Recovery

“There is nothing in the world so wonderful as to love and be loved; there is nothing so devastating as love lost.”

Love is an addiction.  It gets you high, you focus on it to the point of excluding other aspects of your life...friends, family, job.  You find this person, you connect, and suddenly, your world revolves around them.  You make plans, you laugh and scheme together.  They are the first thing you think about during the day, the last thing you think about at night, and most of what you think about at all points inbetween. 

And then...one day...it's just...gone. 

And, usually, really, just one of you is left standing there with a shattered heart, confused mind, and horridly vacillating emotions. 

Then comes the withdrawal.  Worst case, it makes you physically ill.  It's worse than having your loved one die.  The dead can't willingly ignore you.  They can't purposefully prove that they don't care, maybe never cared. 

Then comes the part where you make an utter fool out of yourself.  Fixated on what you must have done wrong, to make them so abruptly fall out of "love" with you.  How, seemingly overnight, this person that swore they couldn't be without you, doesn't even acknowledge your existence.  You. Are. Nothing. 

And your brain is very smugly telling you "I told you so.  I tried to warn you."  Yes, brain...you did.  But, my simple, girly heart beat you into submission with a Louisville slugger, and now you've earned the right to say "I told you so." 

My eyes and my ears betrayed me.  I know it was too soon, too soon after betrayal and loss to invest myself, yet again, in someone else...but...words are my strength, AND my kryptonite.  And I was utterly swayed by pretty words.  And then destroyed by their absence.

In my case, my "withdrawal" was compounded by some serious illness, both legitimate and psychosomatic.  But, I have no excuse for my behavior.  I truly couldn't help myself...desperate, pathetic.  Wanting so badly to talk to him again.  Words...and the pain of being ignored.  The realization that, in all probability, you never even cross his mind. 

So, you make the choice to start recovery.  Rehab for the broken heart.  Where in the HELL do I begin that process? 

By writing.  I have hesitated in writing this.  I don't think there is a chance he will read it, and I hope he doesn't.  This is me, getting this out of my head.  This is not intended to hurt anyone.  I worry things over and over and over until I drive myself insane.  I stress myself out.  Writing...helps me deal.  Write it down, and hope it blows away on the wind, like Dandelion fluff...

I am ready for these feelings to float away on the breeze.  I want to move on.  I am trying.