It started just like you would expect if you’ve read young adult novels since you were 12 years old like me.
We met and instantly were drawn to each other. He had piercing blue eyes that made me feel like he could see right through me. And when he smiled, it went all the way to his eyes like a good smile should.
He approached me and I immediately ran my tongue over my teeth to make sure I didn’t have any lipstick on them. I knew I wanted to leave a good impression.
It was one of those things where it was even better than imagined. You can see someone for the first time in your life and you begin to envision what that person will be like, but most of the time you’re terribly wrong. This was no exception. I had imagined him to be a conversationalist but I hadn’t prepared for the charm or wit.
I was freaking smitten.
We exchanged numbers and began texting at every waking moment. We talked about everything and nothing all at the same time.
He made me laugh— gut wrenching, deep laughs — and when I thought of him I couldn’t help but smile.
We eventually started dating exclusively, and because I’ve watched entirely too many rom-coms, I began to imagine our beautiful future together.
What I didn’t imagine, however, was that one day he would wake up and decide not to love me anymore.
But he did.
It was a shock at first, almost like the first time I watched Game Of Thrones and realized that George R.R. Martin didn’t give a damn about who he killed off. I felt like I had been sucker punched. But then the real pain came.
That sucker punch left a heavy bruise and days later, after the initial shock had worn off, I begin to feel the ache.
You can never prepare yourself to go through heartbreak. It doesn’t matter if it’s the 75th time or the first time, it hurts just as bad every damn time.
Heartbreak leaves you feeling breathless, and confused. You will stare at yourself in the mirror and wonder if you did something wrong. You will try to smile, and wonder when it will feel genuine again. You will lose sleep, and you will cry for seemingly no reason at all. You will feel terribly sorry for yourself, and then you will get angry at yourself for feeling so damn sad. You will not be able to win.
Heartbreak is one of the most painful things we as humans can experience. If you don’t agree with that, I’m not sure you can say you’ve truly had your heartbroken. It hurts.
We all react to pain differently. Some of us shut down. Some of us lash out. Some of us go back and forth between the two, and some of us have no idea what the hell we’re doing.
I was a combination of them all.
I felt helpless. Then I began to experience the five stages of a
I started refusing. I would tell myself that we were just going through a rough patch but that everything would be OK. I told myself that there was no way he could stop loving me. And I told my friends that everything was fine.
Then I got pissed off. Why did he leave me? Why didn’t he love me anymore? What the hell was his problem anyway? Did he think he could do better than me? Did he think that he could hurt me like this and get away with it? Did he think I even CARED? (I did)
After that I began to try and negotiate. I told him I would change. I told him it would be better. I told him that if he just gave it one more chance he would see how perfect we were together.
It didn’t take long after my (failed) attempts at negotiation for me to gain a cloud. The best way to describe what I was going through was that there was a large cloud following me around everywhere that I went. It was relentless. It would pour and pour and pour and I didn’t see sunshine for days.
I would still try to talk to him, although now I have no idea why. I would tell him congratulations on his work achievements and I would like his Instagram pictures way too often. I would call him when something reminded me of him, and I would still try to talk to his family.
I couldn’t let go. Or maybe I just didn’t want to.
It didn’t take long for word to get out about our failed relationship to our mutual friends and before long, I knew I would have to suck it up and explain over dinner.
I poured my heart out to them, and as I felt myself beginning to unravel, I heard the words, “He said you have been acting crazy. He’s worried about you but doesn’t know what else to do. He said he’s probably going to block your number. We’re all worried about you.”
I felt my fingers begin to tingle as all the blood drained out of my face.
I barely remember the rest of the conversation, what they said after that, or what pitiful excuse I conjured up to defend myself.
But I’ll never forget that word: crazy.
Was I crazy? I wasn’t sure. Sometimes I felt crazy.
Was I hurt? Absolutely.
Sometimes I felt so hurt that I didn’t even know how to handle it so I would curl up into a ball in my bed and try to breathe until the worst of it passed.
Sometimes I couldn’t imagine not being happy.
Sometimes I would feel so overwhelmed by the weight of the cloud over my head that I would spend days trying to find the sunlight again.
And other times, I would feel so full of love that I felt as if I could burst.
Maybe I was crazy.
But sometimes, the only way to stay sane, is to go a little crazy.