Hey hey everyone!! No, I didn't die of food poisoning from some bad holiday fruitcake! (But seriously, though, is there such a thing as GOOD holiday fruitcake?!)
I want to let you all in on an amazing little book my best friend bought for me! And for everyone who's going through the same crappy heartbreak as me, check out It's Called a Break-up Because It's Broken by Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt. It's a hilarious approach to a "yeah, it's so hilarious I want to DIE" kind of situation like a break-up.
But while reading through it, I came across a page that reminded me of a fad a few years ago. Do you remember those AWFUL websites where you could anonymously post horrible things about an ex, a Do-Not-Date kind of list, and warn anyone who read the post not to date your ex? Well, to be honest, after Ben and I split, I was tempted. And now that enough time has passed, I'm really starting to see passed all the things I thought were so amazing, and really noticed for the first time that, well, he WASN'T prince charming, or else he wouldn't have dumped me... So, instead of confirming to him that I am, indeed, a psycho, I vote that I write my "DO NOT DATE BEN BECAUSE OF...." list here. And I'd be absolutely delighted if you would join in and write an ex-bashing post with me.
Dear women of the world,
I'm writing this to warn you that you never, ever, EVER want to waste your time dating Ben W****. He will treat you horribly. He will make you feel so insufficient and inadequate. He'll lift your hopes up so high, only to crash them down again. He will stand you up on every occasion he gets. HE'LL TELL ALL YOUR SECRETS, and he'll never really listen to you unless you're telling him about how hot your 17-year-old cousin looks in her bikini... LADIES: DO NOT DATE HIM! Because the worst part about Ben? ...He will make you love him. And the second he's sure you do, he will run for it. No, don't even think about telling him. He's not capable of LOVING anyone other than himself. Stay away. Stay far, far, far away!
Sounds like a really great catch, huh? No, more like he's the nasty fish you reel in that doesn't have any scales and is half-rotted with barbed fish hooks sticking out of it all over, so when you try to hold on to it tight, it just hurts you...
I finally deleted all his old emails and locked text messages... It felt liberating, like he didn't have control over me anymore. And even though I miss him like crazy and I'd do anything in the world just to have that crappy, horrible, destructive, poisonous relationship back... I know it's for the best.
Sadly, I do not get paid to write my life's story on my blog, so I have to leave for work now. But here's a little activity that always makes me feel better after a break up. Fill in the blanks! =)
(Ex's Name) was a ______ with a ____ _______. He never ____ and all he ever wanted to do was _______.
I never could _____ when I was with him, and I never ______ anything he said. Yes, maybe I loved him, but the relationship was _______. Now that he's gone, I can finally _______. He was bad for me because _________. And I'm better off without him because of ___________.
Feel free to make your own and post it if you'd like.
<3 You guys!
Sarah
Monday, January 18, 2010
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Running in Place
I can't believe it's been SO long since I've updated. For my laziness and for my chaotic life, I apologize. =)
Currently, the sun is glaring in through the window above my computer, scorching my corneas, and my cat Skittles is rooting through a box of un-used Christmas decorations. And, honestly, even though it's only 3pm, I'm exhausted.
I feel like I've been steam-rolled by a bus of Christmas carolers... And it feels great!
Since my last declaration of 1) No more sad songs. 2) No more tears and crying. And 3) ... I don't remember what else I wrote because it's been about seven and a half decades since I wrote last. But since last post, I decided that I wasn't just going to SAY those things, but I was actually going to do something about it, too. I hope I speak for everyone who's ever been broken up with in saying... you have no energy. You forget what it's like to laugh. Really laugh. And, your eyes burn pretty much constantly from the itchy torture of fresh, unending tears. That has been me. My make-up, perfume, nice clothes that AREN'T his sweatpants and hoodies... They've all missed me. Because since Ben went AWOL, I've let myself go. Alot.
Buut... Not anymore.
I was depressed in a state of noone-is-ever-going-to-love-me-I'll-do-anything-for-him-to-come-back-I'll-love-him-forever. Not fun. But while I was bemoaning myself, I began studying depression. And the three main factors for curing it? Let's take a quick quiz:
Are they:
A) Partying and drinking and sleeping away all your pain.
B) Driving passed his house every night, cyber-stalking him until MySpace blocks your IP address, and watching him through the windows at his work while eating cheetos in your car.
Or C) Eating healthy, soaking up sunshine, and exercising.
Sad to say, I have been way too guilty of B... But that's not the answer. Of course, it's C. And that's just what I've been doing.
Safe to say, I'm probably 99% blind at this point from the sun beaming in through this infernal window. And I'm exhausted beyond comparison from running for an hour, every day, since Sunday. And, it feels AMAZING! I threw away all of my oreos (yes, I cried just a little bit on the inside... and on the outside), and I gave my thousand Starbucks giftcards away. No more self-medicating with calories. In my opinion, I'm a healthy weight for being 5'9". At 130 pounds, I feel good about myself. But because of my exercise-deprivation... I was depressed. "No more," I told myself as threw away all of my excuses. ("I'll work out when I fix my iPod." "It's too cold to work out." "I'll waste water by showering too much." "I'll get attacked by spiders and mice if I go into my basement!")
Nope. No more excuses. I dug a cracked, skippy (ancient) CD player from my closet and grabbed EVERY CD that had a song on it that reminded me of him. Scared, I opened my basement door and stared down into the spidery pit that I'm embarrassed to admit is part of my house. The stairs creak. When I put too much soap in the dishwasher upstairs, it drips a little onto the stained brown carpet (that only covers half the room). The other half is cold cement, and I'm humiliated to allow anyone access into the dismal pit. Whenever I have company over, I forbid anyone from opening the basement door, and I tell them that there's nothing there but a big hole that drops off into hell...
Behind boxes of fallen Christmas ornaments, old, dusty books, and a heap of soggy, waterlogged photo albums, my decrepit treadmill from the 80's sets. (I bought it from a friend for a $100!) Scared and hesitant, I cranked the speed dial. Inside, it ground a little bit, then made an unsettling gurgling noise. Incautious, I cranked the dial and my headphones and began running. At first, I wasn't sure that somehow, the forsaken piece of junk hadn't propelled glass at me, because I felt like I had swallowed a bag of porcelain figurines, then someone had beaten me with a baseball bat, crunching them all up inside of my lungs... Intense. But as I started sweating, feeling the endorphins rushing through my body, I started to enjoy it. And I learned that when you're getting your butt kicked, and you can't breathe, and you feel like you can't stand, let alone run for another second... I learned that it is physically impossible to cry. As I listened to all those sad songs, and channeled that sad, angry, bitter, poisonous energy into bettering myself... It felt great. Whether they were tears running from my eyes, or formidable beads of sweat from my forehead dripping from my eyes, I'll never know. But to me, it seems like every tear, each drop of sweat is just weakness, pain, heartbreak leaving your body. Suddenly, I have so much more energy, and I feel like laughing, and dressing up for no reason! And for the first time since the break-up, I don't have a problem sleeping at night. Because no, maybe he's not there beside me and I still pretend that my pillow is his chest. And no, maybe I only have nightmares about what I used to have. And yeah, I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't cry myself to sleep still, but not as often. Because, I'm so exhausted from being assaulted by my treadmill that I fall asleep within minutes. No more waking up at 4am anymore, pacing my house, and checking my phone, hoping that maybe, possibly, I'd have a missed call or text... Because that's not going to happen.
Well, that's all. That's how I'm coping, and I'm hoping (hey, it rhymes!) that maybe, somewhere, someone who reads this will try the same thing and get moving. Because I swear, the next time Ben lays eyes on me, he's going to regret leaving me in his past.
All my love, my single ladies.
XoXo,
Sarah
Currently, the sun is glaring in through the window above my computer, scorching my corneas, and my cat Skittles is rooting through a box of un-used Christmas decorations. And, honestly, even though it's only 3pm, I'm exhausted.
I feel like I've been steam-rolled by a bus of Christmas carolers... And it feels great!
Since my last declaration of 1) No more sad songs. 2) No more tears and crying. And 3) ... I don't remember what else I wrote because it's been about seven and a half decades since I wrote last. But since last post, I decided that I wasn't just going to SAY those things, but I was actually going to do something about it, too. I hope I speak for everyone who's ever been broken up with in saying... you have no energy. You forget what it's like to laugh. Really laugh. And, your eyes burn pretty much constantly from the itchy torture of fresh, unending tears. That has been me. My make-up, perfume, nice clothes that AREN'T his sweatpants and hoodies... They've all missed me. Because since Ben went AWOL, I've let myself go. Alot.
Buut... Not anymore.
I was depressed in a state of noone-is-ever-going-to-love-me-I'll-do-anything-for-him-to-come-back-I'll-love-him-forever. Not fun. But while I was bemoaning myself, I began studying depression. And the three main factors for curing it? Let's take a quick quiz:
Are they:
A) Partying and drinking and sleeping away all your pain.
B) Driving passed his house every night, cyber-stalking him until MySpace blocks your IP address, and watching him through the windows at his work while eating cheetos in your car.
Or C) Eating healthy, soaking up sunshine, and exercising.
Sad to say, I have been way too guilty of B... But that's not the answer. Of course, it's C. And that's just what I've been doing.
Safe to say, I'm probably 99% blind at this point from the sun beaming in through this infernal window. And I'm exhausted beyond comparison from running for an hour, every day, since Sunday. And, it feels AMAZING! I threw away all of my oreos (yes, I cried just a little bit on the inside... and on the outside), and I gave my thousand Starbucks giftcards away. No more self-medicating with calories. In my opinion, I'm a healthy weight for being 5'9". At 130 pounds, I feel good about myself. But because of my exercise-deprivation... I was depressed. "No more," I told myself as threw away all of my excuses. ("I'll work out when I fix my iPod." "It's too cold to work out." "I'll waste water by showering too much." "I'll get attacked by spiders and mice if I go into my basement!")
Nope. No more excuses. I dug a cracked, skippy (ancient) CD player from my closet and grabbed EVERY CD that had a song on it that reminded me of him. Scared, I opened my basement door and stared down into the spidery pit that I'm embarrassed to admit is part of my house. The stairs creak. When I put too much soap in the dishwasher upstairs, it drips a little onto the stained brown carpet (that only covers half the room). The other half is cold cement, and I'm humiliated to allow anyone access into the dismal pit. Whenever I have company over, I forbid anyone from opening the basement door, and I tell them that there's nothing there but a big hole that drops off into hell...
Behind boxes of fallen Christmas ornaments, old, dusty books, and a heap of soggy, waterlogged photo albums, my decrepit treadmill from the 80's sets. (I bought it from a friend for a $100!) Scared and hesitant, I cranked the speed dial. Inside, it ground a little bit, then made an unsettling gurgling noise. Incautious, I cranked the dial and my headphones and began running. At first, I wasn't sure that somehow, the forsaken piece of junk hadn't propelled glass at me, because I felt like I had swallowed a bag of porcelain figurines, then someone had beaten me with a baseball bat, crunching them all up inside of my lungs... Intense. But as I started sweating, feeling the endorphins rushing through my body, I started to enjoy it. And I learned that when you're getting your butt kicked, and you can't breathe, and you feel like you can't stand, let alone run for another second... I learned that it is physically impossible to cry. As I listened to all those sad songs, and channeled that sad, angry, bitter, poisonous energy into bettering myself... It felt great. Whether they were tears running from my eyes, or formidable beads of sweat from my forehead dripping from my eyes, I'll never know. But to me, it seems like every tear, each drop of sweat is just weakness, pain, heartbreak leaving your body. Suddenly, I have so much more energy, and I feel like laughing, and dressing up for no reason! And for the first time since the break-up, I don't have a problem sleeping at night. Because no, maybe he's not there beside me and I still pretend that my pillow is his chest. And no, maybe I only have nightmares about what I used to have. And yeah, I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't cry myself to sleep still, but not as often. Because, I'm so exhausted from being assaulted by my treadmill that I fall asleep within minutes. No more waking up at 4am anymore, pacing my house, and checking my phone, hoping that maybe, possibly, I'd have a missed call or text... Because that's not going to happen.
Well, that's all. That's how I'm coping, and I'm hoping (hey, it rhymes!) that maybe, somewhere, someone who reads this will try the same thing and get moving. Because I swear, the next time Ben lays eyes on me, he's going to regret leaving me in his past.
All my love, my single ladies.
XoXo,
Sarah
Sunday, November 15, 2009
November 7th
I didn't really think it would be this difficult. Here I am, sitting at my computer, holding the thickest envelope you've ever seen in your life. Seriously, if mailed, postage would probably be fifteen dollars. And I'm really finding it difficult to break the seal on this first letter.
On the front I drew multiple, bubbly hearts all around the words,
To: Mr. Letterbox
From: My heart. And another bright pink heart.
A little cheesy, yeah, but I was fifteen and a hopelessly forsaken romantic at that.
Deep breath now. I AM going to open this letter. It's just tough, because I never thought I would be the one to open it. I know that I'd always hoped that Mr. Letterbox (oh, heck, he needs a real name. How about Steve) would be the one to open it. I'd always dreamed that I'd someday confess my undying love to him, give him the countless letters I'd written him, and we'd live forever in blissful, eternal love for all of peaceful eternity.
Funny how what you want is rarely what you get. Or, what you think you want.
Okay... here goes nothing and everything. By breaking this seal, I'm confirming to myself that I am completely over it, passed him, and moved on. And I'm accepting that we will never be together.... And when Ben comes to mind... I'm okay with that.
Here we go, people. Letter One...
(Oh, dear goodness, it's longer than I even imagined! And my handwriting is messy beyond description... And why did I dot all of my I's with hearts?)
Tuesday, November 7th, 5:12pm
Dear Steve,
Wow, where should I begin? Here I am on this Tuesday evening, and all I can think about is you. What's new, though, right? You've been the only guy for me since I was ten years old. From the first night we met a few years ago, I've known that I could never love anyone else. And I haven't.
I remember every detail of the night we first met; what you were wearing, what we were doing, and so on. It was hard for me, a little girl of ten years old, to realize that she was in love. But she was, and still is.
The first night we ever spoke, I thought I could fly. I soon fell even harder in love with you, and knew that I never, ever wanted that feeling to leave. And it never has.
Even when I dated other guys, you were always the one in my mind. There's only been you.
When I was twelve years old, I let it slip how I felt about you. I was more than devastated when I found out that you knew. I thought my chances with you were gone. But things seemed to get better when I met [ex-boyfriend's name]. Little did I know then how bad things would spiral out of control in the near future...
At first, I tried to forget you. But when I called [ex-boyfriend] "Steve," I knew I was just hurting myself. Although he didn't notice... Throughout my relationship with him, I could never forget you -- not once. I broke up with him because I loved you too much to be with someone else.
When YOU found your first girlfriend, and I found out... I pretty much cried myself to sleep every night. Recently, there have been rumors of your break-up, and it seems as though you've been giving me attention. I've never been happier.
If there's one thing I can say, Steve, is that you bring out the extremes in me. Whether I'm extremely happy, extremely sad, or extremely worried, it's always been you -- for you.
[Goodness... editing a rambling page and a half of how my love will never die...]
If someday you find this letter, and I'm not around to read it with you, I just wanted to tell you how I feel. And I wanted to thank you. Thank you for being the one for me, even if I'm not the one for you. I can only hope and pray that someday, my feelings won't be unrequited. I've found that if things are meant to be... they have a way of working themselves out.
There's nothing I don't love about you. There's nothing I don't want to know about you, and there's nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you, or forget you.
I'll never forget you, my first love. No matter what, I'll ever say, I don't think it's possible to forget a love this strong, or a person so fantastic. There's not a second that goes by that you don't cloud my thoughts. --Don't get me wrong. It's a wonderful feeling! Just a little... extreme.
Steve, I love you. I've never felt this way about anyone. I get butterflies! Never had that before... This has to be love. You're my everything. I mean that. I love you.
Forever and Always,
Sarah
If there's one thing I haven't learned since then, it's how NOT to ramble. Haha. Saying a whole lot of nothing in a lot more words has always been my specialty. ^_^
Wow, is all I can say though. I thought I loved him so much. I thought I couldn't live a day without him. But he's gone forever now, and you know? I didn't love him. I didn't know what love meant. I didn't know what it meant to love, feel love, feel someone else's love for you. I lost him. And moved on... then, I lost Ben. Talk about pain. Talk about wanting to rip your heart out and throw it into the garbage disposal just to kill the pain... It's maddening. But really, we all feel that. It gets easier. You love, then lose, and get up.
Tonight, while I was driving I came up over a hill going at least 65mph, and sooner than I could react, I ran over a juicy dead deer, screamed like a maniac, and swerved off the road. Then, I just sat there, nearly hyperventilating. What I realized while I sat crooked on the highway, hazards flashing was... Ben couldn't care less if I had died just then and there. He wouldn't care if I had crashed into a tree and split my head open and laid there bleeding to death! He wouldn't care. And that's so tough to accept.
I think we all deserve to be surrounded by people who really love us, appreciate us, and want our best interest. Someone to call when your new tires have pieces of road-rashed Bambi's bones protruding out of them.
Well, that's all really. I'm going to sign off tonight with a promise: No more sad songs. No more crying over Ben. No more finding an excuse to bring up his name in random conversation (Oh, you know you do it, too). And no more actively looking for free time to be alone, sulk, and cry over how I'm unlovable. Because that's just not true. It's not true for anyone. We're all loveable. And you know what else? I think deep down in everyone there's someone strong enough to get back on the highway of love, move on passed the bloody deer carnage that is our broken hearts, let your new puppy lick the excess blood off your tires (yeah, I actually did that...), and just keep driving. (Even if you can still hear the grating of its ribcage scraping against the pavement like I did tonight...)
Xoxo,
Sarah
On the front I drew multiple, bubbly hearts all around the words,
To: Mr. Letterbox
From: My heart. And another bright pink heart.
A little cheesy, yeah, but I was fifteen and a hopelessly forsaken romantic at that.
Deep breath now. I AM going to open this letter. It's just tough, because I never thought I would be the one to open it. I know that I'd always hoped that Mr. Letterbox (oh, heck, he needs a real name. How about Steve) would be the one to open it. I'd always dreamed that I'd someday confess my undying love to him, give him the countless letters I'd written him, and we'd live forever in blissful, eternal love for all of peaceful eternity.
Funny how what you want is rarely what you get. Or, what you think you want.
Okay... here goes nothing and everything. By breaking this seal, I'm confirming to myself that I am completely over it, passed him, and moved on. And I'm accepting that we will never be together.... And when Ben comes to mind... I'm okay with that.
Here we go, people. Letter One...
(Oh, dear goodness, it's longer than I even imagined! And my handwriting is messy beyond description... And why did I dot all of my I's with hearts?)
Tuesday, November 7th, 5:12pm
Dear Steve,
Wow, where should I begin? Here I am on this Tuesday evening, and all I can think about is you. What's new, though, right? You've been the only guy for me since I was ten years old. From the first night we met a few years ago, I've known that I could never love anyone else. And I haven't.
I remember every detail of the night we first met; what you were wearing, what we were doing, and so on. It was hard for me, a little girl of ten years old, to realize that she was in love. But she was, and still is.
The first night we ever spoke, I thought I could fly. I soon fell even harder in love with you, and knew that I never, ever wanted that feeling to leave. And it never has.
Even when I dated other guys, you were always the one in my mind. There's only been you.
When I was twelve years old, I let it slip how I felt about you. I was more than devastated when I found out that you knew. I thought my chances with you were gone. But things seemed to get better when I met [ex-boyfriend's name]. Little did I know then how bad things would spiral out of control in the near future...
At first, I tried to forget you. But when I called [ex-boyfriend] "Steve," I knew I was just hurting myself. Although he didn't notice... Throughout my relationship with him, I could never forget you -- not once. I broke up with him because I loved you too much to be with someone else.
When YOU found your first girlfriend, and I found out... I pretty much cried myself to sleep every night. Recently, there have been rumors of your break-up, and it seems as though you've been giving me attention. I've never been happier.
If there's one thing I can say, Steve, is that you bring out the extremes in me. Whether I'm extremely happy, extremely sad, or extremely worried, it's always been you -- for you.
[Goodness... editing a rambling page and a half of how my love will never die...]
If someday you find this letter, and I'm not around to read it with you, I just wanted to tell you how I feel. And I wanted to thank you. Thank you for being the one for me, even if I'm not the one for you. I can only hope and pray that someday, my feelings won't be unrequited. I've found that if things are meant to be... they have a way of working themselves out.
There's nothing I don't love about you. There's nothing I don't want to know about you, and there's nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you, or forget you.
I'll never forget you, my first love. No matter what, I'll ever say, I don't think it's possible to forget a love this strong, or a person so fantastic. There's not a second that goes by that you don't cloud my thoughts. --Don't get me wrong. It's a wonderful feeling! Just a little... extreme.
Steve, I love you. I've never felt this way about anyone. I get butterflies! Never had that before... This has to be love. You're my everything. I mean that. I love you.
Forever and Always,
Sarah
If there's one thing I haven't learned since then, it's how NOT to ramble. Haha. Saying a whole lot of nothing in a lot more words has always been my specialty. ^_^
Wow, is all I can say though. I thought I loved him so much. I thought I couldn't live a day without him. But he's gone forever now, and you know? I didn't love him. I didn't know what love meant. I didn't know what it meant to love, feel love, feel someone else's love for you. I lost him. And moved on... then, I lost Ben. Talk about pain. Talk about wanting to rip your heart out and throw it into the garbage disposal just to kill the pain... It's maddening. But really, we all feel that. It gets easier. You love, then lose, and get up.
Tonight, while I was driving I came up over a hill going at least 65mph, and sooner than I could react, I ran over a juicy dead deer, screamed like a maniac, and swerved off the road. Then, I just sat there, nearly hyperventilating. What I realized while I sat crooked on the highway, hazards flashing was... Ben couldn't care less if I had died just then and there. He wouldn't care if I had crashed into a tree and split my head open and laid there bleeding to death! He wouldn't care. And that's so tough to accept.
I think we all deserve to be surrounded by people who really love us, appreciate us, and want our best interest. Someone to call when your new tires have pieces of road-rashed Bambi's bones protruding out of them.
Well, that's all really. I'm going to sign off tonight with a promise: No more sad songs. No more crying over Ben. No more finding an excuse to bring up his name in random conversation (Oh, you know you do it, too). And no more actively looking for free time to be alone, sulk, and cry over how I'm unlovable. Because that's just not true. It's not true for anyone. We're all loveable. And you know what else? I think deep down in everyone there's someone strong enough to get back on the highway of love, move on passed the bloody deer carnage that is our broken hearts, let your new puppy lick the excess blood off your tires (yeah, I actually did that...), and just keep driving. (Even if you can still hear the grating of its ribcage scraping against the pavement like I did tonight...)
Xoxo,
Sarah
Monday, November 9, 2009
The Box
I found it today. A secret. A lie. A box filled with memories that I'd forgotten years ago.
Because I have the heat tolerance of a frost-bitten ice cube, I do my "spring cleaning" as soon as the temperature drops below 40 degrees. And while I was rooting through the mess of dust and spider webs beneath my bed (seriously, I've slept on top of all that for over a year now? How hasn't some monster insect crawled from the dark and eaten me alive in my sleep?), I found it. A white box. Rectangular. Tiny, delicate purple roses hand-painted around it. And the same quote interwoven among the thorns: "Love conquers all."
Oh, really!? It's that simple, everyone! You don't have to worry about not finding love, or the fact that you're slowly creeping into a life full of loneliness. Or, that the only thing meaningful you go home to at the end of a long, tiresome day are your three cats named Shones, Skittles and Julius... Or maybe that's just my life. But according to this tiny little box, "Love conquers all" of that, right?
Wrong!
Silently seething from the lies the world tries to stuff down the throats of children nowadays, I took a softer look at the box. And gingerly, I picked it up, shooed away the beastly spider waltzing toward my fingertips, and just gazed at it. Then, I realized exactly what I was holding. My most prized possession at fifteen years old.
My box. Every girl had one, right? A box to keep your most prized possessions and treasures. Something that would never tell your secrets. Odd trinkets and memories from years of my childhood. Slowly, I began looking through the contents. A ribbon. Innumerable pictures. A hand-drawn picture of my cat Skittles that, I thought, was award-worthy. And jadedly, I realized... I did believe what that box told me at fifteen. When everything was so simple and the world was such a wholesome, sweet, lovely and perfect place, before I felt heartbreak for the first time... Love really did conquer all. To an extent, we've all held that outlook and attitude at some point. Yes, you. Yeah, I'm talking to you. I'm talking to the girl who's just had her heart ripped out, thrown away, and danced on for the first time. I'm talking to the cynic who can't believe they're actually reading this blog about LOVE right now. And I'm talking to the aging multitude of single and fabulous women who think they're never going to find that special someone... that special anyone. And I'm talking to you, the reader whose tears just won't dry, you, who think you'll never heal, that you're going to just bleed to death with the unbearable pain of it all. I'm right here with you. Because what I'm about to tell you is going to hurt.
Love doesn't conquer all. The world has lied to you.
Well, I kept riffling through the box, digging deeper into the bottom. And soon, I found what I knew I had hidden deep in the heart of it.
Twenty-seven letters.
Love letters. Page upon innumerous page, hand written, tear stained. Letters filled with heartbreak and anguish, pain and loss, the shattered dream of this lonely dreamer. Letters to my first love. My first loss. Some a half page. Some over ten. Some of them proclaimed how love only defeats and destroys you, while others exuded exultant messages of how love, well, conquered all my doubts and fears.
It's ironic, almost, that I found this box today. Because today, I found out that the subject of all these letters, the man I was soooo in love with and, at fifteen, couldn't live without... today, I found out, that man is now happily married. To someone other than me. Living with another woman, sleeping in her arms, enjoying life and planning a family. Without me. With her.
And you know what? I'm okay. Because, losing him then seemed wholly earth-shattering. But you love and lose and move on and fall in love and fall down repeatedly, so much, and to be honest, I couldn't even tell you his middle name. I really don't even remember his birthday, or the color of his eyes, or even anything meaningful we ever talked about at all! Sad, right?
...Because that was an eternity ago. A different lifetime. And you want to know what I said when a mutual friend told me of his recent marriage?
"That's nice."
I didn't care! I moved on. It's the natural progression of heartbreak. You love, they leave, you heal, meet someone new, love them and lose them, and the nasty cycle continues until you meet Mr. Incredible. Unfortunately, there's no specialty store to go to and buy him.
Or maybe you've found the one you want... like I have now... and you lost him... like I've done. And you don't know what you did or what to do, or how to deal. Because, if you're anything like me, all you want is him back, and you'd do anything if he'd only call you, say your name, hold you, hug you, kiss you just ONE MORE TIME... Well, then you're right there with me. Because the subject of all those letters, who we'll call Mr. Letterbox... he didn't matter. I never knew I could love someone new like this. And I didn't know what real loss felt like until I lost MY Mr. Incredible. For privacy's sake... let's call him Ben. It's so tough. Impossible... Can love conquer this?
Well, < / ramble >. All I'm saying here is this: I got over Mr. Letterbox. And you can, too. Getting over Ben... well, I hope I never have to. Because I hope and pray every second of every single day that he'll come back to me... Or maybe, in the future, I'll meet someone even MORE incredible than Ben and realize that to say I loved him was ludicrous. (Like, I'm looking back now on those letters and thinking how silly I was for saying how much I couldn't live without him. I've been doing just fine.)
Well, it's time to get up, dust off, and press on. And it's time to break the first seal. I've never re-read any of those letters since the day I wrote them, but I think it's time. And I hope you'll continue to join me as I read the letters to the world here and find out what it really takes to move on.
XOXO,
Sarah
Because I have the heat tolerance of a frost-bitten ice cube, I do my "spring cleaning" as soon as the temperature drops below 40 degrees. And while I was rooting through the mess of dust and spider webs beneath my bed (seriously, I've slept on top of all that for over a year now? How hasn't some monster insect crawled from the dark and eaten me alive in my sleep?), I found it. A white box. Rectangular. Tiny, delicate purple roses hand-painted around it. And the same quote interwoven among the thorns: "Love conquers all."
Oh, really!? It's that simple, everyone! You don't have to worry about not finding love, or the fact that you're slowly creeping into a life full of loneliness. Or, that the only thing meaningful you go home to at the end of a long, tiresome day are your three cats named Shones, Skittles and Julius... Or maybe that's just my life. But according to this tiny little box, "Love conquers all" of that, right?
Wrong!
Silently seething from the lies the world tries to stuff down the throats of children nowadays, I took a softer look at the box. And gingerly, I picked it up, shooed away the beastly spider waltzing toward my fingertips, and just gazed at it. Then, I realized exactly what I was holding. My most prized possession at fifteen years old.
My box. Every girl had one, right? A box to keep your most prized possessions and treasures. Something that would never tell your secrets. Odd trinkets and memories from years of my childhood. Slowly, I began looking through the contents. A ribbon. Innumerable pictures. A hand-drawn picture of my cat Skittles that, I thought, was award-worthy. And jadedly, I realized... I did believe what that box told me at fifteen. When everything was so simple and the world was such a wholesome, sweet, lovely and perfect place, before I felt heartbreak for the first time... Love really did conquer all. To an extent, we've all held that outlook and attitude at some point. Yes, you. Yeah, I'm talking to you. I'm talking to the girl who's just had her heart ripped out, thrown away, and danced on for the first time. I'm talking to the cynic who can't believe they're actually reading this blog about LOVE right now. And I'm talking to the aging multitude of single and fabulous women who think they're never going to find that special someone... that special anyone. And I'm talking to you, the reader whose tears just won't dry, you, who think you'll never heal, that you're going to just bleed to death with the unbearable pain of it all. I'm right here with you. Because what I'm about to tell you is going to hurt.
Love doesn't conquer all. The world has lied to you.
Well, I kept riffling through the box, digging deeper into the bottom. And soon, I found what I knew I had hidden deep in the heart of it.
Twenty-seven letters.
Love letters. Page upon innumerous page, hand written, tear stained. Letters filled with heartbreak and anguish, pain and loss, the shattered dream of this lonely dreamer. Letters to my first love. My first loss. Some a half page. Some over ten. Some of them proclaimed how love only defeats and destroys you, while others exuded exultant messages of how love, well, conquered all my doubts and fears.
It's ironic, almost, that I found this box today. Because today, I found out that the subject of all these letters, the man I was soooo in love with and, at fifteen, couldn't live without... today, I found out, that man is now happily married. To someone other than me. Living with another woman, sleeping in her arms, enjoying life and planning a family. Without me. With her.
And you know what? I'm okay. Because, losing him then seemed wholly earth-shattering. But you love and lose and move on and fall in love and fall down repeatedly, so much, and to be honest, I couldn't even tell you his middle name. I really don't even remember his birthday, or the color of his eyes, or even anything meaningful we ever talked about at all! Sad, right?
...Because that was an eternity ago. A different lifetime. And you want to know what I said when a mutual friend told me of his recent marriage?
"That's nice."
I didn't care! I moved on. It's the natural progression of heartbreak. You love, they leave, you heal, meet someone new, love them and lose them, and the nasty cycle continues until you meet Mr. Incredible. Unfortunately, there's no specialty store to go to and buy him.
Or maybe you've found the one you want... like I have now... and you lost him... like I've done. And you don't know what you did or what to do, or how to deal. Because, if you're anything like me, all you want is him back, and you'd do anything if he'd only call you, say your name, hold you, hug you, kiss you just ONE MORE TIME... Well, then you're right there with me. Because the subject of all those letters, who we'll call Mr. Letterbox... he didn't matter. I never knew I could love someone new like this. And I didn't know what real loss felt like until I lost MY Mr. Incredible. For privacy's sake... let's call him Ben. It's so tough. Impossible... Can love conquer this?
Well, < / ramble >. All I'm saying here is this: I got over Mr. Letterbox. And you can, too. Getting over Ben... well, I hope I never have to. Because I hope and pray every second of every single day that he'll come back to me... Or maybe, in the future, I'll meet someone even MORE incredible than Ben and realize that to say I loved him was ludicrous. (Like, I'm looking back now on those letters and thinking how silly I was for saying how much I couldn't live without him. I've been doing just fine.)
Well, it's time to get up, dust off, and press on. And it's time to break the first seal. I've never re-read any of those letters since the day I wrote them, but I think it's time. And I hope you'll continue to join me as I read the letters to the world here and find out what it really takes to move on.
XOXO,
Sarah
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