Here’s what happened following the last post regarding heartbreak: my heart had truly been mended. I find that I go back on my word quite often when I write because I write only on how I feel because I’m self-absorbed and really into my own feelings, I guess. Anyways, that means everything is subject to change because I don’t feel the same way for very long very often. Y’know?
All of the things I wrote about coming to terms with were permanent. The weight and the burden of heartbreak had been lifted, and lo and behold, good things happened because of it. I’m still jamming out to sadgirlmusic, don’t worry. I just painted a picture while blasting Bright Eyes. Yes, it’s Friday night. I live an exciting life.
Healing is what I want to talk about. Healing happens when we realize that we can release brokenness. The thing about the release is that it’s not always something we can choose to do. I think it depends on the person and what exactly they want to remove from themselves – compulsion, fear, desire.
For some, closure is necessary. In the case of the everlasting heartbreak I thought I might die with, I guess that’s what I got. I saw this person who was still written on paper (in blood, scripted with a feather) as this undying piece of me, and I felt that space had been filled with something else. He wasn’t there anymore, but I didn’t know until I began to speak. I spoke to him in the way that I would anybody else. My words no longer formed in defense; it was rather alarming to me. I wanted to dance and scream about it and tell the world. That’s when I decided to write a silly blog post.
The past couple of months have brought on incredible joy. Momentous, epic, everyday, I’m-crying-at-the-sunset-in-a-baseball-field joy. I am fulfilled in my work. I have more freedom than I ever have in all regards. Most notably – and what contributes to my joy the most is – I have relationships with people that have surpassed all expectations. Bravo, guys.
I’m laying in Savannah’s heavenly bed in her air-conditioned apartment that feels more like home to me than my own. I’m going to have to start a calendar regarding which day whose kombucha was brewed, as I’m tending to both of our batches as well as the cat while she’s away.
I remember visiting Olympia, Washington, and I stayed with a girl named Rachel who I immediately wanted to be upon stepping into her apartment. Looking back on 19, I was the opposite of who I am now: genuinely timid, slightly introverted, not at all ambitious, and very unaware of who I was. I don’t think it’s unusual to be this way at 19. She was just so cool; she played Magnetic Fields songs on the ukelele and she went to a university without grades and she had giant vats of sauerkraut on the floor of the living room. When I walk into my (or Savannah’s) apartment, I realize that I got what I wanted. Not the hipster dream of the Pacific Northwest that I just outlined, but something much more meaningful than the surface of it. Though I no longer wish to be anybody but me, I’m living out the dream I only thought possible for someone more confident and self-assured than I was. Turns out, those things come as you grow up. Well, duh. If only I had listened to what every adult had ever told me. It took a lot of healing. Sorry for being redundant in my use of a chosen buzzword – it’s the only way I can stay focused. Just remember, it is relevant.
In a series of fortunate events, Savannah’s upstairs neighbors moved out, and I’m moving on in. After spending a year alone in my first-ever apartment, I realized two things: a) I still definitely want to live alone and b) I need someone close by. When I left my parents’ house last year, I was so engrossed in the utter tragedy of being alive and being me that I had put most of my relationships on the backburner. This was necessary because I was focused on recovery, and that process can be a little vain initially. It’s nice to level up to a place in which a social life can be seamlessly incorporated into my personal mission of being a better, healthier human being. Turns out, people are a huge factor.
I was lonely. I cried a lot when I first left for a multitude of reasons. I had good relationships then that I still have now, but I was lacking any sense of significance in my life, especially regarding anyone but myself. I didn’t know who to be, I didn’t know who to be with, and I was drowning in existential sorrow every time I saw my stupid Christmas tree whispering, “Forever alone” into my ears when I stepped in from the cold. It’s okay to float by for a little, unnoticed and untouched, but it’s best to embrace fulfillment when it’s presented. “When it’s presented,” is the emphasis, because you don’t choose when the void spits you back out into a perfect sunbeam in a field of daisies.
I’ve spent the summer in a whimsical candyswirl of sweet, sweet life I didn’t think was attainable for an adult. The bitterness and resentment have faded into parts of me that are hidden and locked, throw away the key. My enthusiasm cannot be matched. Really, I think I appear to be insane to normal people these days. Sometimes, releasing brokenness happens when someone else comes to fix things up.
People end up in your life when you need it the most. In the midst of my constant breakdowns, Savannah and I quickly developed something wonderful. She is present, she is gracious, she is understanding, and when it comes down to it, we have fun. Timing is not coincidence; she’s taught me a lot about being a friend, which in turn has helped me to make progress as an individual. She offers me so much, and I want to do the same in return. I needed to know that I could find meaning in my overwhelmingly monotonous world again. I needed to know that I could reach out to anyone. I needed to know that someone out there would let me sleep on their couch all weekend and drive my car when I couldn’t do it and wander around every art gallery in the city with me. (Hi if you’re reading this you know you’re the best thank you for being you ❤ <3)
Shortly after the event of my last post – or maybe even just before – I had another chance meeting. I ran through Tranquil Trail and emerged at the cemetery where the dog decided it was time for a break. I wasn’t in any hurry to run back home, so I laid down next to him. I was unexpectedly approached by a long-haired boy on a bike who asked if he could pet my dog. Of course. This is just how people approach me. I later found out he was more intrigued by the purple flame that was once my head. By the time I looked down at my phone next, nearly three hours had passed.
Fast-forward to however long it’s been since then, and my heart is full. For the sake of not sounding like a teenage girl who is falling in love (who isn’t a teenage girl when they’re falling in love?), I’ll leave it at that. In the nature of healing, good things come when you finally let go. No more living in the past, no more forcing things that aren’t going to happen, and no more seeking companionship for the sake of not being alone. I wasn’t defeated by dating as I’ve met plenty of nice people who I got along with fine and who treated me well, but rather I was defeated by my intense lack of feeling. My feeling was all directed inward, clouding any possibility of a meaningful relationship. I felt broken, and I was. Not defective, just a little beat up.
So, I’m happy. I’m not happy because I’m not alone, but I’m happy because I’ve developed enough as an individual to share love, joy, companionship, experience, friendship, and romance with other people again to the full extent of each facet. I’ve worked hard enough to remove what ails me to take steps forward with others by my side. I’ve never walked this path alone, but I’ve certainly spent a lot of time unable to access the passion for life that forms when you let others in.
I’m broken open in a new way.