Heartbreak. It is the one word that every individual can relate to. The one feeling that can make even the sturdiest stone crumble into pieces.
Why does this concept control our lives? How are we able to recover? Or do we ever recover? Even in the happiest of relationships, most content state of mind, one mention of an ex’s name with the act of moving on can cause a breakdown.
But that’s why they call it heartbreak. Each round of a destroyed love breaks a piece of the heart to be left in the past, a piece that is never retrievable.
How many heartbreaks is too many? Where is there a point of no return?
It has gotten to a point where I constantly ask myself, where is the line between taking chances or making dumb mistakes?
Well, after much pondering, I’ve decided that the line is drawn based on the conclusion, the outcome. What happens after the spontaneous act of following your heart. If you get what you wanted, you took a chance, but… let’s just say I have learned that, clearly, not everything can be happily ever after, so, wallah, there’s your answer.
For me? Well, I’ve apparently done many foolish things in my life. And let’s face it. I’m officially, completely and utterly, confused.
I’m trying to figure out if I am a self-deprecating masochist. One who only dwells on the feeling of sadness and longing. Do I make everything more melodramatic than it actually needs to be? Or am I just over-analyzing the uninterpretable.
This is what I do know.
Until recently, I had forgotten what it felt like to mutually want and desire someone. I had forgotten a level of intimacy and trust that used to engulf my senses. I had forgotten what it felt like to love. Once this feeling was triggered back into my soul, it made me realize what I had been missing for so long. I felt so comfortable in my skin, so relaxed and well, just happy. There was no criticism, no regrets, just perfection.
Is that what everyone is looking for?
Ever since, I have been a changed person. It’s weird to think that such a tiny moment in one’s life could so drastically impact an individual, but I guess I have to believe that these moments exist, because for me, I can pinpoint the exact moment when everything changed.
I actually feel incomplete.
Not only can I personally relate to any song from my iTunes collection, I finally understand the heartache and yearning that I’ve read about in books. That feeling. If I don’t somehow keep myself occupied, my mind drifts into deep thoughts, into dark places. Thoughts of what it would be like if I never get to feel whole again. In the deepest of circumstances, a loneliness sweeps over me and embodies my senses as I wonder if I’ll ever be able to retrieve that rare feeling ever again.
… And if I won’t be able to? Well, I don’t let my mind wander there. If anything, I desperately hope that I will be able to find degrees of that feeling. Maybe just the nervous butterflies, or just the relaxation and comfort aspect, or the memorizing infatuation, or the constant laughter, or just so I have the feeling of finding my home.
What I hope for the most, is just knowing that whatever happens, I’ll always strive to be a better person, so that possibly, one day, I might be good enough for him, because, to me? He’s perfect.
So, now I wonder what the healthy balance is for focusing on my future if I’m supposedly living in the past. Do I try to move on? I know it is possible, I’ve done it before. Or would that be desecrating the first sacred thing to have entered my life? I feel guilty when I wonder what could be, based on what has been. I feel weak and lost. Impatient. Vulnerable.
So once again, I must ask: Do we bring upon our heartbreak? Are we naturally self deprecating and self loathing? Am I so focused and involved with this loneliness because it hurts and for some foolish reason, I enjoy this pain?
I like to believe that I continue to dwell and wonder about destiny and love so that I am reminded of that hole I am missing in my soul and need to fill, a hole that I had once forgotten was ever there.