Living With A Broken Heart (Unrelated To Love)
When I was 14, I suffered my first broken heart. At least at the time, I thought I did. I learned what it felt like to invest time and energy into another person, to have your heart beat twice as fast for someone other than yourself. I was young, naïve, and clueless. I experienced my first breakup and felt like my world was ending. Typical dramatic high schooler, yeah? Little did I know that this feeling would never compare to the pains I would encounter a month later, and continue experiencing for the rest of my life.
I thought I had a tainted heart at 14, but nine years later, I am typing this as a 23-year-old and realizing I have never been so broken. The worst part is that the pain is unrelated to love, in a boyfriend-girlfriend sense. My broken heart comes from years of watching your role models detest each other, grow apart, and find someone new who replaces the need for a child. Having an ex-boyfriend replace you with a new woman could never compare to the feeling of having your parents, even your sister, move forward and leave you in the dust.
I know family is forever, and that is the one thought in my head that keeps me pushing forward and standing strong as the family rock. I can’t do it forever, though. No one can carry that burden, in addition to carrying themselves, and still function normally. It’s unfair, it’s scarring, and it’s quite torturous to be in that position.
My broken heart stems from my fear of change. For someone who thrives off the old and despises the new, my life changes in monumental ways on a daily basis. Funny how life works, eh? I get used to the current and nestle myself there, only to find I get picked up, tossed around, and thrown in a new scenario. I panic. I feel bits and pieces of myself left behind and scattered in places I never even knew existed. It will take a lifetime for me to recover these pieces, and knowing I will lose more in the process makes for a dreaded future.
My broken heart comes from the lack of support I feel from those around me, who choose to shut others down and not allow them to soar, let alone even take off from the ground. The hardest part is knowing your self-worth, yet being forced on a roller coaster of confidence that is unreliable, painful and scary. Having those close to you see your imperfections and hurl them into your face makes you question your strengths, and instead lengthen your list of weaknesses.
If it isn’t clear by now, my broken heart is the end product of a broken family. Only those who have experienced something like this will understand the true challenge of living a functional life and keeping yourself composed. On the bright side, being the rock of the family and having to keep sane at all times allows you to become a professional at hiding your emotions.
My mother once told me, “You put up a wall, but it’s only three-quarters high.” She’s never stated anything more accurate.
I have hope that one day, I will allow someone to crawl over that three-quarter wall and enter all the hurt, confusion, emptiness and anger that is my life. I have hope that I will one day have a functional heart that will beat out more love than it does pain. I have hope that I will one day have the courage to think positively and realize how lucky I am to have what I have. It could be far worse, I know that. I could have nothing. Honestly, having a family-based broken heart makes you feel like you have just that – nothing. No emotions, no one to turn to, nothing that makes you feel like yourself. I have hope that eventually, my broken pieces will find their way back together, solely on their own. Their confidence will shine so brightly, it’d be impossible not to find them.
However, I don’t have hope that my family will ever repair itself. It’s foolish and naïve to think that things will ever be the same, when they only seem to worsen on the daily. I don’t have hope that I will ever be #1 in my mother’s, father’s, or sister’s eyes. And that’s okay. Nine years of wanting that first place slot have only made me realize it is unattainable, and from this point on, every step forward will be towards acceptance. Others may think my living with a broken heart is overdramatic, unappreciative, and/or downright depressing.
It’s not. To me, it’s simply normal.
Three-quarters of my broken-hearted wall are full of doubt, but I have the utmost faith in that one single quarter.