Five steps of heartbreak

1. Clarity – I left yoga feeling so clear about breaking up with you. About the decision I finally made. What I should do. The words I should use. Finally clear about what I needed and how unaligned we were. How okay it would all be. We were different people, different times. Walking boldly back, nodding to myself, it rang so true, in my mind and heart combined.

2. Clingy – It took exactly two weeks to feel everything, to realize my actions, to doubt my actions, to revel in shame and personal hatred, over and over and over again. I desperately wanted him back. Clumsy, losing, begging, creating scenarios in my head. Needing the attachment, closeness, his touch, so excruciatingly bad that I messaged him and begged him to sleep with me. Told him I missed him. Liked his messages. Made feeble attempts to be with him again. There was no space to do nothing, there was only space to act on it.

Whisper to myself, over and over, to no avail, “Remember your value. Remember your value.”

3. Crying – I found his new song online and listened to it. I wouldn’t normally like the tune, but I adored it. I imagined he was listening to it at the same time as I was listening to it. As if we had a bond. As if we were so in tune. Imagined the words were about me. Thoughts, and feelings of despair: why didn’t he love me. Tears trickled down my face because of the sadness I felt inside. Tears, lots and lots of tears.

4. Cold – I feel nothing. Memories of him seem unreal, someone else’s. Within me there is nothing. No sadness, not happy, not angry, just numb, and careless. Who are you? Why did I care? Will I ever care again?

5. Care again – much time passed, and I thought I forgot, I thought I’m okay, I accepted it, he was not for me; but then I saw a picture of his new girl. Not the main blonde one, with her I didn’t have insecurities. The cute, little new one, the one that took my place. The one that looks carefree and fun and unlike me. Oh, fuck, me.

Miss Mess


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The Big Stuff

Exactly at 9pm I walked into his friend’s newly opened bar. The neighbourhood was grungy but the bar was impressive, spacious, light wood, retractable ceilings. The group hadn’t arrived yet. Of course he was late to his own goodbye party.

I stood nervously at the bar, looking for empty seats. Orderly, I found two next to each other. I sat down, hugged my small bag, wondering how I could make myself seem more approachable and less serious. I got up, took off my jacket and hung it on the hook beneath the bar, shook my hair out, before flipping it over to one side. I sat back down on the stool and hobbled myself forward. Resting my elbows and bag on the bar, I took space and got the bartender’s attention. Thoughts trickled in, should I tell the bartender I’m a friend of a friend of the owner, should I reposition myself to face the entrance, was my top cute enough for tonight. Oh text him: “I’m here, no rush.” More thoughts, do I look hot. Smiling at the bartender, “hi, could I get a glass of Prosecco, please”. Awkward just sitting and waiting, should I try to have a conversation with the bartender. Definitely don’t check your phone, no one else at the bar will come up to you if you check your phone.

An hour later, I see him walk in towards the back of the bar. Dark, his black D&G puffer jacket on, left hand pulling through his hair, and a silly bounce in his step. He walked to me, said something irrelevant about the bar and his friend the owner, and sorry we’re late. I returned a warm hug and bubbly, “Hi! No worries, how are you?” After that it’s blank, I don’t remember much of the small talk we had with each other. We kept it very mature though. Not that I’m surprised. I appreciate that we did. My heart was beating on overdrive most of the night. I smiled a lot that night.

Later, when I got into bed, alone, every part of my chest hurt. Profusely. I wished and wished and wished I could have left with him. I was also upset that his friends felt left out of our connection. I was upset that another friend made a comment about our relationship as if we were playing a game. I completely, unashamedly adored him. I don’t know what it is about humans, that after 9 months I can still feel the same familiar pangs of need for him.

There was a heavy spark between us all night, but I somehow found the power to leave early, at midnight. And I made a decision that I wouldn’t be with him. Reminding myself of the things I needed but he wouldn’t/couldn’t give. Reminding myself that, we did not have the relationship that I wanted. Reminding myself that, he was not willing or able to give me all the connections I wanted and needed.

I’ll tell you though, I adore him. I can’t fathom how it is possible to remember that you love someone this much after not seeing them at all. Nothing for 9 months.

It just destroys me to know how much we loved one another. I could cry all night about it.

I needed something to remind me that he was not for me. I read and reread this but it wasn’t enough.

Miss Mess


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New Title: things my therapist said..

My therapist said, our relationships go to the core of our trauma, because we seek in our partners what we need and what we are searching for within ourselves. That blew my mind.

I then told her I wanted to be angry at my ex so that I could get to the next step faster, but for some reason I couldn’t be angry at him. She said: because you love him. Again, mind blown.

I wanted to message you, though I didn’t know what to say, where to start. The easiest thing, the only thing I had to tell you was, how difficult last week was. I cried three nights in a row because of how much I felt I needed you, fists clenched wished we were still together, in a well of sadness drowning with the thought of losing the love of my life.

I know when we broke up it was for the best. I know that we were no longer helping each other grow. I know. I don’t believe it though. I still hope you will realise how strong your feelings are for me and come back to me. But I’m working on this part. I’m reading about my attachment style and your attachment style. I’m reading about the steps to go through after a breakup. I’m taking notes and thinking about it all. I’m letting myself feel sad, I’m letting myself stare at your icon for a minute a day and wonder if you were staring at my icon in that exact minute too.

I try to remember the things I had written down, I was sad when we were together. Not because of you, though it felt like it, it was because of me. It wasn’t all butterflies and soulmate and sleep and touch and serenity. I wasn’t able to communicate my needs and I never asked or understood yours.

We had a connection, and I guess we couldn’t have planned that, but it wasn’t enough. Eventually no longer for us. We both needed so much more we couldn’t give each other.

Miss Mess


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Is it because I don’t have my own baby, I’m jealous of everyone else’s?

This one was hard to admit…

I had a thought that made it clear to me that we shouldn’t be together. Like loving him too much hurt, not just me, but everything.

Turns out when he sent me a picture of his newborn nephew, my heart cracked. I felt the love he felt for him, in my bones, and under my skin, and running through his veins. Two seconds later, I felt he lacked that love for me. My place vanished beneath his chest. I was bothered by a newborn baby.

This rattled my core beliefs.

I loved babies, newborns, their soft smell, and unending surrender; I had a pulsating love that radiated for them through my eyes and my soul; but here I was feeling jealous of this little adorable thing. Shameful, real, jealousy. This round little Indian Spanish baby.

That was definitely not healthy.

As it turns out, I’ve been struggling with this year on year. I try to work on me these days.

We become jealous because we feel threatened. We do not want anyone to take our partner’s affections from us. We do not want to lose any love or admiration, nor do we want to share. Truth is, everyone has to share.

Romantic love isn’t the only love that exists. Inevitably, your partner will care deeply for other people. Your partner will always love other people; he or she will always want to express admiration, give affection, and offer support to them. This has absolutely nothing to do with you.

Love yourself. Improve parts of yourself you are not happy with. Share. Practice being the person you want to be around. Practice acceptance and love. Be generous with your attention and affection. Be spontaneous with acts of kindness and tokens of appreciation. Respect boundaries and be understanding, with yourself and with others. Practice honesty and respect and patience.

Miss Mess


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Break ups in cars with questions

This week has been difficult. And I know you would love to hear me tell you that. That I miss you. That I’ve needed to message you. That this shit is hard without you.

Why do we need a reminder that someone truly loved us, when we know they did, we felt they did, and being away from that is simply going to be difficult, tough, and full of moments we just don’t want to sit through.

And now that we are no longer speaking, it seems like all the answers were in the car that day. And frustratingly I didn’t ask any of the questions.

I was set on a path, unable to think beyond the thought I had had and was ready for. Unable to think beyond breaking up, now, in the car, get this done. Everything you said, although I remember nodding like it made sense, I can’t remember any of it for the life of me.

And I could have asked you everything and anything. And you would have answered. Like how long do you think we should stop speaking for. What will you think if I hang out with your friends. Really what is it that frightens you. Who is it you are trying to please. Why didn’t we make this work.

Miss Mess


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Going through and through and through our reckoning

I started to imagine we would have the most incredible, last night together. You moving out next Wednesday and our future over since last Thursday. In our fickle, forever relationship, I pictured one, last fun, full of conversation night. I clung to, even the thought of, one last night tripping with you. 

Oh, but you tore me apart. Punched me in my stomach a few times these past two weekends. I don’t know if I can ever forget what you did.

I’m well aware, I’m the one who broke up with you, via text, lest I forget. I’m the one who told you verbatim: I can’t speak to you; can’t be with you; can’t see you.

Those words were cumulations of so much pain, so much pain that I couldn’t handle alone anymore. I was/am in such a dark place that I needed the distance, to take care of myself and to not take you there too.

And you never, not even once asked that we stay together. Instead whenever I feebly attempted to talk about it, you always said: whatever you want.

Whatever I want, means you made a choice. A choice to let me choose.

I love you beyond words, any words that I could perfectly piece together and write to you. But neither you, or I, should be going through this misery.

Miss Mess


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It felt mean, because I thought it was mean

Tonight was the worst.

I felt like he punched me straight in my stomach.

I had no idea who the girl was who answered his phone.

It was unintentional. Poorly planned. Hours of partying, bathroom powder breaks. Unwinding of a tough work week.

Whatever it fucking was, it was mean.

Miss Mess


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