Essay on heartbreak: The one where you remember the time traveling super hero
Standing in your room, you held your breath. The saltwater of your eyes stinging on your sore nostrils which you wiped uncountable times the last days. Why the wave of pain hit in this exact moment, you can’t quite figure out. Was it that her name was not on the first mentioned people who watched your Instagram story? Could be. Did you scroll through her feed and fed off of her smile and her dorky poses? The picture you took? Probably. Or was it that her profile picture changed to your most favorite childhood picture of her? Most definitely.
It bothered you endlessly that she had stepped foot into your home. The places you shared with and developed especially for her. Your whole interior matched her aesthetic, or at least you tried it to. Just a few hours ago you took off her postcards from the walls and tucked them away in the Macbeth she got you from her favorite bookshop in NYC.
Just yesterday you went out with a very good friend and said:
I have to remind myself that I didn’t do that for somebody else, I did that for me.
Somebody else might have had benefits from my choices, but I made them for me.
When you were eight, you asked your dad why the superhero in the strange movie you were watching together made that strange swooshing sound when he travelled in time or space.
That is the air, rushing into the space he leaves behind when he departs to a new adventure, Thea, he said. It should be way louder actually.
Now you knew how loud it was, really. Only that it happened inside yourself. And in your home, every single time you pictured her, playing darts or going crazy about not winning a game. Or simply just sleeping in the exact bed you were staring at. Holding yourself, trying to keep you from shaking. Every single time you had these memories in your head and heart, they dissolved, leaving the thunder of the emptiness, trembling, making the space not just haptically but also acoustically ever so present.
Well, that was exaggerated, but still.
Hurt nonetheless.
What was probably the worst, was the part about not being able to blame someone. Sure, there were people to blame, but in the end – you could not influence, let alone change feelings or people. You could just change who you surround yourself with. As some stupid pinterest wallpaper would suggest.
You had not been this way of heartbroken since you were sixteen, actually. And it impressed you a lot to feel how much you had changed in these rough seven years on such an intensive matter. Turns out, if you have a good self-esteem and self-conciousness, you can’t blame your intelligence, your weight or your sexual abilities, you have to take the hard and healthy road of heartbreak. The one where you have to sit it out and treat yourself well. Without fast and maladaptive coping mechanisms like diets or harming yourself via drugs and unhealthy hook ups. While we don’t mind the occasional getting drunk with friends and dancing crying with a wine bottle in your hand singing, no, screaming to “Dancing on my own”. Because that’s our business.
0 Kommentare