On Heartbreak and Grief

It’s strange: you’d think that after going through heartbreaks in the past that the next time would be easier. But it never is. Each one stings just as badly as the previous one, if not more.

Even though you know the post-breakup protocol sadly all too well—removing items from your place that trigger memories of a past love; diving fully into a personal development project or new hobby to distract yourself and help you “live your best life”; using this roadblock as a launchpad for transformation; reminding yourself that “this too shall pass” or that “everything happens for a reason”—it doesn’t change the fact that at this very moment, you are devastated. At this very moment, you are broken. At this very moment, it hurts like hell—and probably will for some time. And the worst part is that there is no way around it, but through it. As John Green’s novel The Fault in Our Stars states: pain demands to be felt.

I know that one day I will look back at this time of my life and marvel at how far I’ve come. But today is not that day. Today is one of those series of long days in which I will wake up in the morning and the new reality of life without you will hit me like a ton of bricks—a reality I’d been hoping was just a dream but is, in fact, real. Today is one of the many days in which everything I look at will trigger a memory of you, sending renewed waves of sadness, just as I’ve started to feel somewhat OK. Today is one of the many days I will be in an emotional rollercoaster that I never wanted to be in, but absolutely must be in, because that is what grief requires: to feel, even when you no longer want to feel, because the pain of loss is the price paid for a life that was courageous enough to love.

I recently returned from a trip to Athens, a city inundated with layers of history, physical evidence of different eras piled on top of each other in the form of ancient ruins—monuments erected during the Golden Age of Athens, monuments erected by the Roman Empire, monuments erected by the Ottoman Empire … centuries and centuries of different tribes passing through, leaving their mark, evidence of periods now long gone but forever imprinted on the city’s history. I cannot help but feel as if my heart is in a similar state, run down by the people who have come and gone, leaving their mark on my life in an irrevocable way, ghosts of their memories haunting me as I turn the corner—passing by the restaurant where we had that heavy conversation, the park bench that used to be ‘our spot’, the grocery store we used to always frequent … And I wonder:

How many more piles of “ruins” will I be able to collect, until I can’t anymore? How many more nicknames and inside jokes must I create all over again with new people, until I can’t anymore? How many more hellos and goodbyes must I go through again, until I can’t anymore?

I never knew that I would be adding to my collection of Letters from Past Loves, but here I am. When I received your last text message, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Not in mockery of your words—I believe in the sincerity of your message and am grateful for every ounce of it—but in the realization that it was nothing I’d never heard before. Each “letter” I’ve received from a past love has sounded like the last, almost as if following the exact same formula (I am paraphrasing the gist of them all):

I am grateful for the season I had with you. You have made me a better person. I have learned so much during my time with you. I will always care for you, always be rooting for you, even if it’s over. I don’t want it to be over, but because of Circumstance X, Y, or Z (which have nothing to do with the wonderful person that you are), it has to be over. I wish you the best. Goodbye.

Don’t get me wrong. Each “letter” is beautiful. Each one is poignant. Each one is achingly bittersweet. And each one is real. I believe every word and I return the same sentiment tenfold. But sometimes I wonder:

Am I just a plot device to further someone else’s story, a tool used to aid in their character development before they go off to find the person they are actually meant to be with? Will I ever cease to be a ‘rest stop’ in someone else’s journey and finally be the ‘destination’ instead?

Still—despite my heart feeling so raw, as if it has reached its full capacity and cannot handle much more—I cannot stop staying open.

If more monuments that will eventually fade into ruins must be erected in my life, so be it. If more transient travellers must drink from my well to find the sustenance they need to sustain them on their journeys—even towards destinations that are not me—so be it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I have not once regretted opening my heart to anyone who has crossed paths with me, even if it was doomed to end. Even if I am hurt and scared and tempted to feel dejected, I don’t know how else to live but to let love in its many forms—even love that cannot last—run through me. Because without the courage to keep loving, even if it hurts, no one is ever truly alive.

In this pain that I cannot escape, in the tears that spill onto my keyboard at this very moment, I am alive.

I know there are many people in my circles—friends and acquaintances—who have been experiencing seasons of grief, heartache, disillusionment, and loss in various forms. Just know that you’re not alone.

Loss, in any form, is one of the most painful experiences any human can face, and most times there are simply no words. As much as we wish we could skip the grieving stage, we can’t … and perhaps, in some sense, never will. It is a rite of passage for all of us, something we must all endure, for as I said: it is the price paid for a life that is courageous enough to love.

But let us keep loving, for that is what makes life worth living.

– Celine (@itscelinediaz)