Dear Heartbreak Read online

  I wish I’d respected myself more. All I saw were the negatives about me. My appearance. My activities. But now that I look back, I can see how fucking awesome I was. I was a geek—a geek that graduated as co-valedictorian of his class. I was a nerd, but I could drop silly pop culture facts just as easily as I could quote Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. I was a jokester. I had a wealth of friends.

  If I had just opened my eyes, I would have discovered that I wasn’t lonely at all. I had friends and bandmates. I had all the love I needed right there.

  I was perfect in my own skin. I just didn’t realize it.

  By the way, Michelle and I remained very good friends—once the sting of rejection wore off. A few years after my huge declaration of love, she finally approached me about a relationship. We talked underneath the stars on a cool July night. She was just as beautiful then as she’d been when I’d met her nearly eight years before. We talked, and we hugged … and after clearing the air, we bid each other goodbye.

  Michelle was a wonderful, beautiful, magnificent person. And I still loved her … but only as a friend. I had grown and changed over the years, and had found the person I was destined to be with. So I returned home and kissed my girlfriend. A few years later, she became my wife.

  And don’t feel too badly for Michelle—she did okay, too. She got married, and now all four of us are good friends.

  So hang in there, E.! And don’t forget, you’re awesome just like you are. Don’t let anyone let you feel otherwise!

  Love and hugs,

  And on days like that I felt so fucking lucky just to have someone to feel that way about, just to feel that way at all, it didn’t even matter if you felt the same way.

  —Althea & Oliver, Cristina Moracho

  Dear Heartbreak,

  He was my first love. A love that we didn’t know existed until it actually happened. We met in my freshman year of high school in a small school play. I thought he was fun to talk to, and I decided to send him a message on Facebook. He replied and we became really close, talking about everything and nothing. For the first time in my miserable life, I finally felt happy. We told each other our sob stories and it became evident we were both messed up and the same. I began to care for him. More than I had ever cared for anyone. He was nice and kind and sarcastic, with a great sense of humor. He was stupidly smart and sensitive and he was my best friend. During the summer going into sophomore year, I began to develop romantic feelings toward him, which I shoved down deep into a locked box in my heart. I didn’t want to ruin the friendship we had. So I ignored those scary feelings and continued on with my life.

  During that year, we hung out more and more, going to his house and “platonically cuddling.” We were blind toward each other and we both ignored our feelings. But I didn’t care. I loved the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around me, feeling his body heat warm my back, the feel of his soft breath against my neck. No matter how hard I tried, however, my feelings couldn’t be hushed. He asked me out on October 30, 2015, in his car while I was taking a nap before a football game. When he asked, I was still in that weird sleep stage where I had no idea what was going on. I asked him to repeat and I’m pretty sure I said no at first. Then I comprehended what he asked and I was ecstatic. It was finally happening. I was going on a date with my best friend. The relationship lasted for one year, two months, and nineteen days. I was happy. I could hold his hand, kiss him, and know that he was all mine. That his black hair was mine to play with and touch. I knew that his brown-black eyes were only looking at me. That his witty remarks and his teasing were his way of telling me he loved me. And the way he kissed me, as if we were going to die the next day. All of him was mine.

  And I loved him. He made me feel a whole different kind of beautiful in my depressed and anxious state of mind. He knew what to say to make me calm down and he constantly reassured me. He never lost patience when I was up all night asking him why he was with me, because all I wanted to do was die. He slowly started to raise my self-confidence and I began to actually like the way I looked. I began to lose the suicidal thoughts, and he was with me through it all. But all the while, I wasn’t able to listen to him. He always pushed off talking about himself no matter how much I asked, and I was worried. He needed as much help as me, but he wouldn’t let me save him. I’m still sorry about that.

  Then it was summer going into junior year. He made a club baseball team and was out of town a lot for games and practice. He didn’t have a lot of time to talk to me, and I fully understood him. Yeah, I was sad, but I wasn’t some psycho girlfriend demanding every second to be with him. So whenever he was in town, we’d see a movie and we’d spend the day together. Then he was off again, winning games and sneaking late-night calls to me in his hotel bathroom so his teammates wouldn’t hear. But since he wasn’t there to talk, my depression hit hard and I felt suicidal again. I felt ugly again and believed that I wasn’t deserving of my boyfriend. He was perfect and the boy every girl was looking for, but I was a disgusting monster who was selfish. Eventually I wrote letters and decided I would take more than enough sleeping pills to end it. I almost did. I had texted him before I started and when I was on the fourth pill he texted back with “hey, beautiful, sorry I wasn’t able to talk today, are you okay?” And I cried. He was too good for me.

  I never told him about what happened that night because I knew it would break his heart. So I kept that secret, and junior year started. Everything was great the first few months—we were happy and finally together. But it wouldn’t last. He eventually stopped replying and started to ditch me for his friends. Now, I was perfectly fine with him hanging out with his friends, but when he never spent time with me, it started to hurt. I would frequently call him out, and he’d always apologize and try to fix it. He got better for a bit, then he went back to ignoring me. I thought it was my fault and I cried all the time, my heart breaking. We spent a day out on the town for our one-year anniversary and he was happy and I felt like he was going to try and be better. We both would. So we walked through the town, hand in hand, and I had never been happier.

  That changed two months later when he broke up with me a week before Christmas. I was shocked because we both wanted to spend the rest of our lives together, but I guess I was too naive. He said he still cared about me. I think that’s what hurt the most. Over the next few weeks we talked awkwardly around each other. He told me to stop texting him to try and work out emotions. I did, but I was still madly in love with him—but I didn’t say so. He told me he had kissed a girl during those weeks. I wanted to cry. Those lips weren’t mine anymore. Those dark eyes that sparkled weren’t mine. And then he said he didn’t want to be friends anymore. I hated it, but let it happen. A couple weeks later he messaged me saying that we could talk again. It was great to finally talk to him again. Then he stopped replying again and I asked to go for a drive with him. He agreed and he came over and picked me up. We talked for hours and he gave me this really sad look and said he wasn’t okay. I asked him what he needed and he just said a hug. So I hugged him and he’d slowly start getting closer to my face until we shared the same breath and then his mouth was on mine and I forgot my name.

  He was an asshole for doing that. For leading me on. And he left without talking about what happened. We didn’t get back together. I was fed up and asked him what was up. And the truth came out. He couldn’t stand me anymore. The way I acted, which he used to love, now repulsed him. He hated my mannerisms and everything about me. And he told me to stop texting him so he wouldn’t hurt my feelings. Then I said goodbye and I let go. I let go because I love him. I feel empty now. He took a piece of me with him and I will never get it back. I miss him. I don’t even want a romantic relationship anymore. I miss my best friend. The best friend I could tell everything to. And the worst part is that he probably doesn’t miss me. And I don’t know how to feel about it.

  —Fireheart, Falling Apart, 17

  DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE AND OUT THE OTHER SIDE
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br />   Dear Fireheart,

  I think it would be irresponsible of me to jump right into your broken heart without first addressing something else you mention in your letter, something far more serious—suicide. There was a time when you crossed the line between abstractly wishing you could simply close your eyes and immediately, painlessly, cease to exist to almost following through on a plan involving a lot of pills and some very grim intentions. It’s disturbing to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t received that text from your now-ex-boyfriend while you were downing those pills. Despite his unwitting intervention, it’s fair to say that depression this severe lies far beyond the purview of the average teenage boy, who in all likelihood is not yet equipped to do his own laundry, much less be your emotional Sherpa, your personal mountaineering guide, carrying your baggage up and down the mountain while trying to keep you from slipping on the ice and tumbling right off the edge. In moments of crisis you’re better off reaching out to a suicide hotline, such as the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, but to properly fight depression for the long haul, you’ll need to talk to a doctor and come up with a plan involving therapy or medication or both. And for that, you’ll need to talk to your parents, however potentially unpleasant that may be. Only you can decide how much you need to tell them—do you want them to know just how close you came to a suicide attempt?—and while you understandably may not want to upset them or freak them out more than necessary, they do need to grasp the urgency of the situation, that this is not something that can wait a month or two, and, perhaps more importantly, it is not something they can fix themselves. Depending on their experience with and knowledge of depression, they might need a little help when it comes to understanding that there is rarely a single, tidy reason for a sadness as deep as yours, and a quick fix is unlikely.

  Of course, not everybody’s parents can be approached with a problem like this—maybe they’re not good at hearing the hard stuff or maybe they think depression is something you can just shake off with a little grit and determination. When I first told my parents I was struggling with depression, I knew they didn’t get it because they kept wanting to know why, as if it could be traced back to a single event, like a bad grade or a falling-out with a friend. To be sad for no reason was simple self-indulgence; what I needed was to stop feeling sorry for myself. So telling your parents might not be the answer, but perhaps there’s someone else—a good friend’s mom or dad with whom you have a close relationship, or a compassionate teacher whose interest in her students seems sincere and genuine. But talk to someone. Some things are just bigger than us, and we can’t fix them on our own.

  Depression does respond to treatment, though; it won’t always feel like this. It will get better, and as it does you’ll learn ways to keep it at bay. You’ll figure out what triggers a bad episode—maybe sleep deprivation, alcohol, or a lack of structure sets you off—and teach yourself to avoid those triggers. You’ll build a solid support system and learn how to make self-care a priority and your days will not always be ruled by the presence of this black cloud. And the next time you fall in love, depression won’t feel like the third person in the relationship. I have been on both sides of it: I’ve watched helplessly as someone I cared about withdrew further and further into his own unhappiness, rejecting treatment and pushing me away, and I’ve been the person crying hysterically in the middle of the night unable to articulate why. Neither relationship lasted.

  Falling in love can be easy. When the person you are in love with reveals that they love you back, it’s the closest thing to a genuine miracle some of us will ever experience. And when that feeling is taken away, and you have to get by without it, it just seems like an impossible task. It’s like going from a world filled with color to one cast solely in black and white. You can’t imagine a time when you won’t feel this way; you’re convinced you will feel this way forever, unless he comes back to you.

  Losing your boyfriend is hard enough; losing your best friend is devastating. Especially when you and your best friend had one of those impassioned, all-consuming friendships that was basically one sloppy kiss away from being a relationship anyway. There’s something about those super-intense friendships that blur the line between being best friends and being a couple, with all that sexual tension simmering just below the surface and the greedy, giddy sense of ownership because this person is mine mine mine—these “friendships” are like rabbit holes you tumble down and get lost in for ages, and you wander around in the dark with no idea how to climb back out. They have so much appeal because they offer a lot of the benefits of a committed romantic relationship without taking scary risks like, say, telling another person how you feel about them. You get to be part of a twosome, to have the inside jokes and the secret language, to know exactly who to call when you’re having a bad day. You have a person who is your person—and you get to be in love. And being in love can feel good, even when it feels bad. Even when you’re not sure it’s reciprocated. A best-friendship can be almost indistinguishable from a romantic relationship; sometimes it seems like the only real difference is the lack of physical intimacy. Of course, throw in some “platonic” cuddling and even that line gets blurred; it’s not that you and your bestie aren’t hooking up, it’s that you aren’t hooking up yet. The pain of not having this person completely is mitigated by the anticipation that one day you might because everything is pointing in that direction, and all you need to do is be patient and let the relationship evolve naturally. Right? Right. Further and further down the rabbit hole we go.

  These friendships are not always quite the bargain they seem. This person gets your time, your attention, your emotional support—not to mention the cuddles—without having to sack up and declare themselves or let you off the hook by telling you they’re not interested in you that way. They get to monopolize your heart without making any kind of commitment. This falls firmly in the territory of leading you on, whether they realize they’re doing it or not. Some boys may be genuinely oblivious to how their actions affect you, but others just don’t give a shit. I didn’t want to believe that my best friend could be so callous about my feelings, so I made up a million excuses for him. He was confused, he wasn’t ready, he was afraid of ruining our friendship, he was intimidated by how intense our relationship would be if he could just let go and let himself love me. For two years I pretended to be satisfied with our “friendship” while simultaneously waiting for him to come around and accept as the truth what I had known all along—that we belonged together. I missed out on other romances that might have actually been healthy, with people who knew what they wanted—me—because I was too preoccupied with picking myself apart, trying to identify which flaw of mine was holding him back.

  So the next time you find yourself teetering on the edge of that rabbit hole, ask yourself whether you’re willing to surrender your emotional sanity to a boy who either (a) has no idea what he wants, but is perfectly happy to keep you on the hook indefinitely while he figures it out; (b) does know that he doesn’t want you, but is perfectly happy to bask in your adoration and cop a few feels during cuddle time while he waits for somebody better to come along; or (c) does want to be with you but lacks the ability to communicate basic emotions like a normal person. I know it’s easy to talk a big game about holding out for someone who truly deserves you, but love makes beggars of us all. We eagerly await the tiniest scraps of affection and, when they are finally tossed our way, convince ourselves these crumbs are a feast we can live off until the next time our beloved remembers we exist. But actually, we’re starving.

  Of course, in your case the boy finally did come around and ask you out, and you did get to experience that euphoric, miraculous time when you realize the person you love loves you back, that he’s yours. But it sounds like even in the midst of this relationship, your depression never really went away. You wrote, “He never lost patience when I was up all night asking him why he was with me, because all I wanted to do was di
e. He slowly started to raise my self-confidence and I began to actually like the way I looked. I began to lose the suicidal thoughts, and he was with me through it all.” And then when he wasn’t around as much, “my depression hit hard and I felt suicidal again.” That euphoria we feel when we’re falling in love can temporarily override the blank numbness of depression, briefly waking us up and bringing us back to life, but it’s not a real solution. You say this boy needed help as well, that he wouldn’t let you “save him.” What’s more likely is that he knows, whether it’s on a conscious or unconscious level, that you can’t save him because it’s impossible for anyone to save another person, no matter how much you love them. You can be supportive, you can be a source of strength, and you can comfort them when they are in pain. You can encourage them to seek help and listen as they process, but you can’t save another person. Sometimes we want to believe that we can—that we’re the only one who can—because it gives us a feeling of ownership, a special connection to the person we love. No one knows them like you do; no one loves them like you do, so no one can help them like you can. It’s a heady feeling, but also a misguided one. You can’t count on a boy to make you feel beautiful or make your suicidal thoughts go away. You need to learn how to cope, how to live with and love yourself during those times when you are not paired up with someone, either by being entangled in a messy friendship with fuzzy boundaries or in a proper “couple.” The more you confront and deal with and treat your depression, the healthier and more successful your romantic relationships will be.

  At the end of your letter you wrote, “And I don’t know how to feel about it.” Of course you do. You feel awful. You feel empty. You’re grieving a loss. But you can’t do nothing but feel your feelings all day long; that way madness lies. So, do other stuff, too. You may not want to get out of bed, much less leave the house; force yourself. Get your friends to come over, pull back the covers, and turn the light on. Or you can hole up in your bedroom writing maudlin poetry and listening to all the sad songs you know until you realize none of them accurately describe the way you feel and you’re compelled to start writing your own songs. You can fill a sketchbook with a hundred drawings that all fail to authentically portray precisely how shitty you feel. Getting the shit kicked out of your heart once in a while is the price of admission for this whole human experience, and if you were to go through your whole life without ever feeling this kind of pain, you would be missing out on a huge piece of what makes you a person. The day will come when it is your turn to break somebody’s heart, and having been on this end will remind you to do it compassionately and with empathy.