About six months ago, I suffered a terrible loss. The person that I was supposedly in love with (now I was pretty sure this was the first time I experienced real love–I could write a whole dissertation whether or not that was the case) broke up with me. He couldn’t do it any longer. Too much stress. Long distance. Blah blah blah. At the end of the romantic passionate affair, I was devastated–no, wait, obliterated. Of course my outlet was to write about the emotional turmoil I was going through (even during the relationship was turbulent). My experience at The Integratron can delineate some of the strife I went through and my overly simplistic and transparent poems show the aftermath (Solitaire, Jump in the Pool, The Vast Ocean). Anyway, I was crippled once again by unrequited love and for six months, I fell into some sort of daze and confusion about the impeding rupture in my heart. Yes, it does sound I’m a bit overreacting, but then again I’m overly sensitive and this was really how it felt. If you’ve suffered from a broken heart, you know what I’m saying. So for a few months, I found myself crying on and off about the incident, this loss that was surely imminent from the very start (why did I jump into that pool, again?). I would cry on my friends and family’s shoulders, asking for their wisdom. I would read articles and books on how to deal with loss and grief due to a break-up. I would swallow all these bitter pills of advice, but I would find myself choking on them and spitting them out. Because I couldn’t synthesize how two people who were meant to be together could not be together. I was stubbornly and sadly convinced that I had found “the one.” Oh yes, the elusive one. My friends tried to point out how he really wasn’t the one due to contradictions of our goals, lifestyles, and ultimately our beings. Shit, I myself pointed many of these things which did soothe and relieve the issue at hand. But somehow, ego crept back in, and said that because he didn’t want me, I somehow wasn’t good enough. These messages flared up due to an already damaged ego from the past that wasn’t healed when I began the relationship with my ex. Thus, I ate up these messages. They controlled me to the point of depression and stasis. Stasis because I was holding on to a fabricated version of what could have been with this guy. That maybe we could have had an amazing life together, traveling the world, eating exotic foods, and ultimately loving one another till the day we die. CUT! The movie fades and now I’m back to reality. The reality is that I was really just afraid. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid that my heart would never heal. Or maybe I was afraid that it would and there would be more in store for me. Either way, I acknowledged I was afraid and allowed my sadness to seep out and not go repressed. I was going to feel the pain this time. In the past, I couldn’t bear to feel the pain. In fact, I would cover it up–gloss it over through self-medication. Drugs. Alcohol. Prescription meds. Pseudo-relationships. All these didn’t do me any good in the past, so my therapist and I worked on just allowing. Don’t resist the pain but welcome it and then go about your day. So that’s exactly what I did. I let it in. And man, did this pain hurt! I felt it in my gut. In my chest…right in my heart. So many times, I just wanted to rip out my heart and take a gun and put a bullet in it to end the misery (remember depression exaggerates feelings/emotions by at least ten-fold). And then I would regain my senses and realize how ridiculous this all really is. I was sooooo over it. As Chris Crocker, the crazy T.V. on YouTube, would say: It’s a HAIR FLIP! Yeah everyone. It’s just a mother-effin hair-flip. Get over it. A more compassionate way to say it would be: Time heals all. Oh Time. Time, Time, Time. We’ve heard that a bunch of times (haha). My friends would stress how important time was. But well, I was impatient. So for several months there was a battle going on inside. It went something like this:
Will it ever get better? Sure it would. No this really hurts. No one will ever love me. I’ll be alone forever. That’s nonsense. You’re amazing. Way better than your ex. Oh but the pain. F#@$ the pain. You can’t depend on anyone but yourself for your true happiness…
And then I looked at my watch–no, the calendar–and you know what it said. It said that it was MAY! It was already May, and the break-up occurred in January. Good lord! How much time, books, money spent on psychotherapy does it take to get over it??! I told myself if I’m still cynical on my birthday which is in June, then I might as well shoot myself. Okay now that was a joke. But seriously I was at the point where enough is enough. I had discovered hope for hope. So June comes rolling by, and I feel pretty good. Then it was the day of my birthday. And I start thinking about him…oh no, not again. And I go, “screw that, I’m getting my eyebrows done!” So I go to the salon, park my car, and suddenly get a call from an undisclosed recipient. Lo and behold…it was my ex. And he was wishing me a happy birthday. We talked for a long time, and it was indeed a pleasant conversation. And when we finished, I realized something. I didn’t shed a single tear. Not one drop! In the past (we communicated still even though we broke up), I would end up crying during and after talking to him. But not this time. And what a gift that was on my freaking birthday. And then suddenly I felt at ease. I felt lighter. After that conversation, the burden that’s been suffocating me for the past several months, finally lifted. Then and there, I knew that there is truly hope for the salvation of my heart (and my sanity). And now there is no looking back, and I honestly can say I am feeling more alive–consciously alive– than ever before! 
