An end.

So before you read this post, I'm gonna say a couple things. First off - the crickets over here are getting really loud. I know. And I'm sorry. When life decides to be a complete dick, it's hard for me to arrange my thoughts in a way deemed worthy of an audience as amazing as you people.

Secondly, you should know this was written awhile ago. I didn't want to publish it because it's pretty much spotlighting the weaker, more unattractive parts of me and that's uncomfortable and hard because you feel split wide open in front of people who know you (and some you don't). 

But as things get better and the universe begins to level itself again, I feel like it might be a good idea to have that kind of pain documented. It's easier to grasp, hold onto, and learn from if it's concrete. So I decided to share it.


I'm going to level with you. Shit sucks right now. Really bad.

Actually, let me just put it in the words of the incomparable Carrie Bradshaw:

After a break-up, certain streets, locations, even times of day are off-limits. The city becomes a deserted battlefield, loaded with emotional landmines. You have to be very careful where you step - or you could be blown to pieces.

So yeah.

It's not rainbows and lemonade and happiness over here. It's mostly lots of crying and and wearing sweatpants. And to be honest, I didn't think it'd be something I wanted to write about. It feels like such a private situation. But writing is the only thing I know to do in a painful situation like this. One that threatens every single day to pin me to my bed and suffocate me with its limitlessness.

Most of the stuff you see about going through a break up reads like a bad self-help book shoved into the half-off bin a la Dr. Phil. "Take time to feel your pain. Be honest with yourself about your emotions. Exercise to release endorphins. Talk to a professional. Channel your pain into pottery."

I come from a very different school however and have been coping using the following methods and ideologies. WARNING: It isn't pretty.

1. There is no time of day or situation where it is inappropriate to drink. In the shower. At a christening. Before and after grocery shopping. This may sound a great deal like the very real illness known as alcoholism, but it's inherently different in that eventually, I know I'll be fine. Also, I'm already getting really tired of the 3 day hangover. High school senior, I am not. It does help though, to keep my mind off of the fact that a very huge, important, meaningful part of my life has fallen apart. And it's been bridging the gap between the now and the part where I'm okay again quite nicely. 
2. Filling my body with pizza and cupcakes and preservatives and carbs and grease. Turns out, being healthy and functional takes a lot of energy. When all that energy is spent on screaming into your pillow and sleeping, there's just no time for quinoa and grilled vegetables. And all water does is force me to pee out the alcohol. So obviously, I'm not interested in any of that. 
3. The masochist in me demands that I watch movies that remind me of all the things I feel like (at this moment in time anyway) I'll never have. Oh you know...The Notebook, Titanic, Walk the Line, Love Actually, Sleepless in Seattle, Top Gun, Transformers - movies about love overcoming impossible circumstance and logic only to prevail in the end. This is what I'm currently missing out on. And for whatever reason, I'm forcing myself to remember that everyday.

It's not pleasant, I know, but it's real. And that's important to me. I can't ever heal or learn from any of this if I'm not honest about where I'm at right now. Even if where I'm at right now is a tiny apartment decorated with shit that was supposed to be the backdrop to a life I'm apparently not destined to have.

Also, it's not to say not I'm doing other things, too. Things that make the pain less, slightly dull, bearable. For one, I'm writing. All the time. It's the most cathartic, freeing feeling to dig into a real piece of paper with a real pen and say everything I could never say. It helps me to sort out the bad, to have some kind of control over it again.

I'm running, too. And while I know that it's a bit counterintuitive in terms of stuffing my face with garbage everyday, it keeps my mind quiet. It's the only part of the day where all I can do is feel my feet pound pavement. I'm literally moving forward in the only way I can right now and it's helping me sleep.

I'm spending insane amounts of time with my family and a few very good, supportive friends. They've offered up couches and beer and have never asked a single question. Their support is the only thing that's making the world feed solid right now. And I wish that I could find some way to thank them adequately.  

I'm scared everyday about what will happen next because my idea of what my life will be has been blown to hell. And I know I'm making some of this sound glib. But in reality, everyday hurts right now. My body physically aches because I can't get the emotional pain out. My cells are full of it.

But I have to trust that even as I'm typing this, the universe is righting itself. The hurt of it all is a leveler. The ground's been burned so I can try and grow something else. And even though I might not think so, whatever laws that govern the natural order of things have decided it's what I need.

So all I can do is accept that and drag my ass out of bed everyday and try for something better. Very very slowly.

xo.