what scares me is not
that i may never love again.
but that i may love too deeply
someone who does not
return my affection.
for wearing a heart on your sleeve does not make you a coward. rather, it signifies our soul felt desire to be wanted. my biggest fear is i will instill this trust in place it will never grow. or where it struggles to bloom under the chill of an unreciprocated sun.
Ask me about tomorrow and I’ll tell you about today.
But ask me about my past, and I’ll spin you my future.
Fate has a mysterious method for weaving its course
CW: alcohol, disordered eating, language
I didn’t believe anyone when they said heartbreak truly hurts–a physical ache you feel in your bones. But I do now. I believe every word of it.
As I was sobbing in my friends car at 2:30am, she told me to write it all out. So, here I am, laying in the bed I haven’t bothered to put sheets on because I haven’t had the emotional or physical energy to do laundry of any kind, in my room with clothes everywhere because I cannot get up the will to clean, writing about a brain that is so chaotic that it has exploded into my surroundings. Because what they don’t tell you about heartbreak is it is debilitating.
When you feel utterly broken inside, how do you find the will to get out of bed, let alone put away clothes, or dishes, or match your fucking socks? How do you shower and dress and feed yourself?
But most of all: how the actual fuck do you appear to be okay?
I repeat “it’s okay not to be okay” in my head, constantly. But it’s not working. It’s okay not to be okay doesn’t mean a damn thing when your world is crumbling around you. It doesn’t mean a damn thing as you start to inhale the dust from the rubble. It doesn’t mean a damn thing when you look around, coughing, and realize all you knew is no where to be found.
They don’t teach you how to deal with heartbreak in treatment. They don’t teach you how to “be okay” after you break into so many pieces. Because in treatment, the enemy was visible–the eating disorder–but in this, it’s yourself.
You don’t learn how much you will lose until you do. And you don’t realize how final and crushing it feels until it’s upon you. And you don’t feel all the regret and the despair and the massive desire to reverse it all until it’s too late.
You don’t learn you will eat because you feel so emotional you cannot help it (even if you are in recovery from anorexia). You don’t learn you actually don’t give a fuck how much you eat because you just want some kind of comfort and if that pint of ice cream is going to give it to you, then you will eat that whole damn thing. You don’t learn that alcohol makes it all worse and you are bound to cry even more. You don’t learn that you will undoubtably look for comfort in all the wrong places–especially when you are intoxicated.
No one tells you how much you will miss the warmth and comfort of another person with you at night. No one tells you that you will cry when you see anything that reminds you of the past. No one tells you that you will feel utterly empty inside.
And absolutely no one talks about how you have to respect that perhaps you realized you want something different than the other person. That it was a mistake. That you cannot live with this pain. But that you have to anyway, because a relationship only works if both people agree.
So you sob in a car, and you get social anxiety at parties, and you reach out to people you know will only hurt you more, and you crave a feeling of safety, or being wanted, when it feels like you will never be whole again. You make a fool of yourself and hate yourself and feel the last parts of your strength dip down to dangerously low levels. You don’t sleep or you sleep too much. You cannot concentrate and you stare at screens, pages, people… blankly. You constantly drift in and out of believing your heartbreak is real.
And it all feels like your fault.
why is it
that when the story ends
we begin to feel all of itRupi Kaur
breaks in my armor
while starlight seeps
between the gaps.
and i wonder,
am i radiating warmth
or curtailing at the cracks?
there is beauty in breaking. for everything broken was once whole, and can be again. but sometimes you dont know if youre coming together or breaking at the seams.
if I bare my soul,
do not leave it unacknowledged.
my nakedness is not a gift,
my mind is not a toy.
and a silence will always
speak more than any words
in a sea of beings,
is a darkness
to wish no one.
if love were our currency,
no one would survive.
we build walls
til our hearts are
hard pressed to find.
and sit alone,
by the marshmallow fireside.
it’s crisp outside.
the leaves fall with the temperature.
my emotions mimic weather.
blankets, pillows, layers, fears, tears.
they stack with the changing seasons.
this is the fall.
what is it like to lose
the one person you care the most about,
the person who knows your soul,
the deepest, darkest corners of your being?
how do you go on living?
a vacancy sign switches on
in your heart
neon, florescent bulbs emitting a glow
lighting up a jagged scar
that wasn’t there before.
to live is to grow
but we grow together or apart.