Someone once told me that my writing is significantly better when I am heartbroken. Maybe its true, maybe it isnt.
Its been 3 years, but I still remember her saying that to me. Even then, I thought it was such a funny word that she used, 'heartbroken'. Yesterday, my mom called me heartbroken as well, and the same thought struck me. I don't think I would ever apply the word 'heartbroken' to myself, but if this is what it feels like, I wouldn't be too surprised.
I'm writing these things down, so that I can remember this feeling. So that I can remember him unedited. My last breakup, I blocked out so many things that sometimes I am still surprised when I remember the sweet things about my ex.
Yesterday I cried in a department store. My tears were so thick that I couldn't see anything past my own eyelashes. I knew it was coming, I knew it was unfair to resist it any longer, but it still surprised me how fresh the hurt was. And the dread. It felt as though all my willpower slowly rolled down my body like viscous jelly and collected around the soles of my shoes, holding me to that spot. Neither of us had anything to say and still, I didn't want to hang up. I cannot imagine a point in my life where he would be irrelevant, and maybe its because I don't want him to be.
I've heard it said so many times. "Everything reminds me of him." And everything does. We drove home, past the really fancy/shady restaurant I ate at with him the night before I left to India last summer. He drove me in a van, packed with suitcases, and we held hands. We both ordered fish, and his was better than mine, like always. Afterwards, as we held each other in the parking lot, I savored the smell of him, so I could remember it later. The yucky dandruff shampoo scent, and his cologne, and the smell of his laundry - our laundry. Then he dropped me off and I left to India.
I've spent so many solitary hours in airports and airplanes daydreaming about him. When I was younger and we would travel, I would pretend I had a friend who was invisible to everyone else, who would hold my hand as the flight would take off, and who would protect me from the scary flush of the in-flight toilet. As I grew older, I began to think it was really romantic to travel with your significant other. And not travel as in visit amazing places, travel as in spend terrible layovers napping at the airport together, and sharing seats in the flight. Traveling alone gives you a lot of time to introspect and daydream. I would daydream about him, and pretend that HE was my invisible friend who would hold my hand and nap in the airport with me.
We did finally fly together. Twice. Once to San Francisco and through a terrible storm where he held my sweaty palms as I frantically prayed our plane didn't go down. Once to Guatemala, where we napped in each others laps during our layover. Traveling with him was like fulfilling my childhood fantasies. I couldn't have imagined it any more perfect than it was.
It doesn't make sense to try to transcribe three years of memories, but it makes me feel a little less crazy to at least try to articulate it in words instead of just get knocked out by the gale of emotions that whacks me in the face at event he slightest trigger. Like when any Jason Mraz song plays on the radio. Like last night, where I switched from one station to the other, and both were playing Mr. Mraz. Its unfair the way he cuts me so deep. When we were in Guatemala, somebody told us about feelings that 'hurt so good', and that's the only way I can describe any of this. It hurts, but its the only thing I want to do. Its the only thing I have the energy or interest for. I idolized this relationship, however unhealthy that may be, and I'm afraid that I will never have another one quite like it.
While we dated, we decided to try every cheesecake on the menu at the cheesecake factory. I've eaten cheesecake for breakfast, but I had never had an actual meal at that restaurant. Until last night. And being there, and scanning the menu for just one entree to order myself reinforced how entwined I've been in the last three years. Its been a long time. We got a kitten together, and he is the cutest animal I have ever encountered (biases accounted for). In a way I'm happy that he got to keep our kitten because I know that he is better than me, more patient than me, more loving than me, more giving than I ever could be. When we first got Melon, he was sick, and stayed sick through three rounds of antibiotics. I loved seeing him with our cat though. I loved that he was unafraid of claws, or vet costs, or cleaning up diarrhea/knocked over xmas trees/broken glass, or catching ringworm (which happened). I loved the steady patience with which he handled me, and our kitten. Morning kisses(headbutts) for everybody, always.
Maybe that's what I miss the most. The steady, the reassuring, the calm. For every bit that I am uptight, a control freak, unsure, anal, impatient, selfish, demanding and alienating he is easy going, confident, mature, comfortable, spontaneous, malleable, and likable.
The night we met, I think it was his self-assured confidence that made me say yes to a dance. And days later he messaged me on facebook joking that my fingernails had cut into his back, because that's how tight I had held on to him. It was weird for me to think about that then, that MY fingernails had made random indents in some dude's back. Eeeeks. Now I don't think there is an inch of his skin that I haven't accidentally bumped or whacked. Elbow high fives. I have scars on my arms from burning myself while baking with him. And one on my hand from breaking a glass bowl in his sink.
It was the first time I got a glass cut, and those things bleed like no other. It shattered in my hands and all of a sudden blood was just everywhere. He was out the door for a first aid kit so fast that for the next few seconds I just stood dumbfounded and continued to try to 'wash it off'.
I can't count the number of times we have shared maladies, colds, and fevers, and he would still get out of bed with said fever/throbbing headache/sore throat/body aches and cook dinner for me and make me bottomless cups of tea. And foot massages.
The first time I got a massage from him I remember thinking "Great, now I'm screwed because I will never be able to break up with this boy." The best feeling in the world is getting a foot massage and falling asleep because its too much to handle. Then waking up folded into the lines of someone else's body.
I dislike cold weather. Except I would wait for winter while I dated him because I loved the feeling of his cold cold cheeks and lips. And the nights where he would slide into bed while I was sleeping and hold me. Some nights I would wake up and have panic attacks because I thought I was getting assaulted by an invader. Some nights I would stay up all night and have panic attacks because it was raining and he still wasn't home. One night I didn't open the door and he slept in his car until I woke up. After that, I gave him a key.
I can't write anymore. I can't write it all. It's too much, its not enough.
I guess I'm posting this because I want somebody to read it, and tell me they can understand how I feel and how lucky I have been. I want to go to a movie theatre by myself, buy myself a popcorn, drown it in butter, and watch an entire movie alone.
SO HERE IT IS, LETTING IT ALL HANG OUT. I'm just so sad. And tired. But not tired of being sad.
For each of these 8,000 miles that will separate us, I have shed a tear or ten.
I have learnt that 'heartbreak' is dehydrating. I will buy more advil and tissues and cry till my tearducts go on strike.
Its been 3 years, but I still remember her saying that to me. Even then, I thought it was such a funny word that she used, 'heartbroken'. Yesterday, my mom called me heartbroken as well, and the same thought struck me. I don't think I would ever apply the word 'heartbroken' to myself, but if this is what it feels like, I wouldn't be too surprised.
I'm writing these things down, so that I can remember this feeling. So that I can remember him unedited. My last breakup, I blocked out so many things that sometimes I am still surprised when I remember the sweet things about my ex.
Yesterday I cried in a department store. My tears were so thick that I couldn't see anything past my own eyelashes. I knew it was coming, I knew it was unfair to resist it any longer, but it still surprised me how fresh the hurt was. And the dread. It felt as though all my willpower slowly rolled down my body like viscous jelly and collected around the soles of my shoes, holding me to that spot. Neither of us had anything to say and still, I didn't want to hang up. I cannot imagine a point in my life where he would be irrelevant, and maybe its because I don't want him to be.
I've heard it said so many times. "Everything reminds me of him." And everything does. We drove home, past the really fancy/shady restaurant I ate at with him the night before I left to India last summer. He drove me in a van, packed with suitcases, and we held hands. We both ordered fish, and his was better than mine, like always. Afterwards, as we held each other in the parking lot, I savored the smell of him, so I could remember it later. The yucky dandruff shampoo scent, and his cologne, and the smell of his laundry - our laundry. Then he dropped me off and I left to India.
I've spent so many solitary hours in airports and airplanes daydreaming about him. When I was younger and we would travel, I would pretend I had a friend who was invisible to everyone else, who would hold my hand as the flight would take off, and who would protect me from the scary flush of the in-flight toilet. As I grew older, I began to think it was really romantic to travel with your significant other. And not travel as in visit amazing places, travel as in spend terrible layovers napping at the airport together, and sharing seats in the flight. Traveling alone gives you a lot of time to introspect and daydream. I would daydream about him, and pretend that HE was my invisible friend who would hold my hand and nap in the airport with me.
We did finally fly together. Twice. Once to San Francisco and through a terrible storm where he held my sweaty palms as I frantically prayed our plane didn't go down. Once to Guatemala, where we napped in each others laps during our layover. Traveling with him was like fulfilling my childhood fantasies. I couldn't have imagined it any more perfect than it was.
It doesn't make sense to try to transcribe three years of memories, but it makes me feel a little less crazy to at least try to articulate it in words instead of just get knocked out by the gale of emotions that whacks me in the face at event he slightest trigger. Like when any Jason Mraz song plays on the radio. Like last night, where I switched from one station to the other, and both were playing Mr. Mraz. Its unfair the way he cuts me so deep. When we were in Guatemala, somebody told us about feelings that 'hurt so good', and that's the only way I can describe any of this. It hurts, but its the only thing I want to do. Its the only thing I have the energy or interest for. I idolized this relationship, however unhealthy that may be, and I'm afraid that I will never have another one quite like it.
While we dated, we decided to try every cheesecake on the menu at the cheesecake factory. I've eaten cheesecake for breakfast, but I had never had an actual meal at that restaurant. Until last night. And being there, and scanning the menu for just one entree to order myself reinforced how entwined I've been in the last three years. Its been a long time. We got a kitten together, and he is the cutest animal I have ever encountered (biases accounted for). In a way I'm happy that he got to keep our kitten because I know that he is better than me, more patient than me, more loving than me, more giving than I ever could be. When we first got Melon, he was sick, and stayed sick through three rounds of antibiotics. I loved seeing him with our cat though. I loved that he was unafraid of claws, or vet costs, or cleaning up diarrhea/knocked over xmas trees/broken glass, or catching ringworm (which happened). I loved the steady patience with which he handled me, and our kitten. Morning kisses(headbutts) for everybody, always.
Maybe that's what I miss the most. The steady, the reassuring, the calm. For every bit that I am uptight, a control freak, unsure, anal, impatient, selfish, demanding and alienating he is easy going, confident, mature, comfortable, spontaneous, malleable, and likable.
The night we met, I think it was his self-assured confidence that made me say yes to a dance. And days later he messaged me on facebook joking that my fingernails had cut into his back, because that's how tight I had held on to him. It was weird for me to think about that then, that MY fingernails had made random indents in some dude's back. Eeeeks. Now I don't think there is an inch of his skin that I haven't accidentally bumped or whacked. Elbow high fives. I have scars on my arms from burning myself while baking with him. And one on my hand from breaking a glass bowl in his sink.
It was the first time I got a glass cut, and those things bleed like no other. It shattered in my hands and all of a sudden blood was just everywhere. He was out the door for a first aid kit so fast that for the next few seconds I just stood dumbfounded and continued to try to 'wash it off'.
I can't count the number of times we have shared maladies, colds, and fevers, and he would still get out of bed with said fever/throbbing headache/sore throat/body aches and cook dinner for me and make me bottomless cups of tea. And foot massages.
The first time I got a massage from him I remember thinking "Great, now I'm screwed because I will never be able to break up with this boy." The best feeling in the world is getting a foot massage and falling asleep because its too much to handle. Then waking up folded into the lines of someone else's body.
I dislike cold weather. Except I would wait for winter while I dated him because I loved the feeling of his cold cold cheeks and lips. And the nights where he would slide into bed while I was sleeping and hold me. Some nights I would wake up and have panic attacks because I thought I was getting assaulted by an invader. Some nights I would stay up all night and have panic attacks because it was raining and he still wasn't home. One night I didn't open the door and he slept in his car until I woke up. After that, I gave him a key.
I can't write anymore. I can't write it all. It's too much, its not enough.
I guess I'm posting this because I want somebody to read it, and tell me they can understand how I feel and how lucky I have been. I want to go to a movie theatre by myself, buy myself a popcorn, drown it in butter, and watch an entire movie alone.
SO HERE IT IS, LETTING IT ALL HANG OUT. I'm just so sad. And tired. But not tired of being sad.
For each of these 8,000 miles that will separate us, I have shed a tear or ten.
I have learnt that 'heartbreak' is dehydrating. I will buy more advil and tissues and cry till my tearducts go on strike.
