Learning that heartbreak is much like recovering from addiction has given me rays of hope. As with the mis-wired centers of reward and pleasure-seeking which led me to my relationship with Rocky the Salty Shard, understanding something of the process – that I need more love, attention, hugs, and support; rather than pain, what-ifs, obsessive routines, and self-flagellation has helped me start towards feeling whole again. I’ve lost something incredibly precious, and I’m still nursing hopes it will come back to me like a forgotten Tori Amos song, a portmanteau of yesterday and tomorrow, something new which describes both. But I’m not standing still waiting for that. He said our love was a fantasy and that he no longer had love for me, there simply isn’t anywhere to go now with that. In all likelihood there never will be, but we met in the first place didn’t we? Stranger things have happened. Should the accretion of cause and effect triggers in the progression of the time-based universal interaction eventually push us back together, then, maybe we can move forward from there. If not, I will always hold a piece of myself for him, an unwritten poem in the shadows of my left ventricle, crouching, ready to pounce, completely hidden by its surroundings.
My fears that no one else will look at me with that storybook twinkle, that if someone does I will be unable, unwilling, or incapable of responding in kind have not been assuaged. Unlike my meth-tastrophe, this monkey is not going to go away. Not because it can’t, but because I’m not going to let it. See above metaphor about a the crouching thing in my heart. My own private, bloody Idaho. An Easter egg I’ll have to look very hard to find. A secret everyone knows.
In the meantime, more love. Please.