393: If There is Such Thing as a Bent Heart
Not a broken heart, just a bent one. There are three hundred and sixty five days in a year, three hundred and sixty-six if you’re lucky. You may live half a hundred thousand days, yet many of them will blend together and blur as one, those days that become weeks that become months, that may eventually become years. Shy of eighteen years of age by forty days, yet the last seventeen years have been more or less a blur of non-linear memories, growing pains, identity losses.
Friday should be the happiest day of the week, but it was the worst one for a while. You went to school with a heavy heart, a leaden stone where your heart should have been. When was the last time you felt this depressed, this heavy, this low? Third grade, this red-haired boy who was fiery and freckly. He broke your heart, and you wept alone, not understanding, innocent but growing up beyond your years, your days. How you wish now that you were a little girl again, not just figuratively, but literally. You hadn’t met him then. You should have let fantasy books take you on roller-coaster rides, not prepubescent boys who understood nothing but games and action figures. Though you leave that in the past because you don’t live in the past anymore. You try to live in the present, but you’re always living in your head, always a few days, months, years into the future, not knowing that you have the sweetest fruit in front of you in the now and not in the future. Who knows, the fruit in the future might be bitter, but you haven’t bitten into it just yet.
We miss those days, where we suffered nostalgic attacks and pangs of heartbreak. You preferred those days where little shocks from your heart spread through your body, not these days where you walk around with a heart screaming in pain. The only thing in your body that hurts is your heart, and sometimes your head, but nothing else. It’s a dull sensation, almost indescribable now that you aren’t feeling it, but it was so real in the moment, on that Friday. Sitting in physics class, comprehending a two-dimensional diagram of an AC induction motor, but living, breathing, experiencing a fine piece of heartbreak you brought upon yourself.
Overthinking. Your favourite sport, behind rowing. Though you participate more in the unhealthier recreation. The weight that anchors your heart to the core of the earth? Your own unhealthy thoughts. Everyone has their own demons, and you wouldn’t know what it’s like in someone else’s life, their soul, but your own demons nearly conquer your being. Think a little too long and your mind will wander on the edge of the cliff, wondering what could have been, what could be, what will never be. Sometimes, more than occasionally, your mind slips off the cliff, spiralling into a deep and dark abyss where no one should go. Two sleeps later and the mind wakes from its endless nightmare and life goes back to normal but the memory of the abyss never leaves. It lurks but only emerges at an opportune time. But what am I saying, trying to remember a feeling that has already passed.
Let people break you. It’s a lesson. It builds character. Alternatively, don’t let them break you. And don’t break yourself. You are your own best friend, but worst enemy. You are the pathway to your dreams, but your obstacle. It’s something I’ve noted, that’s all.
Also give him some space ya fuckin’ know. Lol. Clingy bitches don’t know why they get left behind, but I know why. Well, I’d like to think that I’m not clingy. Ok we’ve already been over this. I’m not clingy. I’m teetering on the edge of a stream of consciousness. Which I probably should do in the next post. Time to post some more since I’ve been away so much this month.
I love you 🙂