Well, I’m Never Doing That Again

I recently had my heart broken, and I’m definitely never doing that again.

I remember falling in love with him, though bear with me, it’s not a very normal and certainly not a very magical story. I was lying facedown on the floor: I had convinced him to give me a massage, and so he was sitting on me, quietly massaging my back and shoulders. Then, out of nowhere, he paused for a moment, leaned down, and squeezed me gently, a sort of hug. And then, as if nothing had happened, he went back to massaging me.

But for me, in those couple of seconds while he was holding me, that’s when it happened. I felt something snap inside of me, and fully expected it to be bad. Right? Something snapping inside usually portends something unpleasant, right? But to my surprise, only a warmth flowed out from that feeling. I felt like how a glow stick must feel: chemicals rushing out, hitting and mixing with other chemicals to create light. I felt this glow spread through me, wriggling into every space and crevice, even the darkest parts of me I kept hidden, tucked away out of shame and fear. And for those moments, even the darkness felt pure.

Strange words bubbled to my lips, emanating from that glow. I caught them on my tongue, tasting them, trying to figure out what they were, what they meant. See, I was 24 and had never been in love. I’d never tasted those words truthfully on my tongue (though perhaps I had, falsely). They were sweet, though tinged with the slightest bit of fear.

You see, I don’t do feelings. I compartmentalize, rationalize, reject, and detest feelings. They make me weak, vulnerable, and I refuse to be either of those things. And you know what? People always leave. They leave me and I’m left with feelings that were once lovely and now hurt. So if I can steel myself against these feelings, then I don’t have to hurt when I’m let down, abandoned, ignored, rejected.

Right?

But there I was, with arguably the worst feeling of them all. Love, gushing through my insides like a beautiful tsunami. There I was, enjoying that feeling and the taste of the words, “I’m in love with you” on my lips.

So I pushed the tsunami back and chained it up. I spit the words out and washed them down the sink like toothpaste. Hid it all.

But I still spent time with him. Lots of time. Took trips with him. Slept in the same bed with him. Laughed with him. Kissed him. Let him nuzzle his head right into that perfect place on my shoulder when we saw each other for the first time after we had to be apart.

And then he told me he was getting deployed. For almost a year. And that’s simply how the conversation went, because neither of us were willing to talk about our feelings. He and I are different in a lot of ways. And very similar in a lot of ways. One such way was the fear of vulnerability, and its consequence: being unable to open up.

And so we left it at that. We continued to see each other. We went on a long trip together. We still hung out and had sex and went out together. We just didn’t talk about what would happen when he left.

And then he did.

And God, it hurts. It hurts so bad.

I thought I’d prepared myself, but I guess you can’t ever really prepare yourself, can you? Or did I just do it wrong? Already I search for his smell, long for the feeling of his skin on mine, miss his face smooshed into the pillow, fast asleep, when I would kiss him on the cheek before I left for work. I want to hear his laugh, even if it’s because he just playfully made fun of me.

I don’t want him to forget me.

I try to tell myself the pain will pass. All pain does eventually. But it hurts so intensely in the present... that same place where I felt the warm glow of love surge out? Well that’s the same place that feels a knife of pain stab into it and twist and twist and twist. It hurts so bad, it doubles me over, huge sobs wracking my entire body, tears and snot and a red, puffy face.

I don’t believe in soulmates, so I can’t even assuage the pain with a fantasy tale of us being meant for one another, that our paths will cross again. And that we can finally both get past our fear and say those pretty, simple, powerful little words to one another.

But for now, I’m stuck with this wrenching, debilitating pain and I don’t ever want it again. Yes, one day I’ll get over it, right? I will learn from it. Never put myself in that situation again. Build up those walls around my heart, tame that surge of emotion, and keep it in check. Always. I’ve learned my lesson: never again will I open myself to love because, by doing so, I open myself up for this pain. I’m never doing that again.

Or maybe I will.