Fail-Proof Broken Heart Curing Treatment:
- Vitamin E
- Get much sleep
- Drink much water
- Travel to a place far away from the person you loved
- Meditate & teach your heart that this is destiny
-Advice from Eat, Pray, Love
I scribbled this list into the little black notebook I carry around with me everywhere. It seemed poignant, at the time, in the dark hours of one Portland night or another. Maybe. I remember thinking that space was deceiving, that if your heart is loath to let someone go you will find their face in a million different strangers’ and it will always cause your heart to skip a beat. I saw him everywhere this summer. I traveled clear across the world and I would spot his foreign doppelgänger from across a crowded piazza or walking down a Grecian beach like I was peeling my eyes for a red and white stripped hat and shirt in the pages of a child’s book; recognizing him in impossible features; in the wrong height; with the wrong clothes and bringing my finger down to the page in exclamation and claim.
I drank a lot of water but that was the only rule I followed. If I were to write my own list it might go something like this:
Lindsay’s Fail-Proof Broken Heart Ensuring Treatment:
- Break up suddenly, especially if you’re scared. Be sure not to think it through.
- Drink a lot of alcohol.
- Put as many disappointing/excruciating/horrible/meaningless sexual encounters between you and the past as possible.
- Closure is for amateurs.
- Instead of confronting your emotions distract yourself with other men. Make these distractions as complicated as possible.
- Stop trusting your gut.
- Wait until he moves on and then realize the mistake you made. Dwell on it.
- If possible, gain weight.
- Embrace the nightmares.
- Repress, Repress, Repress… Explode! Rinse and Repeat.
It’s not that I don’t think the advice it useful, it is. I thought so enough to scribble it down in my odd penmanship. It’s just that there is no cure for heartbreak. We can’t cure the disease we can only treat the symptoms. Even the age-old promise of waiting for time to pass is an old wives’ tale. Who of us here doesn’t carry around some small relic of heartbreak, still?
Of course none of that is the point. The point is that I have accumulated this list. The list of obstacles I must maneuver just to be on solid ground again. The damage I’ve caused myself that I must now undo. The wrongs I have to right.
I was especially good at strapping myself into romantic car wrecks. No more.
The latest had fridge magnet poetry. I arranged a poem as he cooked and then jotted down the memory of it wildly in my notebook the next morning as I fled by car service and plane. Scribbling to drown out the memory of his drunken screams. He wrote a response to it, also, but it didn’t matter. The poem wasn’t for him:
please say always
and leave your smell
under my tongue
your language bare
& void of love
like the skin of a shadow
lazy on the top of
or the delicately repulsive
flood of blood
springing from a knife
our vision needing
in the moment
for it to be peach juice
It was for me.
Steve Dawson – Obsidian
(via Paige‘s excellent music taste)