You know it has to happen at some point in your life, you just know. That first, heart shattering, world changing break up. You live in hope and disbelief that it hasn't happened yet. You kid yourself you've got it right first time and you've miraculously avoided all Bridget Jones scenarios.
Then it hits you like a fucking train. And whether you saw it coming or not it doesn't make the impact any less. You're torn down to a tiny fetus like shadow of your former self. Light hurts and talking is impossible. You're filled with nothing but grief and nausea. If you're lucky you'll have friends that force feed you and drug you so you can sleep. If you're unlucky you'll lie awake at night relieving every tiny detail and wondering how you could've done it differently. How you could've changed his mind. If you're really unlucky you'll do both. You'll have sleeping tablet induced dreams of normality that seem so real, when you wake up and feel it all again you'll be back to square one. It's shit. You'll do this for weeks on end. Go about your normal business, or at least try to. People at work will wonder what on earth has happened; you look ill, you look pale, are you okay? You'll nod and walk away because you physically can't verbalise it. Its too much to comprehend, it doesn't seem real yet.
You'll reach out and find solace in the weirdest things. If you're a sadist you'll trawl over old texts, photos, his social media. You might try and cut contact together. Neither helps. Neither heals. You're still left alone at night sobbing yourself to the safety of a dreamless sleep for a very few hours.
It doesn't last though. That emptiness, the numbness, the pain. It begins to fade. Gradually you'll have a few hours where it doesn't cross your mind. Hours will turn into days and soon your grief:normality ratio will turn around. The sun will shine a bit brighter and someone will make you laugh. You'll realise you haven't heard yourself laugh in too long. You'll start to think of life beyond this hole and what it could hold. You'll make plans. Book flights. Book appointments you'd always wanted but never had the balls or inclination to book. You'll join a gym. Eat healthier. Start to feel better.
All it takes is time. I lost count of the amount of times I wished I could fast forward until I felt better. But you need to feel that, need to have your heart smashed into pieces so it forces you to go round finding them. Discarding the bits you actually never thought worked for you and stitching yourself back together. Piece by piece. And you'll be stronger for it. The wounds will heal and the scar tissue will never let you forget but it'll make you stronger. Better.
Make a sassy playlist and play it loudly. Cry. Scream. Get in the shower for hours so the water runs into your ears and you can't hear yourself think. Lean on your friends, hard. Talk. Or don't. Give yourself time to heal. Avoid Ed Sheeran and Adele. Avoid happy couples. Do things that make you happy. Be selfish.
You will be okay. It will take a long time. I'm nowhere close to being okay. But I'm closer than I was last week and the week before that. Listen to people's advice but ultimately, do what you have to do. Be careful. Learn to love yourself again. Learn to be happy on your own. It will come. Believe.