I always assumed since I started writing again, that some sort of heartbreak or major shitty life event would somehow give me all of this inspiration… that somehow, I would be able to use words to get through it, and be better for it. The truth is, I’m feeling pretty empty and uninspired. I feel broken. They say when it rains it pours, and I am in the eye of the storm.
It’s an astounding feeling when someone tells you they don’t want to love you anymore. It changes the way you view the world. It’s even more hurtful when it comes at a point in your life when (you think) you need this person the most. With this month comes a lot of change in my life. A few weeks ago, my biggest concern was moving out of the apartment I have been in for the past three years and into a place of my own. Now, between that, doing it without the person I care about most by my side, paired with a best friend who’s family is hurting and a world that has so many fucked up things happen daily, it seems so stupid how worked up I got over just the mere thought of moving out.
You try to do best by the people you love and care about. Sometimes, it isn’t enough. Sometimes, it’s too much. While I can take comfort in knowing I won’t feel like this forever, right now this empty feeling is all that matters. It expands in my chest, in the pit of my stomach, in my breathing. The only part of me that isn’t empty is my thoughts, but that’s the only part I actually wish was. This feeling deep inside of me clings to the hope that it can still work out; and this other, much more prominent feeling can’t even face the idea of ever letting anyone this close to make me feel this hurt again.
What I’ve learned most from this experience is that my mind and my body are more in tune than I ever imagined. The mental and emotional distress caused by this situation brings physical pain to me. And I appreciate that interconnectedness. As twisted as it sounds, that means I’m still a fucking human. I can use one to help the other, and maybe I can be whole again someday.