All Alone
Being in love in 2023 means shared OTT accounts. Having a broken heart in 2023, means that when you switch on the television to drown your sorrows in hours of content, you see his name on all the apps. Apps. Applications. Is that all we are reduced to, today?
And what is this heartbreak? What is this ache, that leaps at the sight of a name on a television, that ignores notifications from Google photos this day two years ago, this day one year ago, this year when you were in love and living with the boy you thought would stay forever. And your cat. Your cat and his. Your cat, his cat, two more rescued cats. Look, see, you built a home with this person and it failed — again. Look, see, you dared to hope, dared to dream, and now you don’t know how to sleep in the middle of the bed so you sleep in the corner and ignore the gaping space. Look, see, you can’t sleep without the tv on sometimes all night. Look, see, you fell in love again and you got your heart broken, again.
But it’s all different, this time. Filled with grace and generosity, even the tears were thoughtful and kind. There was no wringing in the middle of the chest — that came after he left.
In 2023, at 30, this heartbreak is certified the best. Best, because we stopped before we turned against each other. We talked, we hugged, we were honest in every shred of our attempt. There was never broken glass, raised hands, not even that much of raised voices. But there were raised hopes. Expectations, that could never be met.
What am I supposed to do now? As an adult, how do I grieve. While I sit in my pretty bedroom with my aesthetic lights, the television, and all the cats — am I supposed to continue to work and live and function? How am I somehow able to do it? I marvelled at the lack of tears for a while and then realized a whole bunch of things.
- The pain is a part of my body. A part of my everyday. It exists in the ache in my limbs from a long day of facing the world all by myself. It is the heavy breath that escapes my lips as I straighten my back after cleaning the house. It is in the fatigue in my eyes as I fight bills, deadlines, and scramble to find work. It is present in the way I try to gently knead the soles of my feet. It is everywhere, always behind my eyes.
- It does not stop me from being productive or hopeful. It does not stop me from anything, much. Except feeling a weariness and a definite decline in hope for a permanent love. It usually comes back again but this time the weariness feels older. More tired.
- There were no raging fights at least not enough for weariness, so the weariness crept up as doubt. I couldn’t even make the nicest guy in a long list of guys work. Perhaps I am the problem. Perhaps it will never happen. Perhaps I made a mistake. Perhaps I should over-book myself with all this astounding productivity and shut my brain. Perhaps I should also smoke some weed while I’m at it.
- Movies and tv shows have characters coping with a break up in such stylish ways sometimes. Even the ones who cannot breathe for the pain find their feet again in less than thirty minutes. They are able to make coffee, exercise, go to work, laugh, go out to dinner, and somehow live. Why does it take so much longer in the real world? Is this going to be the time it isn’t as long? Does that mean I fought better, and loved worse?
So many questions…
Could my therapist be right — if I said “I’m relieved” enough times, will I forget that I loved him and he loved me but we’re not together anymore? I say I’m relieved so many times a day, while my ex boyfriend is out conquering his pain through his manosphere circle and succeeding in life, and I’m crying because I just wrote the words “ex boyfriend” for the first time — will it get better? If I tell myself and everyone “I am relieved” at all hours everyday, will I remember how to write again? Will I be able to convince myself that I can succeed in life?
While I remind myself now that I have done the right thing and should feel relieved, what I’m actually searching for is to find my purpose again. I stuff my calendar through the day, I am frantically organising all my hours but the truth is I’m scared to find out that I am actually nobody without love. I am rudderless, without purpose, and in the darkest place of my life — playing a charade to myself and the world that I will, once again, figure it out. I have started writing but with such little heart and so much fear and I’m scared to say out loud, that — “I am hoping if I go through the motions, I will remember how to write again.”
I watch documentaries, I watch movies, I watch interviews — I am momentarily inspired, there is a bright shining light and I see myself as it all — an actor, a writer, a director, a creative producer, a happy, successful person. A person with drive and desire, a person with purpose, a person who did it all against the odds.
But not only am I not able to hold on to this vision like a young Vinithra once could, I am not able to see love in this vision either. I only see myself, All Alone.
