I want to talk about everything.
Sometimes, I want to sit down with someone and tell them my life story. Tell them everything, just to make them understand.
The nice thing about friends is that they already know most of it. So when something happens now, they should understand.
The terrible thing about friends is that they don't really know. It's not enough.
When a heart is broken... it's very individualized.
No one situation is exactly the same as another. If my heart has been broken, it's not the same as yours.
So when people try to hand out advice, it's easy to turn your head, roll your eyes, and nod. Because it's almost like you could talk all day, explaining every single detail about how you feel and what led up to that and how you think you're going to feel tomorrow and all the little details but no one is going to understand.
No one.
They'll nod and they'll cry with you and they will say "When I went through something similar..." and then try to give you advice. But that advice isn't going to work for you. Not always.
Almost two years ago I sat right here in this exact place with this exact light on with this exact computer under my fingertips and I typed out my heart break. And almost every day for a few months after that I sat right here and wrote.
I wrote to make people understand.
But not just any people.
I wanted my friends to understand in a way that I couldn't express through talking. I wanted them to read it and just get it and know what to say and how to say it and how to fix me.
And I wanted there to be someone like me in the world. I wanted someone to google something and run in to my blog and spend all night reading it and then message me and say "I'm going through the same exact thing." Then we could talk for hours and everything would feel okay because I wouldn't be alone.
"You know how in Once Upon a Time they take out people's hearts and crush them?"
Yes. Yes I do.
And I imagine I know what it feels like. All the little stages. The moment right before when everything is fine. The moment when you're facing the terrible situation and know what's going to happen. The moment the hand is in your chest and is about to rip your heart out. The moment it's out, beating at someone else's mercy. And the moment they squeeze it, just enough to have you on your knees.
Here's the thing.
No one understands. Not like you want them to or need them to.
No one does and no one will.
But here's what you have to understand: Everyone knows.
A heartbreak is still a heartbreak. The stages are the same.
Whether your heart is broken because the world is evil or because you may lose a sick loved one or you're dealing with a death or because you lost the only love you want. It is the same at the core.
And people pull through it.
Two years ago I explained it by saying that I felt as though I had lost a lung. You know, you can live with one lung. But it's uncomfortable, not easy. And it takes a while to get used to. It takes a while to figure out how to get enough air, how to live with one lung when you used to have two. How to get enough oxygen to your brain. How to function normally.
I don't feel like that anymore. But I did for a long time. I felt as if I couldn't walk as fast as I was once able. I couldn't dream far enough. I couldn't live deep enough. All I could focus on was breathing with my one lung.
And it was okay.
I don't know who exactly is reading this. I get a weird variety of people on this blog.
But I need you to know, whoever you are, that you are going to be okay.
I need you to know that breathing is hard at first. Living is hard at first. And that's okay. Focus on that, learn how to simply breathe again. And then maybe next, focus on walking faster. And then after you have both of those down, focus on running again.
A heartbreak is a heartbreak.
Don't expect too much of yourself.
Don't expect to understand it.
Just focus on breathing.
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