you know what i did for the weekend?
i spent the entire weekend sulking in my bedroom, waiting for my phone to alert me with a message i’m 90% sure will never come.
it didn’t. i never got that text message and once i told my friend this, she said: they didn’t send you any message. i think you get the message.
and then i got mad and ran about 5 kilometers around the neighborhood.
this morning, a friend–who’s probably as heartbroken as i seem to be–called me and asked me, how do you get over it? how do you get over the pain?
and yes, people apparently still ask this question these days.
honestly, i don’t know.
how does one stumble from one heartbreak to another and not throw their hands up in the air to surrender?
in a world full of cruel realities, i think, one of our many consolations is that every cell in our body dies every seven years and isn’t it amazing to think that seven years from now, you’re practically someone new; that there will be a new version of you that’s never been touched or never been broken by the same thing over and over?
i never really had an answer for my friend as i, too, don’t have any idea of how to get over the current slump i’m currently plastered to.
the thing about slumps is that there’s no way to avoid them. no matter what aspect of life we’re referring to, there’s always going to be this one big slump of a heartbreak that’ll feel like dying, sometimes worse.
we can all change into our horrible sweaters and eat as many pints of ice cream as we can. we can sign up for a new activity, learn as many new things as we can. but at the end of the day, when we lay down in our beds, the thought still plagues our mind.
and i think that the most exhausting part about having slumps, or getting your heartbroken, is the one where we try our best to get over it but none of it works. none of it works because i don’t think there’s really a way to ignore that nagging feeling in your chest that reminds you that your life is no longer the way it was before; that awful feeling in your stomach upon realizing over and over that they’re not here anymore; or that sharp pain you feel in your lungs when you realize you’re not really good enough.
there’s a part where i, the queen of knowing what to do when her heart has been broken, even got to the point where i fuckin Googled how to move on (and what have you, WikiHow actually has a list with pictures).
so maybe there’s no actual way. but there’s a reality i’ve come to know after going through all the kinds of loves i’ve lost and the ones i never had–it’s that it takes time.
it takes time to build a new life. it takes time to replace the patches you’ve dedicated for someone else to fill. it takes time to learn a new way to live your life. it takes time to learn how to ignore that nagging feeling in your chest.
soon as i’ve learned to accept this truth, i started to learn how to push through every day of my life with this weight on my shoulders.
when a heart breaks royally, the pain never really goes away. you learn to live with it every day. you learn to build a path around it so you don’t pass by it and aggravate it even more. it becomes so deeply embedded into your soul that it almost feels like a second skin.
how do i push through? i’m not sure.
all i know is that i wake up everyday deciding to get out of bed even if it’s hard, even if the weight on my shoulders is becoming too heavy for me to carry.
i get up and start my day. i get up and face the mirror and see myself; sometimes i smile. i drink coffee and i go about life the way i used to. and i hang on to the cruel, harsh truth that the only way out is through.
i wake up every morning with one single goal: to make it through the day without crying. and i go to bed hoping that maybe tomorrow, it doesn’t hurt as much as it did the day before.
i repeat it everyday and who knows, maybe someday the pain wouldn’t threaten me anymore. maybe, one day, without any reason at all, on the most typical of days, i’d realize that it doesn’t hurt at all anymore.
will it work? i’ll let you know when it does.