Heartbreak

Nothing hurts like mourning the absence of someone who lives down the street. Especially when you’ve poured your whole soul into theirs with the illusion that they’ll reciprocate your love.

For weeks I sat there, contemplating what was left of my heart (and myself) blaming myself for not being enough. Not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not funny enough, not happy enough, not soft enough. No one should ever beg for someone else to see their worth. And yet I begged. I couldn’t accept the defeat. Couldn’t accept that I deserved more because I had been conditioned to accept less and less over time. With my heart in a blender that wouldn’t stop spinning, I ripped every piece of me for someone who didn’t want any of it. How embarrassing is that?

Oh, believe me, the embarrassment shook me to the core. Because, beyond the grief of what-ifs, I found a deeply rooted shame. The shame of what was. Making myself smaller and trading the loyalty I owed myself for someone who didn’t deserve half of me. I know that somewhere underneath the hurt and the confusion, the future me is waiting, ready to thrive and to take on the world. But right now, my only option is going through it, barefoot, stumbling upon broken pieces of myself.

Some days I hate myself for loving people the way I do. So profoundly, that I end up losing bits of myself. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I am kind and gentle. I am smart and fierce. I am funny and caring. In the words of Sylvia Plath; I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.

They say that in your 20s you need to be alone. That all you need is yourself. And I was ready for it. I’ve always known how to handle myself. But when I met him, my heart whispered to me that, maybe companionship wasn’t so bad after all. Despite everything, I still long for the boy I met, the kind eyes and warm hugs. My lover, my confidant, my friend.

Perhaps it was all a lie, perhaps it wasn’t. It doesn’t matter now. I loved him and did everything I could. Truth is, I have no idea of what’s going on nor where I’m going but I know I’ll be alright. Just like flowers after a rough winter, I will bloom again. Most importantly, I will love again. This is a promise to myself and to those I haven’t yet loved. People are so afraid of love and I must confess, I am pretty terrified myself at the moment. But not allowing myself to love again would be a waste. Because love is the essence of life, it carries us and gives us purpose. What’s a successful life if you don't have anyone important enough to share it with?

Leaving him to put me first was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It still is. The ghost of us haunts me daily but I know that one day, none of this pain will matter anymore. I’ll be done, I’ll be gone and life will go on.

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This is a letter to you, to myself and everyone going through it. We got this.