I'm a processor. I don't mess around when it comes to emotions--dealing with them, articulating them, expressing them. Along with our intellectual capacities, emotions are the very root of our being human, and they are beautiful. They are also fucking painful at times, like right now. If given the opportunity I just might opt out of feeling all of them, including the good, to have some relief. But I know that burying pain is just an avoidance of what is inevitable, so here I go--feeling the pain, crying the tears, and experiencing the grief.
As a processor, I find comfort in reading about whatever it is I'm feeling. One of the first books I picked up is called It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken: The Smart Girl's Breakup Buddy. Written by the same authors of He's Just Not That Into You, this book uses humor and tough love to help move the broken-hearted from a place of misery to a place of healing and moving forward. They (problematically) refer to readers as sexy Superfoxes (I guess this is meant to boost our self-esteem) who are in need of some perspective, self-care, and time.
The main point: YOU WILL GET THROUGH THIS. Yesterday when I read it, I didn't believe it for a second. "No," I resisted. "Everyone else can get through a break-up, but not me. Not this one. Don't you know how perfect we were for each other? Don't you know how much I love him? At any second he's going to realize he made the hugest mistake and beg for my forgiveness."
I think this is what we call DENIAL.
The book reminds me again and again, "He ain't coming back, sister. And if he did, would you really want him?" Now there's a thought. Do I even want him to come back? This is the man who just walked out of my life, did the meanest thing he could have done, and can't even give me a damn reason for why. Is this the kind of partner I deserve? Is this really want I want? Or am I simply going through a stage of withdrawal that has nothing to do with his capabilities as a partner, what I need from a relationship, or what my dreams are? I simply feel need for a fix, a hit that I know will not even temporarily make me feel better. Yesterday I ran into his arms. He held me, but it didn't feel the same. I ended up breaking down again, when if I'd just resisted the urge, I might not have felt quite so terrible at that particular moment.
I'd like to move to a place when the sadness comes in waves rather than sitting as a quagmire of misery. And that begins with following the wisdom of this book and not giving in to the urge to get a quick fix. Why? It isn't healthy for me, and me is the one I am caring about for now. She deserves it.