I feel so exposed right now. Like my heart is sitting on the outside of my chest.
Like everyone who is walking past me is looking at me with puppy dog eyes. “Oh poor girl. Poor, sad, little girl.”.
Stop looking at me with your sad eyes.
Don’t be sad for me, that’s too much. My sadness is all I want to sit with. Not your sadness too.
Let me be, I yell at them through my sad looking eyeballs.
My skin hurts from the amount of times I’ve taken the back of my hand across my face to stop the tears. My concealer is peeling. So fucking sexy. Currently rethinking my decision to return the industrial strength concealer. Maybe it would have come in handy right now.
I’m listening to Love Warrior on audio because Glennon’s voice is soothing and I think I should be soothed right now, right? But then I decide to play the Coyote Ugly soundtrack and the moment Can’t Fight The Moonlight comes on I’m screaming at the top of my lungs and a new space is created within my sadness. So many feelings, all at once. But screaming feels better than listening to Glennon right now.
Oh wait, what?
I can be sad, and happy, at the same time? I thought this made me crazy? But my best friend who is also a therapist tells me this actually makes me human. I love and trust her so I continue signing, not judging the happy moments in the middle of monumental sadness.
I look at the cars on the road. Can they see my smudged concealer? I wonder if they feel sad for me.
Not that I need them to. I have enough sadness. Too much sadness. Don’t freak out though. It’s an acceptable amount of sadness. But I have to say this, just so you don't worry too much.
I know, I know, it’ll be okay. Please stop saying this. I thoroughly understand that it will be okay. Right now, it’s okayish. One moment I’m Violet Stanford, belting at the top of my lungs and the next I’m hunched over in my car holding my face in my hands.
I tell my clients to let their feelings run through them. Sit with it, I say. Well this seems like bullshit advice. But I try anyway. I open the floodgates and pain strikes my insides like getting my belly button pierced for the first time. The guy was kind of drunk so he had my skin clamped, and took the circle needle in and out, in and out—when will it end? I think I’m going to be sick.
It moves through me though, then stops for a moment. I can’t take any more I think. Make it stop.
A wall. I’ll build up this wall so big. Here’s my wall: I’m not dating again, no. Not for a very long time.
No no no. Why did I have to say that? There goes the heart seal. How will I take it down this time?
For a moment I’m proud of myself, at least this time I see the seal happening before it closes. I can do something. But, too much right now because the tears are about to happen again.
I had an idea this morning, ‘write about getting through a breakup as an “empowered woman” ‘. Good idea I think, I’ll give some super great and helpful tips.
LOL okay. Just kidding.
Actually no.. They don’t need tips. Fuck tips, my sadness says. They need to know it’s okay to feel.
And that no, they aren’t crazy.
How do you go through a breakup as an empowered woman?
You feel your feels (without judging them), and I think they look something like all of this.
You’re not crazy.