it. I'll get there at some point, but in the meantime, I am where I am. I'm trying to live in the present, and I'm trying to not be so hard on myself for not being as over it as I "should" be. I don't want to dwell, which is why I mostly focus on the positive on my blog. I'm probably pretty skilled at faking it in real life (I'm guess that theatre degree comes in handy), but sometimes, it's more that I simply
want to feel happy and therefore, I try really hard to find the joy. And 9 times out of 10, I find it. But once and a while, I just need to let myself feel the sadness, because it's there. I can't deny the way I'm feeling, and I don't think I should have to. I can't please everyone all the time. My obligation at this point is to be honest with myself, and to make progress at my own pace. Healing a broken heart takes a lot longer than a broken bone; it's not like you can slap a cast on it, and in this case, relying on a crutch is counterproductive. All I can do is be kind to myself, be in tune with what I need more or less of, and take stock of all the good things in my life. And cling to the hope that, despite (or perhaps because of) all that has happened, things will turn out for the best in the end.
Thank you for listening.
xox Sammi
