When a Heart Breaks

So I've been broken hearted before. Not really about the whole guy-dumping-me thing, since, well, I've never been dumped. I've been treated bad for a week before I broke up with a guy (but we don't count him, as I was in seventh grade and much too young to be dating, I realize now). No, most of my heart breaks were things like, well, February (which was really end-of-January). Oh, and I guess some turn downs. And pets dying. And when SP told me they didn't think I was serious, and wouldn't accept me for an apprenticeship, and when Weil's chose Tom over me...

Those kind of things. Apparently the things not frequently seen as heart-breaks in others' eyes. But as I've never really had my heart broken by someone I'd been in a relationship, I don't know if I'm qualified to make such statements.

But, in short, though I've been in heart-breaking situations that may or may not be close to the "real thing," I can't help you if you've got a broken heart.

I'll either be stuck with saying "Aw, I'm so sorry. Hugs." or something just as uselessly typical, or, if you request my special treatment, or piss me off enough, I'll tell you the truth. That I don't know what to say to make you feel better, but you should pick yourself off the damn floor and put one foot in front of the other and keep moving on. That you're doing nothing good to anyone if you don't eat/sleep/talk/smile for days or weeks or months. I'll tell you to suck it up as the world is moving on without you and you really don't want to be left behind, because that's worse than walking with a aching heart.

Except I usually try to sweeten it up. Doesn't always work.

It's hard, people. I know. Or maybe I don't. You make the decision. But when February happened, I think I suffered a great heartbreak though it wasn't over a boy I'd been dating for however long. It was over a friend I knew, shared everything with, talked about everything, defended, hugged, called "sister," wished to be seated beside in assemblies and graduation, went swimming/running/biking with, traveled to Wonderland/Niagara Falls/Toronto/To the Ice Cream Truck with, dreamed of futures together with, helped/hurt/picked up/advised/yelled at/yelled with for twelve years. That's most of my life. So while you might not think I have the qualifications to make such a statement of having been severely broken hearted, well I think I deserve some sort of certificate. Maybe it'd make me feel something better, even five months later.

And what did I do?

I kept going. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, slowly, slowly. So slowly at first I thought I wasn't going anywhere. I cried while I went. I cried and screamed and yelled, all alone. And perhaps some of you would say I'm not completely over it. And some of you would be right, I'm not. But I'm getting there, and by wallowing in your own self pity and not eating/sleeping/smiling for days on end, you're not getting anywhere.

So here's some tough love you'll get from me if you ever have the sense to ask for it;

Get up. Move on. It's going to be bloody hard, but in the end you'll have accomplished something. No one wants to hear you wailing about it and not doing anything about it. Realize you can't change the past and right now you might not even be able to reconcile, but in a while, long or short, you'll have options. Then you'll have to choose. Get ready for it, instead of wasting time.

And if sometimes you relapse into a ball of tears, well, that's okay. Because then you can always look back and see how far you've come, and you can keep on moving like the best of us.

But the whole point is that you don't give up. You keep moving, even if it's one step a day.