Some days my heart aches

Not all days. Not even most days.

But there are days when my heart aches.

 I was 22 when my heart got shattered into bits and pieces.

Nothing can prepare you for the pain. To say it hurts would be an understatement.

It feels like your chest is ripped apart, your heart removed, and all that is left is a gaping hole.

You gasp for breath. You try to hold on to everything you can. You scream. You ache. You cry until you fall asleep, exhausted.

You lose 10 pounds, because you’ve lost your appetite. You didn't even notice until your friends and family point it out to you. Who knew heartache could be such an effective diet?

You’re afraid to go to sleep, because you fear those few seconds when you wake up and you’re still somewhere between awake and asleep. You know you'll lose your bearing and forget the cruel reality. You'll think he’s there, lying next to you. You'll roll over to snuggle up against him, like you used to and find his side of the bed empty. The pain hits you all over again. He’s not there. He won’t ever be there again.

You’re as miserable as you’ve ever been.

You decide that anything is better than feeling this way. That it can’t continue. That you can’t go on living like this.
So you bottle up all the hurt and all the misery and put it in the place that used to hold your heart.

As time passes you are able to fool the people around you. “I’m okay,” you say. “It was hard, but my life is better this way.”

You smile trough the pain, because that is what you’re supposed to do.

Some days you are even able to fool yourself into believing that you really are okay.

But when you’re alone with your thoughts, when you lie at night and try to fall asleep, you know that something is off. You try to breathe slowly, to calm yourself. But each breath you take makes it obvious that something is truly and utterly wrong. Something in your chest is heavy. The weight turns even the simple task of breathing into an excruciatingly painful ordeal. It feels like your heart has been replaced by icy cold stone, laced with barbwire.

You’ve effectively turned your heart into stone by bottling up all the pain. But what choice did you have? If you hadn’t done it, you wouldn’t have survived.

You do the only logical thing you can, and continue to ignore your pain. You shift around and try to find a comfortable position for your heart. You breathe lightly. You avoid thoughts and feeling that trigger the hurt. You ignore the elephant in the room.

But the elephant can’t be ignored forever. She will come crashing into your thoughts and feeling with her nauseatingly big trunk. Each time you sit and cry and cradle your head in your hands. You wonder why you haven’t gotten better yet.

Why isn’t this over? Haven’t you suffered enough?

No one has the answer.

You content yourself to focus on your breathing. One breath at a time.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breathing is just a rhythm.

Inhale. Exhale.

Some days my heart aches. Those days get fewer and farther between. It helps to write about it.

One day I suppose the elephant will have turned into a puppy-sized elephant, with the evolutionary advantage of being adorable. Instead of making me sad, she will curl up beside me and snuggle up against me. I'll scratch her between her ears, name her Nora and marvel at how cute she is.

This idea makes me smile.