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\nMy heart got broken the night before. Something significant ended and I felt completely shattered. I was more in love with him<\/a> than I ever was with anyone, before or since. And I suppose you could make all kinds of claims like “Maybe that kind of love burns up too quick, it’s not built to last, too explosive.” Fine. You do you. I took it very very hard, and ended up making all kinds of (in retrospect) rash decisions, which then impacted my life to this day. Things I regret now. And I was incapable of getting over him. I tried. I just never managed it. You’re not supposed to talk like this now. People get legit irritated. You’re fucking up their cult-like narrative of everything happening for a reason, i.e. “I was so sad when I broke up with my first boyfriend but right afterwards I met the man who then became my husband and we have 2 kids now so it all worked out.” Good for you, braggy. I got into a small “scuffle” with someone on Twitter who tried to pull this bullshit with me: “Every disappointment I’ve had has led to a new and better success.” I was as polite as I could be, and said, “I am happy that that has been true for you but it has not been true for me.” I could tell it was weird for her – being contradicted about something she considers to be a fact, as opposed to an opinion, and she responded with some weak bullshit like “everyone has their own experiences.” No shit, Princess. That’s what I keep SAYING. I’m sick of the women’s-magazine-cult narrative for women’s lives. I am glad that you believe that everything makes sense, ultimately, and that A didn’t happen so that B could. I am envious that you live in a world where things “work out” like that. One of the reasons, by the way, that I could not get over him is he could not get over me either. We just couldn’t stop communicating and … torturing each other. I was way too weak to make a clean break although – no, that’s bullshit, I DID try to make a break – I freakin’ moved to New York! But anyway, we continued to torment each other for years<\/i>, and … honestly he reached out at the beginning of the pandemic – I hadn’t heard from him in years, and I got kind of swept into his magical orbit of attention again, felt the pull, and then had to step back. I stopped responding. I go through phases. I sound like I’m still heartbroken now – of course I’m not – it was so long ago, and it happened, and I wish it hadn’t, but what are ya gonna do. I am sure if I had had a proper mental health diagnosis back then it wouldn’t have been such a catastrophe, it wouldn’t have had such a long-lasting effect that 5, 6 years later, it was still a fresh wound. But I wouldn’t be diagnosed for many years to come. It’s eerie looking at this picture now. I am in the kitchen of my friends David and Maria’s apartment. I can feel my sadness emanating out of the photo. To my eyes, I don’t look sad. I look stricken. It wouldn’t be that big a deal – I mean, relationships end, you move on – if that heartbreak hadn’t determined so much else to follow. Or … if I had been able to pull myself out of mourning what wasn’t now going to be. On some level the whole thing still doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. Everyone was saying to me all the “right” things back then. This will pass. He’ll regret it. You’ll have that much more to bring into your next relationship. You’ll find someone else and he is going to be amazing. You will get over it, Sheila, you will get over it, my friends told me. None of it was true. Life does indeed go on and it went on for me and there have been many happy times since – and my script, July and Half of August<\/i> came out of all of it, it was one of the ways I tried to make sense of what the hell had happened to me – but something STOPPED back then, and it’s …weird … to actually have a picture of the moment it stopped.<\/p>\n Oh, and just to be totally truthful: this relationship<\/a> was going on simultaneously, the whole entire time, and then far far beyond<\/a> it. I may have been in mourning but at least I wasn’t a MONK. As a matter of fact, in the photo above I am wearing Window Boy’s shirt. lol <\/p>\n It is a perfect representation of my life then: Mourning one man, while wearing another man’s shirt.<\/p>\n AND, turns out, THAT relationship – with the guy whose shirt I am wearing – was the healthy one, the real one. Who knew. I sure as hell didn’t. <\/p>\n This is ancient history. But this picture exists. And so I wrote about it. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My heart got broken the night before. Something significant ended and I felt completely shattered. I was more in love with him than I ever was with anyone, before or since. And I suppose you could make all kinds of … Continue reading