“Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable…” – The Wizard of Oz
This is dedicated with love and respect to all those who suffer from a broken heart, and the strength it takes to live with one. You’re certainly not alone…and you’re special…
“You need to find a way to get over it…”
“You need to move on…”
“You need to stop living in the past and start living in the present…”
“It’s not healthy to keep holding on…”
“You’re just not yourself anymore…”
I’ve heard all of these, and probably a million more I can’t think of right now, from otherwise well meaning people who just don’t understand, because they haven’ t been where I’ve been. Many of you probably have heard these things, too. If you’re like me, you probably wanted to punch these people in the throat, no matter how close you are to them, or how much they care, because they just don’t understand…you ARE trying to “get over it”…you ARE moving on…you ARE living in the present…you ARE finding ways to not “hold on” as much…but it’s a slow process, something they again don’t understand, and depending on the person, the depth of their loss, and their own barometer of coping, it could take years…MANY years. There is no handbook for how a human heart handles these situations, and all of us are different when it comes to this. But you know what? They are right about one thing; we are NOT ourselves anymore, and never really will be again. How could we be? How can you ever be the same again, when that one amazingly special person who was your world, is gone? But you’re not depressed. You’re heartbroken, and there is a huge difference between the two, although on the surface, they both may share some of the same traits.
So, how do I know I am not “depressed?” When I think of someone suffering from a sadness based depression, I think of a person whose sadness is rooted within, and not necessarily caused by something from the outside. Not always, but usually, a depressed person exhibits very different behavior than someone who is heartbroken. I’m not talking about a clinically depressed person, the kind of depression that is chemical in nature, based in the brain, and usually diagnosed and treated with medications to stabilize the brain’s chemistry so the person can live a more normal life. I’m talking about a sadness based depression, often triggered by something in that person’s life they perceive as lacking or missing within themselves; many depressed persons, in an effort to dull or forget about that particular pain, turn to self destructive outlets as their coping mechanism…alcohol, excessive eating, gambling…something that temporarily makes them feel better. Often, the person doesn’t really know, or cannot precisely pinpoint where inside their depression stems from; they may have been dealing with it for so many years, they just don’t even remember anymore. Suffering from a heartbreak could definitely lead to this kind of behavior for sure, but at least speaking for myself, unless enjoying several hours a week in the gym or my newfound joy in haberdashery can be considered self destructive, I don’t believe at all that I am simply “depressed.”
I’m heartbroken.
Andy has been gone now for seventeen years. We were together for eight. Wow. I’ve spent twice as many years without him as the ones I shared with him. Most would think that by now, my heartbreak would be healed, salved over. In many ways, it HAS gotten better, much better. Those first few years it was bad; it consumed my life. I didn’t really have much interest or derive much joy from anything, because he was no longer there to share it with me. As time went on, that improved; the heart is one of the most simple, yet complex things on the planet, capable of miraculous self-healing power…but there’s a catch; the heart doesn’t forget, nor does it allow YOU to forget. So, although it may heal somewhat, the scars are still there, and the hurt still comes, and at the most unusual times and places. I no longer cry on Andy’s birthday, or our anniversary, and I finally forced myself a few years ago to stop lugging out my keepsake box on Valentine’s Day and crying over it as I sifted through cards, little love notes, and photos. That was a huge step for me, but I have kept that promise to myself. It’s the unexpected things that surprise me the most that send me into tears, like the other night, with the necktie. I was simply browsing online for some vintage neckties that I could add to my collection in a less expensive way; I have always favored Bill Blass neckties, and the collections from several years ago were incredibly beautiful, with lovely designs that almost looked like watercolor paintings. I was scrolling down the screen and BOOM…there was “Andy’s” tie. I kept all of our neckties, and we had many; we used to pick them out together, ties we both liked, and we would share them; it was less expensive for us at the time, and our tastes were very similar. I had completely forgotten about his “favorite” tie because I haven’t seen it in well, seventeen years…and then right there in front of me on the screen, there it was. I recognized it immediately. I must have seen it adorning his shirt collars a million times. Of all the ties we had, it was the one tie I never wore, because it was just “his.” I suppose I never wanted him to reach for it and not be able to wear it when he wanted, so I never wore it myself. I sat there, staring at the tie on the screen, and a thousand memories flooded my mind at once, and I just lost it. I broke down. Out of the blue. I was not myself at all yesterday; for the majority of the day, I stayed closed up in my office, not really wanting to speak to anyone. Once I retreat into my shell, it’s almost impossible to get me to come out again until I am good and ready. A few times I found myself laughing at a coworker’s humor, but it was flat; once back in my office, I was just quiet…processing. Most of the day, I was near tears. Who would have thought something like a necktie would have such an impact? I certainly didn’t, although perhaps I should have. I’ve always been intensely sentimental, much more than most people I suspect, but still…the idea that a necktie should break me down into tears was unexpected. Nevertheless, I muddled through the day, came home and spent most of the evening cuddling with the dogs. That always grounds me and makes me feel better. Before I went to bed, I wandered downstairs and purchased the tie. I vacillated over that decision but decided it would make me feel better, not worse, having “Andy’s” tie here with me. I have so precious little of his that is tangible. So, the tie is on its way to me, I feel better, and I’m not curled up in a ball, wallowing. I have my cry, give myself a little time to grieve again, and then move on. That’s the thing about heartbreak…you do stop grieving every day, because you have to live your life, and move forward…but every now and then, what I like to call a “tear trigger” presents itself, without warning, and it’s almost like losing that person all over again, and so you grieve all over again. That is the pesky heart’s way of reminding you it hasn’t forgotten…and over the years I’ve come to understand and respect that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Why would I want to forget him? Maybe, every now and then, it’s good to have a small reminder of him, even if it’s a “tear trigger,” because it keeps me from forgetting that at one time, I was loved more than you can ever imagine.
So, I wonder…will the heartbreak I'm living with improve even more as time goes by? It’s been seventeen years and a necktie can still bring me to tears. Will there ever come a day when I don’t experience those episodes anymore? I would say, most likely not. However, there is one thing that hasn’t changed in all of these years that I am sure is a strong, contributing factor; no one has come along to fill the void in my life, and heart, that Andy had filled so many years ago. He was my first love, my first everything. Most people don’t find that kind of love the very first time out. I was lucky…so incredibly lucky. Andy was my best friend (we started out as friends), my confidant, my lover, my protector…everything. Remove someone who represented all of those things from one’s life, and its understandable why so many years later I’m still suffering from heartbreak. Why wouldn’t I be? None of those things Andy was to, and for me, have been replaced, and I’ve been left with a huge crater-like hole in my life. A friend said something today that was very wise and true; they said, “Time heals nothing; love heals everything.” Since I have not had that kind of consistent love since Andy, its little wonder my heartbreak hasn’t “healed” any more than it has. In fact, all things considered, I think I’ve done pretty well in coping, moving on, moving forward, and finding other things in my life to focus on that make me feel fulfilled or happy. Of course, they are just substitutes for what is really missing, but I haven’t refused to look ahead, live my life, and I certainly haven’t curled up and wanted to die. Somehow, that scarred heart that reminds me of my heartbreak also whispers to me, “Have faith”…
A few years ago, I met someone, quite by chance, completely unexpected, and I fell madly in love. It was the first time since Andy I had ever felt so strongly about someone, or felt such a deeply pure connection. It was strongly opposed from both sides, most likely the main contributor to its very short life; as soon as doubts are placed in just one party’s mind and support is scarce, it’s difficult for much to bloom. I was devastated when it ended suddenly, and to be honest, I’m still heartbroken over that short lived but wonderful relationship. I always knew that finding a connection as special as the one I had with Andy would be rare, if not almost impossible, and when it was presented to me and then ended so quickly, I was inconsolable. One friend who was supportive of me during that time simply said, “So long as you are happy, that is all we care about. It’s wonderful to see the old Jason again; we haven’t seen him in a LONG time.” I didn’t realize I had not quite been myself all of those years, I really didn’t. I remember asking this friend if it really was that obvious that I was different than years ago, and they assured me they had not seen the Jason they remembered so well for years, until I had found this new love. So, I discovered that heartbreak of a person has a very visual effect on those around them who have known them “before.” I always felt that I was not quite the same on the inside, and still feel that way, but I was unaware it was so easily detectable to others. The one good thing that came out of that last experience is my heart, which I was afraid may had become too hardened over time, was still capable of love, and love in boundless quantities…so yes, I do still have faith…lots of it.
So...I’m not depressed. Sure, I suffer from short bouts of melancholy over miscellaneous life mishaps, as most people do, but they are short lived, and I am happy and content with the life I have built for myself since Andy. I’m proud of the independence I have gained by being self reliant, proud of the struggles I have overcome, and proud of the accomplishments I have made.
I’m not depressed, but I am damaged, as it were; I just suffer from a broken heart. It may never REALLY “heal,” even if I am lucky enough to have someone enter my life and fill that crater of a void again, because the heart feels what it wants, and does what it wants…but I am not going to let heartbreak prevent me from loving someone again, just as I have not let it prevent me from moving on, and living, and being humbly grateful for my life as it is today, and I take great comfort in the knowledge there are scores of people out there who suffer from broken hearts as I do, people who bravely go through each day with a smile on their face and hope in that broken heart, that perhaps one day, better things will come once again to them…
- JPD
This is dedicated with love and respect to all those who suffer from a broken heart, and the strength it takes to live with one. You’re certainly not alone…and you’re special…
“You need to find a way to get over it…”
“You need to move on…”
“You need to stop living in the past and start living in the present…”
“It’s not healthy to keep holding on…”
“You’re just not yourself anymore…”
I’ve heard all of these, and probably a million more I can’t think of right now, from otherwise well meaning people who just don’t understand, because they haven’ t been where I’ve been. Many of you probably have heard these things, too. If you’re like me, you probably wanted to punch these people in the throat, no matter how close you are to them, or how much they care, because they just don’t understand…you ARE trying to “get over it”…you ARE moving on…you ARE living in the present…you ARE finding ways to not “hold on” as much…but it’s a slow process, something they again don’t understand, and depending on the person, the depth of their loss, and their own barometer of coping, it could take years…MANY years. There is no handbook for how a human heart handles these situations, and all of us are different when it comes to this. But you know what? They are right about one thing; we are NOT ourselves anymore, and never really will be again. How could we be? How can you ever be the same again, when that one amazingly special person who was your world, is gone? But you’re not depressed. You’re heartbroken, and there is a huge difference between the two, although on the surface, they both may share some of the same traits.
So, how do I know I am not “depressed?” When I think of someone suffering from a sadness based depression, I think of a person whose sadness is rooted within, and not necessarily caused by something from the outside. Not always, but usually, a depressed person exhibits very different behavior than someone who is heartbroken. I’m not talking about a clinically depressed person, the kind of depression that is chemical in nature, based in the brain, and usually diagnosed and treated with medications to stabilize the brain’s chemistry so the person can live a more normal life. I’m talking about a sadness based depression, often triggered by something in that person’s life they perceive as lacking or missing within themselves; many depressed persons, in an effort to dull or forget about that particular pain, turn to self destructive outlets as their coping mechanism…alcohol, excessive eating, gambling…something that temporarily makes them feel better. Often, the person doesn’t really know, or cannot precisely pinpoint where inside their depression stems from; they may have been dealing with it for so many years, they just don’t even remember anymore. Suffering from a heartbreak could definitely lead to this kind of behavior for sure, but at least speaking for myself, unless enjoying several hours a week in the gym or my newfound joy in haberdashery can be considered self destructive, I don’t believe at all that I am simply “depressed.”
I’m heartbroken.
Andy has been gone now for seventeen years. We were together for eight. Wow. I’ve spent twice as many years without him as the ones I shared with him. Most would think that by now, my heartbreak would be healed, salved over. In many ways, it HAS gotten better, much better. Those first few years it was bad; it consumed my life. I didn’t really have much interest or derive much joy from anything, because he was no longer there to share it with me. As time went on, that improved; the heart is one of the most simple, yet complex things on the planet, capable of miraculous self-healing power…but there’s a catch; the heart doesn’t forget, nor does it allow YOU to forget. So, although it may heal somewhat, the scars are still there, and the hurt still comes, and at the most unusual times and places. I no longer cry on Andy’s birthday, or our anniversary, and I finally forced myself a few years ago to stop lugging out my keepsake box on Valentine’s Day and crying over it as I sifted through cards, little love notes, and photos. That was a huge step for me, but I have kept that promise to myself. It’s the unexpected things that surprise me the most that send me into tears, like the other night, with the necktie. I was simply browsing online for some vintage neckties that I could add to my collection in a less expensive way; I have always favored Bill Blass neckties, and the collections from several years ago were incredibly beautiful, with lovely designs that almost looked like watercolor paintings. I was scrolling down the screen and BOOM…there was “Andy’s” tie. I kept all of our neckties, and we had many; we used to pick them out together, ties we both liked, and we would share them; it was less expensive for us at the time, and our tastes were very similar. I had completely forgotten about his “favorite” tie because I haven’t seen it in well, seventeen years…and then right there in front of me on the screen, there it was. I recognized it immediately. I must have seen it adorning his shirt collars a million times. Of all the ties we had, it was the one tie I never wore, because it was just “his.” I suppose I never wanted him to reach for it and not be able to wear it when he wanted, so I never wore it myself. I sat there, staring at the tie on the screen, and a thousand memories flooded my mind at once, and I just lost it. I broke down. Out of the blue. I was not myself at all yesterday; for the majority of the day, I stayed closed up in my office, not really wanting to speak to anyone. Once I retreat into my shell, it’s almost impossible to get me to come out again until I am good and ready. A few times I found myself laughing at a coworker’s humor, but it was flat; once back in my office, I was just quiet…processing. Most of the day, I was near tears. Who would have thought something like a necktie would have such an impact? I certainly didn’t, although perhaps I should have. I’ve always been intensely sentimental, much more than most people I suspect, but still…the idea that a necktie should break me down into tears was unexpected. Nevertheless, I muddled through the day, came home and spent most of the evening cuddling with the dogs. That always grounds me and makes me feel better. Before I went to bed, I wandered downstairs and purchased the tie. I vacillated over that decision but decided it would make me feel better, not worse, having “Andy’s” tie here with me. I have so precious little of his that is tangible. So, the tie is on its way to me, I feel better, and I’m not curled up in a ball, wallowing. I have my cry, give myself a little time to grieve again, and then move on. That’s the thing about heartbreak…you do stop grieving every day, because you have to live your life, and move forward…but every now and then, what I like to call a “tear trigger” presents itself, without warning, and it’s almost like losing that person all over again, and so you grieve all over again. That is the pesky heart’s way of reminding you it hasn’t forgotten…and over the years I’ve come to understand and respect that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Why would I want to forget him? Maybe, every now and then, it’s good to have a small reminder of him, even if it’s a “tear trigger,” because it keeps me from forgetting that at one time, I was loved more than you can ever imagine.
So, I wonder…will the heartbreak I'm living with improve even more as time goes by? It’s been seventeen years and a necktie can still bring me to tears. Will there ever come a day when I don’t experience those episodes anymore? I would say, most likely not. However, there is one thing that hasn’t changed in all of these years that I am sure is a strong, contributing factor; no one has come along to fill the void in my life, and heart, that Andy had filled so many years ago. He was my first love, my first everything. Most people don’t find that kind of love the very first time out. I was lucky…so incredibly lucky. Andy was my best friend (we started out as friends), my confidant, my lover, my protector…everything. Remove someone who represented all of those things from one’s life, and its understandable why so many years later I’m still suffering from heartbreak. Why wouldn’t I be? None of those things Andy was to, and for me, have been replaced, and I’ve been left with a huge crater-like hole in my life. A friend said something today that was very wise and true; they said, “Time heals nothing; love heals everything.” Since I have not had that kind of consistent love since Andy, its little wonder my heartbreak hasn’t “healed” any more than it has. In fact, all things considered, I think I’ve done pretty well in coping, moving on, moving forward, and finding other things in my life to focus on that make me feel fulfilled or happy. Of course, they are just substitutes for what is really missing, but I haven’t refused to look ahead, live my life, and I certainly haven’t curled up and wanted to die. Somehow, that scarred heart that reminds me of my heartbreak also whispers to me, “Have faith”…
A few years ago, I met someone, quite by chance, completely unexpected, and I fell madly in love. It was the first time since Andy I had ever felt so strongly about someone, or felt such a deeply pure connection. It was strongly opposed from both sides, most likely the main contributor to its very short life; as soon as doubts are placed in just one party’s mind and support is scarce, it’s difficult for much to bloom. I was devastated when it ended suddenly, and to be honest, I’m still heartbroken over that short lived but wonderful relationship. I always knew that finding a connection as special as the one I had with Andy would be rare, if not almost impossible, and when it was presented to me and then ended so quickly, I was inconsolable. One friend who was supportive of me during that time simply said, “So long as you are happy, that is all we care about. It’s wonderful to see the old Jason again; we haven’t seen him in a LONG time.” I didn’t realize I had not quite been myself all of those years, I really didn’t. I remember asking this friend if it really was that obvious that I was different than years ago, and they assured me they had not seen the Jason they remembered so well for years, until I had found this new love. So, I discovered that heartbreak of a person has a very visual effect on those around them who have known them “before.” I always felt that I was not quite the same on the inside, and still feel that way, but I was unaware it was so easily detectable to others. The one good thing that came out of that last experience is my heart, which I was afraid may had become too hardened over time, was still capable of love, and love in boundless quantities…so yes, I do still have faith…lots of it.
So...I’m not depressed. Sure, I suffer from short bouts of melancholy over miscellaneous life mishaps, as most people do, but they are short lived, and I am happy and content with the life I have built for myself since Andy. I’m proud of the independence I have gained by being self reliant, proud of the struggles I have overcome, and proud of the accomplishments I have made.
I’m not depressed, but I am damaged, as it were; I just suffer from a broken heart. It may never REALLY “heal,” even if I am lucky enough to have someone enter my life and fill that crater of a void again, because the heart feels what it wants, and does what it wants…but I am not going to let heartbreak prevent me from loving someone again, just as I have not let it prevent me from moving on, and living, and being humbly grateful for my life as it is today, and I take great comfort in the knowledge there are scores of people out there who suffer from broken hearts as I do, people who bravely go through each day with a smile on their face and hope in that broken heart, that perhaps one day, better things will come once again to them…
- JPD
