fairly recently i went through my first real heartbreak. it really fucking sucked. as i was reeling i found myself trying to distract my brain from the fact that i was sad. being sad was embarrassing for me and i did not want to confront that. this distraction exploit resulted in a very high screentime, not something i’m inherently proud of but it is true. naturally my algorithms figured out that listening to lordes’s melodrama meant i was sad and my feeds were flooded with break up content. it was filled with normal people quotes, girls in the gym, people picking up hobbies, and songwriters. so many people saying “turn your heartbreak into productivity” and i couldn’t help but wonder why on earth would i want to do that. why does a run of the mill heartbreak mean i need to either write the next blue or lose 30 pounds. i couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that i needed to do something interesting or productive simply because i was heartbroken.
instead i did what i do best. i stared at my ceiling and thought. i thought about the concept of the tortured writer and wondered if my best writing would be done when i was struggling to get out of bed. i wondered if my writing was only good if i was heartbroken and then i wondered if i would need to be heartbroken for the rest of my life if i wanted to be a good writer. i wondered why we thought the best artists were the sad ones and why artists were at their best when they were sad. and i came to a very uninteresting and unoriginal conclusion. being heartbroken wasn’t special. being sad was generally boring and people needed to find a reason for it. i couldn’t possibly tbe feeling this awful without something good coming from it, right? there had to be some excellent thing to write about or thought to explore in this. i couldn’t possibly just be feeling this bad because something shitty happened. right? i really struggled with the idea that heartbreak wasn’t special. i didn’t suddenly become interesting just because i now had a habit of sitting down in the shower. i remember reading some articles about people romanticizing sadness and mental illness to seem interesting and special. and i came to a similar conclusion, it was a way to cope with how the feelings that one has to deal with it. even if in the long run it does more damage than good. if i’m only a good writer and i’m only interesting when i’m sad then why would i ever not want to be sad. if being sad starts to feel safe and comforting why would i want to be happy. thankfully i have critical thinking skills and realized how pathetic that thinking was before it actually took root in my brain.
slowly my ceiling and shower floor turned into train rides and people watching on the subway. i started to think that what happened wasn’t nuanced or special or particularly awful. it wasn’t good but it was at the end of the day just a breakup. “breakups happen everyday you don’t have to lose it” spoiler alert! mel listens to taylor swift a lot! but she wasn’t wrong. they do happen every day and i didn’t need to be losing it. i still wanted to lose it though. we admire those who can make good art out of heartbreak and sadness because it’s not a romantic endeavour. its average and boring. turning a terrible boring experience into something good and interesting is hard. it’s a way to process but it’s also a way to let it suck less. i decided i was going to let it suck in it’s entirety. i didn’t write, i did my schoolwork, i went to practice, i went to work, i hung out with friends, i ate too much, i didn’t eat enough, i listened to a lot of taylor swift, i chopped all my hair off. eventually my hair got longer and i got less sad.
i remember the day i realized i was less sad. i had just gotten off the train, i had just gotten back to toronto after visiting home, it was snowing. i was listening to bob dylan’s like a rolling stone. i bought tampons and a diet coke on my way back to the house. i was almost self conscious of how much i felt like the girl in those “girl who’s going to be okay” memes. but it was true i was going to be okay and i didn’t need a piece of art or a new 2k pb to prove it (although i did have one of those). i had grown out bangs and an aspartame addiction. two boring things to go along with the mundaneness of heartbreak and getting over it.
i’m not heartbroken anymore, it’s warmer outside than when i was. i can think about what happened without crying and instead appreciate it with a certain nostalgic fondness. i don’t have anything to prove that it happened other than a spare tshirt that ended up among mine and the occasional laugh in public that sounds a little too familiar. as my hair got longer, my screentime went down, my playlists changed and i’m sure i did to. not an any discernible way just a little more comfortable in myself, a little more sure that i don’t need to change myself when things are difficult. i wonder if a time will come when i feel the same as i did in novemember. if i ever feel that way again i hope it’s not easier but i hope i have more confidence in myself that eventually i’ll get up off the shower floor. even if i need to listen to “how did it end” just more one time.