You Will (Never) Be (Someday) Be (Maybe) Be Fine
(This post isn't funny.)
When you've been excised suddenly from someone's life — by
four independent clauses strung together in a comma-spliced sentence sent
stealthily through email — you will not know what to do.
You will never be fine.
You tell unwitting baristas and waitresses and clerks that
you were viciously dumped. You watch a lot of baseball. You try to understand
this new emptiness in your life that didn't exist the day before. You trade
eating for crying. You call your mom all the time. You text your friends all
the time. You feel bad for bothering the universe and everyone in it with your insignificance. You
give yourself pep talks, remind yourself that one day you will look back on
this shitstorm of awfulness and view it as the point where you started doing
the things that mattered most to you. You think about what just mattered most
to you yesterday. You
cry. You hurt.
You receive messages, calls. You make some social plans. You
feel hands reaching out to you, people jumping into the well and pushing you
out, dropping down ropes to haul you back to the surface.
You will someday be fine.
You read books, buy a puzzle to keep your brain busy when it
starts to tell you all its worst fears. You watch So I Married an Axe Murderer.
You still laugh at the Alcatraz scene. You cry. Sometimes. You start to believe
people when they tell you how much they love you, how much awesome you give the world. You drink a fantastic bourbon milkshake that might be the
best experience you've had in years. You glimpse Yourself Victorious, smiling somewhere down the road. You work. You clean the kitchen. You buy
a piece of furniture that crosses your path like it's the definition of
destiny. You cry. Sometimes.
You do laundry: 14 washcloths, 14 pairs of underwear. You remember the last time you did that — the day before your world collapsed. You
showered every day. You wore clean underwear every day. You breathed every day.
You grieved and mourned and laughed and cried.
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