Heartbreak and Grief

2020 was a study in grief for me, an understanding of the sheer heaviness of it, the shaking emotion of it. Every day I had to remind myself in the morning that my father was dead, because I was terrified that I would forget and try to call him or have to relive the initial moments of knowing he was dead. So I rehearsed it with myself every morning. It kept me grounded. But grief comes back around every so often and there were days when I couldn’t function.

I think heartbreak is very like grief, or bereavement. I’ve had that thought before but before I’d suffered bereavement. I thought it when I couldn’t call Blue Eyes because we’d split up, we had spoken on the phone almost every day that we’d been together, we’d spoken on the phone every day before that to be honest, as Best Enemies or whatever we were defining our relationship as at any given moment during our adolescence. I can remember standing in my bedroom and thinking ‘it feels like someone has died’. Yeah, time is a construct of our consciousness, I was very, very right.

I am very aware that I am grieving for my ended relationship by talking about the first person I ever fell in love with and it is entirely ridiculous to be comparing the depth of love felt aged forty with that aged sixteen/seventeen. But this heartbreak is more like that, which if anyone has been reading this blog for a while will know it took me about seventeen years to get over, than anything else I’ve felt. Someone to talk to, someone who wanted to talk to me, everyday, I guess I crave it, conversation that just keeps flowing about just about anything. Someone who’ll disagree with me and agree with me and object and just flow. That instinctive, action and reaction, all loves are different but that first one and this are so very similar, the men themselves were albeit they were separated by twenty years, I don’t think Blue Eyes is like that now, I don’t think the Fae Ref was like that then. But I’m a pattern finding animal aren’t I or maybe I just repeat my patterns.

And the thing I hated about grief three years ago and that I hate right now is that everytime it seems like it’s getting better, like it’s going to be ok, something rubs me wrong and I feel it all again and it hurts like hell and it’s heavy as fuck. Yesterday was hard, so I think my emotions have reached for the nearest pain or I’m reacting to something I haven’t realised I noticed yet. Maybe I need to start waking myself every day by reminding myself that we split up.

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