on heartbreaks and moving on

When Kent and I broke up, I went through the usual typical "brokenhearted" process.

First, I got mad. I got really really angry. How dare he break my heart just like that? How dare he toss me aside like I'm some piece of garbage? How fucking dare he? I would flood txt him saying, "I hate you. I hate you." over and over again. Petty, I know but I was young and didn't know any better.

Then I got sad. I felt empty and alone. I felt like the loneliness was eating me up, it was drowning me. I would cry myself to sleep every single night. I would cry every time I listen to music. Which is funny because at that time I usually listen to NU107. So, imagine me bawling my eyes out while listening to, Hey megalomaniac, You're no Jesus, Yeah you're no fucking Elvis. I mean, what the fuck Mi? But I did that. I cried and cried and cried.

And then, I became desperate. I would contact him and I would say sorry. That it was all my fault. That I wanted us to get back together. (looooong sigh) I wish now that I hadn't done that. I wish I had more dignity but alas that's what I did.

Until finally, I started to move on. Truly move on. Until one day I realized being with Kent isn't that important anymore and that I didn't feel alone anymore. Then slowly, I started to feel happy again. 

After that I felt like I had it made. I survived. No break-up can cripple me again. I know now what to do and what not to do if I ever have a failed relationship again. I felt like I have mastered the art of breaking up and moving on. Oh yeah, I'm da bomb!

BUT when H told me he wasn't coming back, I've never felt more lost. I was dumbfounded. I couldn't wrap my head around what happened. I couldn't accept it. I didn't want to accept it. 

So here I am, after 10 years and one beautiful son, brokenhearted once more. Still as lost, as sad, as empty, as alone, as desperate like the first time it happened. I never had it made and I never mastered anything.