6. Broken Hearts Club
The day I left my home that I was building with him for years, was usual, as I said before. However, the day I finally came over there to pack all my belongings, was magical. It was a cold evening right before Christmas. The first Christmas I was supposed to spend without him in five years. My friend came along with me to help, Mr M. was gone, left the keys that used to be mine next to his bike, so we wouldn't see each other. I entered his flat, my former home, that I didn't see for two months and it felt so weird to be there - everything seemed smaller than I remembered. Our pictures in frames still weren't replaced, just put down like something embarrassing.
I've tried not to look around, didn't want to see something hurtful, any signs of his new life. We started packing my life in suitcases and bags and needed only two trips to take everything, but finally we did it. I would be good, I would feel nothing, it could be unproblematic. But he came back before we left. He didn't come up though, just left the building right after entering, so I texted him saying I just need a few minutes more. He said: It's okay, you can take as long as you need, but we were almost done, so after a short moment we left his place.
When I got out, I saw it started snowing, and it was so beautiful - big chunks of snow falling down slowly, just like in a movie. Such a perfect scenery for a late walk with your loved one. Then, unintentionally, I looked around and saw a figure in a distance, next to the opposite building, walking around nervously under the yellow light of a street lamp. I couldn't see clearly through this thick snow, but I knew it's him. This scene broke me a bit. I couldn't hold the tears coming out when we were driving away from this surreal place, a small place, that was my whole world for a few years.
It witnessed so many beautiful things we did together, it saw our love growing, then slowly dying, as we grew apart. Finally, I was done with this chapter of my life, finally I had everything with me. Except for the picture of me that he took when we were visiting his home and which became my profile pic on Tinder and Grindr. I had no idea why he put this particular picture in my passport, seemed to me like some kind of message, like a horse's head left on the bed. I didn't want to take it, so I just threw it in the trash as well as the birthday card I got from him once, filled with amazing words describing his love to me.
I could officially start living my new life, and at last it got to me - it really happened. You see, before it felt like I was hanging in between, like we are just taking a break. Didn't feel real. All this time certain thoughts were scratching my brain and didn't allow me to rest: It's not about having it all, it's about finding one person and making it work. From a movie, I think. Or: There will always be struggle, you just have to pick who you want to struggle with. Who is worth it. When two people love each other and can't make that work... that's the real tragedy. It was a tragedy for me, and I didn't know how to survive it.
Thought to myself - why should I try and replace him, find another love, if eventually, when it gets bad again, he or me will simply abandon it, just like Mr M. abandoned (or released) me. That's what I thought back then, I simply couldn't get over it, I didn't know how to move on, how to deal with it. What I didn't understand back then, is that we were death to each other. He simply chose life for me and himself.
They say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. I've read about it a lot, trying to find a solution how to get through this whole process, how to be done with it as quickly as possible. Right now, I'd say I'm exactly between depression and acceptance, possibly leaning more into acceptance. Stages happen randomly, they don't have to happen to you in this exact order, some people get stuck in one stage and are unable to move on, others skip the entire party and pretend it never happened, like I tried. The night before we broke up, when he told me for the first time, that maybe we are not good for each other, I think I went quickly through all the stages at once, but then all of them got the airtime separately.
Denial makes you think it's not real, it's not happening, it's just a small fight that soon will be over. In just a few days or even weeks, you will be home again and everything will go back to normal. I was the spokesperson for delusion, at that time. Luckily, this stage didn't last long for me. Soon after, anger came raging. I was furious, just thinking of him letting go everything we had, while fucking anything that moves, dating some 21 years old twinks, so much younger than me, making me believe I simply got too old for this amateur of young bodies and silly minds.
I hated him back then, completely and fully, couldn't even say his name and didn't allow my friends to do so, not out of fear, but because he didn't deserve in my opinion to be mentioned by his name, only as "a person". Back then, I was often thinking of what I would say to him if we ever met again. I wanted to be cruel, I wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me, I wanted to crush him with my words, and I believed I had many arrows in my quiver. But finally I went through this stage and my anger grew smaller and smaller, leaving space for false hope.
Bargaining was worse than anger. I felt like an idiot, hoping for him to stand under my window or outside my work, watching me secretly, still being in love with me, unable to let it go. I was dreaming he would come to my place one day, say it was all a horrible mistake, that we should be together and taught by this experience, this separation, we would know how to make it right this time. I'd imagine myself crying then, listening to him and finally hugging him, getting my happy ending to this horror.
Some pinterest-shit-like quotes got stuck in my head, and I was moved by the pure wisdom of these silly words: What if you and I were meant to part ways, only so that we could find each other again? Or simply: Maybe, when we're ready, we'll meet again. I think this is one of the worst stages. It's just you being delusional, clinging to the past. Not knowing how to make peace with it and finally stopping to love him. And what is worse than unrequited love?
Well, depression is. When you're alone at home and there is no one to talk to. When you have nothing to do, you're dying of boredom and ugly thoughts enter your mind. Friends are busy, the wave of new guys has stopped for a moment. You might start wondering what's the point if he's not here anymore. What's the point of trying to find it with someone else, if you will lose it again. You can try to live just by yourself, but what is life without love? My relationship with him was like a ride on a rollercoaster, that ended with a crash. I got bruised, legs and arms got broken, but when I recovered (or thought I did) I've tried to get on a different ride again, as soon as possible. I wanted to get on it and enjoy myself again. Masochistic? Probably. Or maybe hope of being happy and loved again is just stronger than fear of getting hurt again.
To reach the last stage, I had to take control of this mess in my head. Realising what happened and admitting it was the great first step towards freedom. It is what it is. Be happy for what you had, be thankful you were given it, now get ready for new chapters of your life and be finally done with what happened. However - where does all the love go, you may ask, as I did ask myself all this time. I read somewhere that we do not stop loving them, but simply get used to living with their absence. That grief won’t disappear either, we just outgrow it with time.
To me, it seems a bit too bittersweet, not so optimistic. But, again - it is what it is. We can't change the past and the future is uncertain, so the only thing we have is present, this moment. That’s the only thing under our control. And I just didn't want to keep fucking up my current life because of something that was long gone in the past. What kind of life is it, if I constantly look back? Some people are unable to move on - I recently talked to one guy on Tinder, he told me he can’t let it go, and the breakup happened one and a half year ago. Can you imagine being stuck like this? For me it’s been only five months, but I already feel so much better. I guess time doesn't help everyone, or probably you have to let it do its work.
Maybe some people just don’t want to be healed, but as I had false hope, as I was depressed, furious and just heartbroken, I knew the only cure for it all was to move on. How? Well, you might be lucky as me, your ex won’t text you drunk in the middle of the night, you won’t talk to him at all. Unfortunately, some people after a breakup are being constantly reminded of their exes and can’t close this chapter for good. My first rule however is: Out of sight, out of mind. With his help, by disappearing completely, it was an easy thing to do.
Remove, block, unfollow, delete. I had to hide on my phone all the photos of him and our dog. Hide, not delete, because he was a huge part of my life and one day I might want to look at them, when it won’t bring any pain. Remove emails from him, put our conversation on Messenger to the archive. Unfollow on Instagram and unfriend on Facebook, because simply I couldn’t bare seeing him adding there some twinks that he's met recently. To put it shortly, I had to remove any sign of him, to make it look like he didn’t exist (for what I wished at some point). I couldn’t see anything connected to him. And dating apps help in this case - on Tinder you can block certain phone numbers, so their owners won't show up, and Grindr... well, this app is all about blocking, so that's an easy part.
Only the fact that I moved maybe two or three tram stops further from his place was pretty hard. That on my way to work I was passing by the street where he lived at first, when I met him, where we had the best time, honeymoon phase and all of that. Then going on the metro, where I was going through the station which was my station for years. As I could keep distracting myself in those moments, the only thing I couldn't control was my body, reacting to it in a weird way.
The moment I was coming home from work, leaving the metro station and going to the tram stop quite close to his place, I'd get this unusual anxiety, every single time. My heart started beating like crazy, and suddenly I was breathing much faster. Perhaps my subconscious was scared I will see him randomly, or it didn't want to acknowledge my plan and cooperate in this mission avoid & forget. But eventually, the street where he lived at first, became just a normal street. Metro station became just another stop on the way home. Time heals better than anything, if only we allow it to do what it usually does. We already have the most important thing - ourselves.
And don't forget about friends. People are all we've got, apart from ourselves. Some will put us down, but others can lift us and help on our way, if we choose our company wisely. Hand on heart, I wouldn't be able to deal with it all without my friends. While being in this relationship, I lost contact with many of them, with others it just got weaker. But after the breakup, I discovered they’re there for me. Many wonderful people who helped me go through this whole process and didn’t leave me alone. No matter who broke your heart or how bad was the breakup, you can’t survive it without your friends, well said, Carrie.
And if you're not as lucky as me, having that kind of understanding and mature ex, if yours tries to scratch these wounds constantly, not letting you let him go, just remember what Blessed Mother Superior Dua Lipa told us few years ago: One: Don't pick up the phone, you know he's only callin' 'cause he's drunk and alone. Two: Don't let him in, you have to kick him out again. Three: Don't be his friend, you know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the mornin'. And if you're under him, you ain't gettin' over him.
There are no good breakups. It's not easy to face the rejection and there is nothing that can prepare us for it, because every time it happens, it hurts the same way. If we don’t heal from it, we cumulate it inside and then another breakup could unleash all the previous breakups hitting us all together. It’s a nightmare. But no matter what, we have to remember this relationship ended for a good reason. Or many reasons. Leaving hurts, but staying would hurt even more and could bring more long lasting damage, than the pain of a broken heart, which has natural skills to heal. Maybe not fully, and maybe we can get some scars, but there is a cream for that.
This pain is purifying, it's teaching us something about us, making us better. Stronger. If only we learn the lesson. We get to know what we want and how we want it. With whom. No matter how much we miss them, we have to remember: A bitter ending is better than an endless bitterness. Sometimes love just isn't enough. And it's okay. It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. I prefer to believe in motto of Mr M.: Everything happens for a reason. Great things are ahead of me. Because he loved me and then broke my heart. Every cloud has a silver lining. A story ends and the other begins; it's life.
Soon the war in Ukraine happened, and just like Corona, it changed everything. Bringing to my bed and head Belarusian and then Russian guys. And the story repeated itself, as when I met both of them, it was as magical and natural, as when Mr M. entered my life. Making me question everything I knew about dating men.