It’s frightening to deal with heartbreak. I believe that’s when I felt the most unloved. It’s difficult to go from talking with someone before bed every day to never hearing anything anymore. So, after a few dozen missed calls and a half-hearted response about “being busy,” I go to bed hoping that things will return to normal and that it will get better. This is only a temporary situation.
I know I’m deceiving myself, but lying about the truth feels a lot easier than giving up completely. Why is it so difficult to simply admit that things did not go as planned? Why is it so difficult for me to admit that they worsen my mental health? Why is it so hard for me to let go?
What do you call the stages of a failed relationship that are nearing its end? You know, where you haven’t finished anything yet but are still grieving the loss of what could have been. How can you tell when something is truly over? Is it when they promise to call and you stay up all night hoping they will? Is it when they cancel every single one of your plans? Is it when you’ve been pushed to the sidelines in every way possible?
After three years, I feel as if I’m missing a large part of myself. I’m not angry; I’m just sad. I’m sad because all I’ve ever wanted to be was enough. I just wanted to be enough, and I wanted to know what love felt like. I had no idea how sour love could become when it dies. I always assumed that if I became detached enough, it would feel like getting a shot at a doctor’s office: it would sting for a split second before going away. The pain, however, has not subsided. It’s as if I swallowed a seed of heartbreak and now it just sits inside of me. Every day, it grows bigger and bigger.
I’ve lost interest in anything that makes me happy. I’ve read website after website about how to deal with losing someone you thought would never leave. But I’m still not feeling any better. I’m not sure I want to go through this again with anyone because it’s been the most difficult time of my life. I wish there was something I could say to assure someone that this part isn’t difficult and that there is always someone better out there. But I don’t think I believe that any longer – not after witnessing it firsthand. I believe the truth is that it will sting until it no longer does. It’s going to hurt, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
I’m hoping this is only a passing phase. I’m hoping this feeling will go away. I’m hoping to get back to normal. Meanwhile, I know that this final stage makes me wonder if I’ll ever work on myself again. This may sound cliche, but I don’t want to stay the same. I’d like to pour my sorrow into something. It would be ideal if I could heal and grow as a result of this experience.