big
I’d just like to clarify for those whom it may affect that I did not break up with the boyfriend. My previous post has raised concerns among a couple of my friends (boys, surprisingly) who thought that perhaps I wrote “10 tips for getting over a broken heart” because I was the one who needed these tips. The boyfriend and I are doing just fine and I am genuinely touched by the really kind questions that have come my way recently, “are you OK?” being the most common one. I feel cared for and loved.
I’ve always wanted an older brother. I wanted a big tall boy to protect me. Kill the spider in my room. Beat up the mean kids at school who made fun of my Wayne Gretzky running shoes. Of course, when I think about an older brother, I don’t think about the incessant hair pulling, the Barbie doll mutilation or the construction of a maxi-pad house with a live-in tampon family and other machinations common to young men. I am the oldest in a family of all girls and I wanted someone to take the pressure off me. No Dad, I don’t want to learn about a catalytic converter. No Dad, I don’t want to help you remodel the basement. No Dad, I don’t want to go fishing with you…although my sister did. She would get up at like 6am to go fishing with him. Look at me! I’m the good daughter who can bait her own hook. What a fucking daddy’s wench. I’m digressing and I’m going to the bad place. I’ll stop.
A broken heart can be one of the worst parts of your body to heal. You can’t dab hydrogen peroxide on it. You can’t put it in a sling. You can’t stitch it up. I was dumped a long time ago and I didn’t think I could ever be myself again. I thought that my fibre, my joints, my guts, my everything had dissolved into a dusty wisp of a memory along with my relationship. If the Me Now had told the Me Then that one day I would fall in love again, the Me Then would have cut a bitch. But the Me Then got through one dreaded, 1000 lb. day at a time, eventually accomplished a thing or two, reclaimed her self-esteem and slowly evolved into Me Now. Me Now is ridiculously awesome. I mean, it’s a joke how great I am. Holy crap, someone pinch me.
It was a dark time even though it was the middle of August. It was the summer before my senior year of college and I was in summer school and completely devastated. I walked out of my room into the living room after it happened (over the phone) and my roommates said to me “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Yeah, I saw a ghost of the relationship that had turned me on my ear.
To my friends who are going through a break up right now (and there are oh so many, the poor darlings) I stress that it was a day to day battle. One moment rockstar, no regrets, no pain, no flashbacks to the pretty boy who broke me. The next moment, choking on salty sorrow, nausea and the flare-up of anxiety…impending disaster. I had a friend, Chris, who was older, who had already graduated and who worked a 9-5 job. Pathetically, I called Chris EVERY MORNING when I woke up. He is one of the most sedate and reticent people I have ever known. Most days, we would just sit in silence. Some days, we would make small talk. Some days I would repeat myself over and over and over. “I can’t get out of bed.” “I’m so sad.” “I don’t know what to do.” There was silence on the other end. I wasn’t getting advice, I didn’t need advice, I needed someone to care. He listened and that’s all it took. After a while, I realized that I had to stop calling him because I needed to live instead of lament. But he was there for every call, every morning and he never said he was too busy to talk. He was like the big brother I never had.
A few years ago, my friend who was dumped by a girl I knew and I figured it couldn’t hurt to be the same big brother. We spoke every day. I tried to see him regularly. We’d make food and meal together. We’d talk about music. We’d talk about pop culture. And we’d talk about her. I was never too busy to talk about her. I knew where it came from, that undeniable hurt. I wasn’t going to make him feel ashamed for being vulnerable. He was on his own schedule and when he slipped and fell in hope with her after an attempt at rekindling things, I cautioned him but I still had time to talk. He made his progress independent of me. I was just there to observe and listen. They didn’t stay together but he fell in love again a couple of years ago and is happier than I’ve ever seen him and I’m happy for him.
Which brings me to today, I began talking to another friend whom I haven’t spoken to much in the past few years. He has recently suffered a broken heart and I chatted with him online yesterday and today. I ask him how he’s feeling. When he says he’s ok, I ask him for more. I tell him that I’m fine with listening to him vent. No, I don’t mind if he talks about it again. I know what he’s going through. I know what it’s like to be embarrassed to feel, to be real, to be un-California sunshine oblivious, to sort through the see-saw emotions that have more facets than a diamond and cut just as easily. He is Me Then and I am Me Now. I’m not going to fix anything. I’m just going to stand by. Sometimes, you just need someone to listen. Today, before he signed off, he said to me, (and I hope he doesn’t mind that I am quoting him) “thanks for chatting with me, you're saving my life. well not my life, but it's definitely helping.”
That's what big brothers are for.
I’ve always wanted an older brother. I wanted a big tall boy to protect me. Kill the spider in my room. Beat up the mean kids at school who made fun of my Wayne Gretzky running shoes. Of course, when I think about an older brother, I don’t think about the incessant hair pulling, the Barbie doll mutilation or the construction of a maxi-pad house with a live-in tampon family and other machinations common to young men. I am the oldest in a family of all girls and I wanted someone to take the pressure off me. No Dad, I don’t want to learn about a catalytic converter. No Dad, I don’t want to help you remodel the basement. No Dad, I don’t want to go fishing with you…although my sister did. She would get up at like 6am to go fishing with him. Look at me! I’m the good daughter who can bait her own hook. What a fucking daddy’s wench. I’m digressing and I’m going to the bad place. I’ll stop.
A broken heart can be one of the worst parts of your body to heal. You can’t dab hydrogen peroxide on it. You can’t put it in a sling. You can’t stitch it up. I was dumped a long time ago and I didn’t think I could ever be myself again. I thought that my fibre, my joints, my guts, my everything had dissolved into a dusty wisp of a memory along with my relationship. If the Me Now had told the Me Then that one day I would fall in love again, the Me Then would have cut a bitch. But the Me Then got through one dreaded, 1000 lb. day at a time, eventually accomplished a thing or two, reclaimed her self-esteem and slowly evolved into Me Now. Me Now is ridiculously awesome. I mean, it’s a joke how great I am. Holy crap, someone pinch me.
It was a dark time even though it was the middle of August. It was the summer before my senior year of college and I was in summer school and completely devastated. I walked out of my room into the living room after it happened (over the phone) and my roommates said to me “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Yeah, I saw a ghost of the relationship that had turned me on my ear.
To my friends who are going through a break up right now (and there are oh so many, the poor darlings) I stress that it was a day to day battle. One moment rockstar, no regrets, no pain, no flashbacks to the pretty boy who broke me. The next moment, choking on salty sorrow, nausea and the flare-up of anxiety…impending disaster. I had a friend, Chris, who was older, who had already graduated and who worked a 9-5 job. Pathetically, I called Chris EVERY MORNING when I woke up. He is one of the most sedate and reticent people I have ever known. Most days, we would just sit in silence. Some days, we would make small talk. Some days I would repeat myself over and over and over. “I can’t get out of bed.” “I’m so sad.” “I don’t know what to do.” There was silence on the other end. I wasn’t getting advice, I didn’t need advice, I needed someone to care. He listened and that’s all it took. After a while, I realized that I had to stop calling him because I needed to live instead of lament. But he was there for every call, every morning and he never said he was too busy to talk. He was like the big brother I never had.
A few years ago, my friend who was dumped by a girl I knew and I figured it couldn’t hurt to be the same big brother. We spoke every day. I tried to see him regularly. We’d make food and meal together. We’d talk about music. We’d talk about pop culture. And we’d talk about her. I was never too busy to talk about her. I knew where it came from, that undeniable hurt. I wasn’t going to make him feel ashamed for being vulnerable. He was on his own schedule and when he slipped and fell in hope with her after an attempt at rekindling things, I cautioned him but I still had time to talk. He made his progress independent of me. I was just there to observe and listen. They didn’t stay together but he fell in love again a couple of years ago and is happier than I’ve ever seen him and I’m happy for him.
Which brings me to today, I began talking to another friend whom I haven’t spoken to much in the past few years. He has recently suffered a broken heart and I chatted with him online yesterday and today. I ask him how he’s feeling. When he says he’s ok, I ask him for more. I tell him that I’m fine with listening to him vent. No, I don’t mind if he talks about it again. I know what he’s going through. I know what it’s like to be embarrassed to feel, to be real, to be un-California sunshine oblivious, to sort through the see-saw emotions that have more facets than a diamond and cut just as easily. He is Me Then and I am Me Now. I’m not going to fix anything. I’m just going to stand by. Sometimes, you just need someone to listen. Today, before he signed off, he said to me, (and I hope he doesn’t mind that I am quoting him) “thanks for chatting with me, you're saving my life. well not my life, but it's definitely helping.”
That's what big brothers are for.
posted by Katie at 6:55 PM
2 Comments:
Concern? Or INTEREST?
yeah, you're pretty good at listening to emo boys wax poetic about their bruised hearts and their trampolines of hope. and we're all the better for it.
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