A Broken Heart as it Heals

The silence of a perfectly still night seemed to awake me from a light sleep. My alarm clock emitted a glow that cast a green light across my bed; I turned over so the light didn’t disturb me. In spite of all my efforts it was now three AM and I hadn’t managed to sleep longer than an hour at a time. It’s going to be another one of those nights. Instead of lying in bed, failing miserably at the goal of sleep I threw back the covers and stood up. Perhaps some tedious late night television would alleviate my insomnia. So I made my way into the living room.
After settling on the couch under a warm blanket I turned the television on, making sure the volume was kept low, shift worker parents don’t seem to appreciate having insomniacs living in their house. However mine appeared to be adjusting somewhat, Mum was empathetic and Henry started wearing ear plugs to bed so we were all dealing in our own way I suppose.
The infomercials on the screen weren’t capturing my interest so my attention began to wander around the dimly lit room. Photos of my brother and I were scattered all over the walls, hung in elegant frames. A single wedding portrait sat on the sideboard near the dining table and there were little knick knacks everywhere. I have never been able to understand why Mum loves collecting the stupid things so much. Our living room appeared unremarkable and generic in this light. However in recent times my entire life has appeared indistinguishable and uninteresting. I guess that’s where the insomnia comes from; it’s hard to expend energy or enthusiasm in a greyscale world.
At certain moments I forget that it’s been months since I last saw him. The last night that I felt his arms around me doesn’t seem at all distinct from the countless others I spent by his side in desperate attempts to fit into his world, but in my memory that night will always be set apart because the next day he would give me back my broken heart and walk away without another word. It’s at those moments, when I remember the pain that it all feels like it just happened a second ago.
Then there are these other moments when I feel like it must have been years because everything is different now. While all those people closest to me say I haven’t changed much I feel so different, I suppose the cliché term is that I’ve grown stronger but it doesn’t seem like it most of the time. However I’ve never been able to see my own strength, I always manage to forget how much pain I’ve endured, how much I’ve overcome, and even when I do remember all I want to know is when is it going to stop?
Most people don’t realise that I know what it feels like to live with a broken heart. I got up everyday, I lived in two countries, I worked hard, partied hard and did everything else to try and escape it but it never worked. You don’t see yourself heal, you don’t realise that you’ve moved on and created a new life for yourself but you do. In one truly unremarkable moment I remember looking at my father and realising that I had forgiven him for leaving us and that my broken heart had healed and I was now able to see him as a real human being. What people don’t know is that every second of every day I now spend trying to get myself to that point, to that moment when the wounds have healed and left a scar to remind you of what you survived.
Continuing to think was not helping me get closer to sleep so I attempted to turn my attention back to the infomercial, the volume was so low I could hardly hear it but it appeared to be advertising some kind of hair removal system, and it was perhaps the single dullest thing that I had ever seen. It was not going to help me at all so I gave up and decided to get back to my thoughts.
“Ruth, are you still up?”
I turned my head and saw Henry standing in the doorway.
“Not still, again. I couldn’t sleep so I thought late night television would help, but it isn’t really. Did I wake you?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep either.”
“There must be something in the water.” It was the closest I had come to telling a joke in weeks.
“Very funny, I was wondering where that sense of humour had gone.”
“So was I.” I whispered softly, I didn’t intend for him to hear me.
“It makes sense to not feel very funny right now. It’s just good to see the old you again.”
He came and sat next to me on the couch, I moved my feet out of the way so he could fit.
“I’m not the best at dealing with girls’ stuff especially when it comes to relationship troubles.”
“Well you’re not a girl.”
“I wish I knew what to say or do. You probably realise that when women are hurt and men can’t fix it we try to ignore it or make it less important.”
“I know. Travis always did that to me.”
“I’m sure he did. You are doing well though, it’s difficult to deal with, the women in your family have an amazing capacity to tackle things head on, and other people should be like that.”
I knew he was talking about Mum; sometimes the woman scares me with her covert strength. However I wasn’t sure what I should say in reply.
“I’d say that you shouldn’t have to go through this but that’s a lie. In fact I’ll tell you now that it’s probably good that this has happened to you, it will make you stronger but also a lot softer and kinder to peoples’ feelings. People who don’t have their heart broken don’t seem to realise how fragile we all are, no matter how tough we appear.”
I just sat and looked at him. In the five years he and Mum had been together I don’t think that he had ever been this honest with me.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
He looked over at the television and stared for several moments, as if he didn’t know what to say.
“I suppose I am. It was a long time ago, I was a kid really, around your age but much more immature. We were together for about three years and lived together for a year. I wanted to marry her and she was waiting around for something better, then one day it appeared and I was a part of her immature past.”
“I’m sorry Henry.”
“Ruth it’s okay, it was nearly thirty years ago and I’m not very good at confiding in people about these things so you don’t really need to say anything. I just wanted you to know that it happened and that it felt unbearable for quite awhile. I’m telling you this because I see you trying to make yourself okay before you are ready. People are going to expect lots of things of you, expect you to feel a certain way after a certain amount of time but it’s bullshit.”
I smiled to myself. That was perhaps the single greatest piece of advice I had received in the aftermath of this mess; it’s bullshit. It may just be enough to get me through the night.
“Thanks.”
“No problem, enjoy your infomercials and don’t worry if you can’t sleep, just do what you have to do.”
“I will.”
With that he stood up and walked softly out of the room. I heard his bedroom door shut behind him and then I stretched my feet out on the couch again.
Everyone has advice to give after you’ve had your heart broken for the first time and what you want most of all is to believe in the validity of what they say, however there is the continuous voice in the back of your head telling you that your pain is so unbelievably unique that no one else could possibly relate. I’ve come to hate that voice with a passion, it makes me feel so self-important and so moronic at the same time because it is that same voice that reminds you of how stupid you were to ever get involved with the loser in the first place. What I would like is to just get a second, just one blissful second, where my mind stops and I don’t think anything. It’ll never happen though, I’ll never be that free.
Henry’s words continued to echo in my head as I attempted to focus on the television again.
“It is all bullshit, the whole fucking lot of it is complete shit.” I whispered to myself.
All the hurt, the pain, the fighting, the anger, the regret and most of all the love is shit. It just doesn’t stop, since I discovered guys I haven’t known a moment’s peace and I honestly wish I knew how to just give up on it but I just can’t. As much as I logically know that I’m going to get hurt a lot more before I’m able to be content and happy being with someone, I can’t seem to give up the whole thing because what I desperately crave is someone who understands me, who sees all the darkness within my soul and doesn’t run. I want to belong and I want to be able to say that I feel at home with another human being, that I feel connected and loved.
Lying there I remembered back to my lowest moment, the moment where it all just felt so hopeless and I felt so totally alone in the mess. I think back to that night a couple of weeks ago and I see how different things are now, but I don’t believe I’ll ever forget exactly how I felt at that moment. The years will age me and I will know different kinds of pain as I go through but I don’t believe I can ever move past that moment.
I held back the tears that threatened to burst from my eyes, that would be the limit of my humiliation before I gave up totally. All around me there were these couples holding onto each other and I was absolutely alone, it was freezing cold and I wanted to be warm again but that wasn’t going to happen. The same words kept repeating themselves over and over in my head;
“Why in the hell didn’t they come after me?”
I realised that no one was coming after me again, that there was no one left in this world that cared enough about me to come after me when I was sinking. It was the most empty feeling in the whole world. At that point I wanted to call him, to beg him to take me back even though I knew it would be a lie, I simply didn’t care, if I knew that he would be there for me I didn’t care. The blackness seemed to have no end, for just a moment there was not a sliver of light in my world and there wasn’t a single person to notice.
However I didn’t stand at that taxi rank alone for long, I saw some friends and they waited there with me, making mindless conversation because my mind was far too occupied to consider a real one. We took a taxi back to my house and they stayed there for the night and for at least one night the loneliness wasn’t crippling. For that night I was able to have the strength to see myself coming out of this a different person, a more honest person, a more sensitive person but ultimately a damaged person. However like everything else it was a mood, a mood that would only last as long as I didn’t have to spend any time on my own. But deep down inside me I knew that being alone was the best thing that I could do for myself at the moment.
Being inside my own head, listening to the noise makes me question if I’m making any progress at all. When I sit by myself, feeling sad and on those nights that I lie in bed and cry I honestly believe that I am not doing very well. I remember asking someone recently if they could see the damage he did on my face because it feels like everyone should be able to see it. It feels as if I’m visibly scarred and that no one will ever want me again because they can see the wreck he left when he left. Then you talk to someone and they tell you how good you look, how much better you seem to be doing and I realise that I’m judging myself, demeaning myself and punishing myself because I’m not perfect, ideal or remotely normal. I don’t even believe that the way I heal is good enough, nothing I do is ever good enough to please me. Which is just one more thing to hate myself for.
However slowly I’m learning to accept me, all the neuroses, dramas, mood swings and perfectionism that encompass who I am. I also see that no matter what my broken heart tells me I do know real love, however it wasn’t him that showed me, it was those people that picked me up and stayed, even when the world was black, those same people who find happiness in watching me grow into a new person while at the same time grieving the loss of the girl I used to be because unlike him they really did love her.