I am battling the deep despair of heartache. The aching heart that doesn’t seem to shut up. It beats loudly at night reminding me of all I must worry about. It beats so loud that it becomes my focus. Like I’m Dracula meticulously selecting his next victim: frail, sensitive, longing, enthralled. But somehow in the delicacy of that, the heart remains potent and formidable. The heart has evolved into a dominant power that has the mind crumbling at its knees. However, Dracula knows that the heart is encapsulated in delusion. I am Dracula, but I am also his victim.
How could I possibly have a heartache if my heart was never broken? I wouldn’t dare let someone get that close- let alone close enough to breach my security. I don’t tittle-tattle about my deep, dark secrets, and I couldn’t dare to write them on paper. There is something so concrete about sharing- something so real about eloquently exposing your vulnerability to those you hold dear. A mere comment would spiral into: “I’m so sorry,” “I’m here for you”, or “Do you need to talk?”
I enjoy my delusion. I enjoy daydreaming the day away and wishfully existing. I enjoy catching angel numbers and yearning for a “dream come true.” My delusion sure couldn’t be the ailment responsible for my heartache. How real can a thought be? Even if I think it over repeatedly, it simply abides in my mirage. I’m happy this way- just gosh darn cheery. Not a worry in the world. I’m practically dancing on the bar tops.
Imagine being a vampire- absolutely draining a person. Everything they were once filled with becomes queasy. Their soul, memories, and personality become muddled. Their identity oozes away until a sack of nothing hits the floor. Then the vampire walks away victorious, or at least until their appetite returns.
Being a vampire is such a burden. Having to collect the hearts of others. That’s some heavy baggage. I can’t even imagine the sob stories, tales of woe. Ugh, sounds exhausting. Now on top of the affliction of vampirism, you are hampered by humanity’s heartaches.
What happens if I’m the vampire and the victim? I constantly suck the life out of myself while simultaneously being my only source of life. This is the doings of a dark curse. A curse of an enemy. A lover I’ve ghosted for sure.
I am so drained. My google calendar is nauseating to look at, yet my alone time feels dreadful. I feed off capitalizing my time, and my exhaustion seems like an afterthought. I distract myself with curated Spotify playlists to drown out the sound of my own deprecations. I delete every dating app because the thought of potentially finding a match is just repulsive.
To live my happy little life, it requires some accommodation; such as deeply unhealthy suppression. Why would I ever deal with my problems if I could ignore them completely? But if my fantasy escape is indulging in the nightmare of being a vampire and a victim, I’m not sure how well this is working out.
The more I suppress my emotions, the more they are emphasized. The more I want to forget, the more I’m reminded. The more I try and remember, there are gaps in my brain. The more I try and sleep, I shake. The more I grieve, I’m haunted.
My heart has been broken by me. I’m the bad boyfriend who stopped calling; the mom who diets their daughter; the friend who always seems a bit too busy for you.
I am my own victim and vampiress, enchained by the unruly power of a vigor heartbeat. My mind and experience may concoct anxiety but it’s the heart that transforms it into true heartache.