living with a broken heart
When they explain healing online it’s so high-speed.
Everyone keeps telling me to get over it. I can’t. I can’t just get over it. I am moving as fast as I can. This has demanded so much of me, but I know it’s because I’ve given too much to it. I have to stop playing a role in my own suffering. I have not been the same since May. I will never be the same since May. I am so mad, so hurt. I feel like my heart is burning inside of my chest. My mind is scraping every memory of him in slow motion. I want to reach into my head and pull them from my skin. I do not feel good. Everyone keeps saying, you’re okay. Physically I am. Emotionally I am not. I want to hide in bed and not come out. I am not myself. I’ve collected a million tiny tears. They are sitting in bottles underneath my bed. I will wait until I’ve collected a million more and empty them until I have an ocean in my room. Then maybe I can sit under water and not hear the sound of my body breaking. You are reading this and thinking she is so strong, so beautiful, so much to live for and she is crying over a boy that can’t give her anything and that is true. But he took the little I had left. Just the little hope of love lingering in my chest. I saved it all up for my forever. Did you know that took forever? I did not build myself up after the last one? Do you know how long it took to forget the last one? I did not build myself up so easily? I set myself on fire for him in front of the people I love the most. Love, don’t be so cruel to me. Give me back my heart. How do I get back the time I’ve invested into myself? I know, I know I did this to myself but go easy on me. I can’t tell if these words are helping me. Don’t break my heart. Even the birds sing a sad love song. The bees search for honey. The melodies playing on the radio beg for their beat back. How well do you rise after falling? They are watching, they are listening, they are laughing, they are pointing—‘I told you so, I told you so.’ I can feel it in my shoulders. The embarrassment. It sits beside my ear mocking me. The stench of rejection clings to me. I have to stop mothering this. It is so heavy. I can’t feel my feet, but I wake up every day. Drag myself to the gym, so my body remembers I live here. Today I am cracking at the seams. Tomorrow I will wash my face and go on, because the living go on living, with a broken heart.
(journal entry- July 2, 2023)
I am writing you love letters from Hilo.
I pray you read this with hope and love. With joy and expectation— knowing Jesus loves you but more importantly He needs you to grow up— in your word reading, praying, believing, hoping, looking for His return.
All my love,
G.
