Letting go

Broken heart...it's not an easy thing to live with.

Four months ago I would have given anything to forget, or die, or wake up and find I was really just having a horrible nightmare. But every person who's ever had a broken heart can attest that reality is our worst and best companion. Time passes by in a haze, whether brought on by our own personal yearning to forget as much as often as possible, or simply because we forget how quickly life moves on.

I have loved and I believe my love was one of the greater loves...it was volatile, fervent, lustful, truthful, and most of all, painful. Sure I could keep on pointing fingers, and placing blame and hating, but what good does that do for me?

This isn't meant to inspire, or enlighten. I myself am not inspired to continue loving. If anything, I am terrified of ever loving again. We must understand that love is truly fleeting. Not many of us get to experience it in its most innocent form, and not many get to experience it at all. And as sad as that realization is, would it even be called love if everyone did experience it? If anything, we'd just call it a phase, like puberty, and mid-life crises.

The truth is that, four months and twelve days later, I still miss my past. It is an everyday battle to get out of bed, put on that painful smile and take steps forward. The reality of this is that THIS IS REALITY. We are constantly hammered by media and society on what love is like, and we are falsely taught to hope for rainy kisses, and surprise proclamations of love, epiphanies of love and soul mates and forever. It is because of movies like The Notebook, P.S. I Love You and the likes of these films that we search and search for OUR love.

What is the reality of my love? Despite my mind's struggle to keep a romanticized notion of my love, the reality of it is that it was a hard and tedious love. And after having spent 2 1/2 years of my life being promised to be loved forever, and being told that I am the most perfect person on the planet, and there is no way that I'd ever be broken up with....well, he did break up with me, and he did stop loving me, and he did move on...took him three months after we broke up (or maybe sooner, what do I know). The truth, and the reality of our lives are never what we'd like it to be, but after having my heart completely dismantled, I find, that we get over it.

I never said it was easy, I still cry, I still feel lonely and I still love him. But less and less am I expecting him to show up at my house on new years eve telling me that he realizes he can't live without me. (yeah, this is my stupid fantasy that I play out in my mind sometimes....because, hey, I'm a masochist like everyone else). Slowly but surely, I am accepting that we had an amazing time together...for, despite the hardships, we loved the way very few will ever love, and it was so seamless it could've been right out of a love story...but like most unwritten endings to love stories....it had to end, because honestly? there are 7 billion people in this world, and we expect to be settled with? There are people out there who are 20 times better at everything we do great already, so why in the world would we expect to be with someone forever?

Am I bitter? Yes.
Am I stronger? Definitely yes.
Am I still alive? Yes.

He may have broken every promise he made, and he may have been the one to break up with me, but in retrospect, he's still doing the same thing he was yesterday, and last week, and a month ago: working at some grungy bar, smoking weed to drown out his own reality, and hooking up with some rebound.

What have I been doing since the break up?

I traveled to Mexico, I am being mentored by great industry professionals, I am one quarter closer to graduating with my BACHELORS in June of 2013, I am working out to get healthy, and I am working and being social and doing whatever it is that I want. So, who's the loser now?

It may not be the most mature thing to do....comparing and such, but it feels great to know that although I was honestly devastated and hit rock bottom, I am still alive, and kicking ass at it.  

Updates

She laid there. Heavy and unwilling to move. It was all a blur amid the salty residue of tears. How quickly things can change—instantly everything you know is jarred from your white-kunckled, clenched and bloodied hands. She hurt with every breath she was forced to take. Anything. Just anything to make it all go away. 6 sleeping pills in and she still laid intertwined in cold sweat and hot blankets. She refused to move, she wanted to stay frozen in hopes that she’d disappear into thin air and not have to face her new reality. The loss of love and being loved is said to be the most painful experience ever. She’d never understood before. Not until yesterday.

I laid there. Heavy and unwilling to move. Mind and heart racing while making a conscious and futile effort to disappear into the spaces of time’s forgetfulness. As I swallowed painfully all I could do was blame myself for forcing him to tell me. I know I’m the worst at talking, so WHY did I force him to talk to me? If I’d never insisted, I’d still be in his room, in his bed, among his sheets with blissful ignorance.

But that’s not how life works is it? Not for me at least. I had to push him, I had to make the effort to talk things out…I had to lose him.

Days drag on and nothing is certain. It happened on a Monday. What had I been doing, thinking, feeling? The pain of it all stabs at me from every angle. There’s a loud rattling inside my chest. My body itching for him, and hurting because he no longer wants any of it. I have now become the unloved and I hate it. So now I lay here. Heavy and unwilling to move. I don’t even know how I got here. Last I remember was having Amerie tell me with pitying eyes that she was here for me as I let the 6 sleeping pills take their effect on my loveless body. How did I get here? I can’t even bring myself to retrace my steps…or did I drag myself here?

All I could do was lay there.

4 months later.

It’s December 1^st. 11 days till the world is supposed to end and I’ve been here this whole time worrying about my broken heart. Is it pathetic? No. Well, yes but no. How about that for your typical woman answer! 4 months ago I would have given anything for a sweet, sweet visit to death’s door. Oh, no worries, my heart still hurts, and I think about J every fucking day of my life, but that doesn’t mean I let my life crumble…at least not completely. Because, unfortunately, unlike the movies we see, where girls with broken hearts go travelling and leave everything behind to find themselves and who they are meant to be…well, because I live in the real world, I can’t just up and leave my life, job, school, debt. Yep, this is life. So what did I have to do, you ask?

Day 2: you have a broken heart? Suck it up.

Man, that day was tough. Here I was, completely broken down, shattered, and aimlessly existing, and I had to drag my sorry ass to work. I’m pretty easy to spot in my kitchen. Lipstick, earrings, and boobs all wrapped up in a chef coat and apron. That is who I am at work. So when the only female shows up to work without makeup, and the reddest, puffiest eyes ever, well, let’s just say you ain’t hard to miss. That day I not only got in trouble, but I was the talk of the kitchen. Just a heads up for those of you who don’t know what the kitchen is like: BEING THE TALK OF THE KITCHEN IS NO BUENO! It never helps that you’re the only woman in there either. So, as the pitiful thing I was, I called J and told him I needed to smoke. J, being the pitiful thing he is, agreed to smoke me out. Seeing him, being near him was what I truly wanted. You see, J was like the best drug you’ll ever ever ever be addicted to. So, true to addict-form, going cold turkey was worse than death. Any chance I got to see him, be near him, hear his voice, just kept the addiction going a little longer. Honestly, I was lovesick.

Today.

I still love him, I really do. I haven’t spoken to him, seen him…actually he’s fading out of my mind as days pass and pass. I never thought it would happen but I actually have to TRY to see his face. I’m reminded of him daily, whether I want it or not. The best we can do is just take things day by day. Hope is always there. The hopefulness that he’ll change his mind…damn movies, damn Hollywood for making this ideology so prevalent. Hope is also a deceptive thing. Hope and expectations lead to disappointment. I’m still disappointed at how things turned out. But for now, it’s just me myself and…me. Working on my issues  is hard, but it’s better than expecting J to come back, because, honestly, if he hasn't come back by now, there’s no reason to expect him to come back at all.

The life of a chef is a hard one. Full of heartbreak and amazing food. It’s got it’s perks and it’s definite down-sides, but when you’re born into it, you’re bound by blood sweat and sleepless nights.

So for now, on this chilly sleepless night, all I can do,  is do what I do best, go work out. See you at the gym!