aw did i break ur stupid heart?

I used to enjoy the idea of breaking hearts. Of being stone cold, of being straight faced and vacant when it came to hurting a person who thought they~loved~ me. I thought that YES I want to be the one that got away, the one that looks at his face as his cries to me, telling me he loves me, begging me to choose him, and feeling absolutely nothing. This all came after my heart was ripped out of my chest, after it was torn into a million pieces and thrown into the ocean, where the guy I loved looked me in the eyes and told me he no longer loved me. There was this period of time after that heartbreak, after those burning tears, after the state of depression that overtook my existence where I felt genuine power. This power was accompanied with anger, sure, but it was a fearlessness I never knew existed. Where I felt like the only person I owed was myself. That any person stupid enough to fall in love, let alone, to fall in love with me, was an absolute moron. I mean how could you be so dense to think that I cared enough about you to love you back.  Cared enough to see those tears slipping down your cheeks, being wiped away by your shaky hands, and expect me to feel anything. Because to be quite frank with you, I didn't. And I didn’t feel bad about it either. I merely thought you were pathetic, thought that your heart that longed for me, that longed for a future where we held hands, swung them back and forth all while chasing the sun, was weak, was sad, was truly pitiful. I mean I wasn’t a psychopath, I didn’t enjoy seeing pain in someones eyes, I had feelings, but all they cared about, all they were, were feelings for me. I didn’t care if I was hurting you or your swept back brown hair, I only cared about myself. I guess I had a bad taste in my mouth, a taste full of anger, of regret, of his rum tinted lips on mine, that made me want nothing to do with love, nothing to do with romance, or anything that sparked feelings in my heart. I felt like this for awhile. Boys would come and go, they would tell me everything that at one point in my life I always wanted to hear. They would try to hold my hand, and hold my body close after they fucked me, or ~made love~ some would say, and all I wanted was for them to grab the white t shirt that laid on my floor, put their skinny jeans back on, and get the hell out of my room. It wasn’t them. I mean some of these people were kind, were gentle, were just the kind of guy that would probably be right for me. It was me. I was repulsed, nauseated, completely and utterly disgusted at the idea of love. I wanted nothing to do with it, and so for months and months that’s exactly what I did. I avoided love at all costs. I tricked myself into thinking it wasn’t real, that no matter what you did, or who you met, or how much you loved someone, it would always end. I mean growing up I always felt that. That even if two people might seem perfect for one another, that they beat all the odds, that they were living their happy fairytale love story up until the end, it still couldn’t be real. I mean everyone cheats, right? At least that’s what it seemed. The alarming number of people breaking up around me, getting divorced, my own fucking parents, I mean how could it be real? How could I actually find something or someone to last? I asked myself these questions, and came up with an educated answer, that it simply couldn’t. That anything I did, that any spark of real true love that would come to me, would eventually end, so at that point why even try? I mean of course this juvenile feeling from when my parents split up and my world was changed, didn’t stick. I did fall in love but it was all to be left on the side of the street waiting for his bus to arrive, and when it did, he didn’t get off, because he wasn’t there. Not a text, not a call, just never showed up. He was off cheating on me with some younger girl, her boobs were bigger I remember, she had freckles on her face, I always wished I had freckles. And her eyes were a piercing blue. It’s like he chose the one person who I always wished I looked like. While his lips were on hers, and the idea of me, of us, was nowhere to be found, there I sat, my hands rapidly  trying to wipe away all the tears that were streaming down my face so no one would see. And when I finally did, and my puffy eyes were all dried up, I promised myself I would never be that fucking weak again. 

I would watch movies about romance about love and laugh. I would laugh at the fact that the other people watching them truly thought that they were real. Truly thought that someday, whether it be tomorrow or years from now, eventually they would find their ~one true love~ and live happily ever after. What bullshit? I bet half of those people who found their ~person~ were cheated on, lied to, broken up with when someone new came around. Heartbreak was inevitable and it hurt, so why do it all over again, just to feel the horrible pain of someone not loving you, of someone not choosing you, an overwhelming feeling of sadness and hopelessness. 

So there I was parading around the city, telling these temporary boys what they wanted to hear, getting their hopes up, but secretly knowing I would leave them, I would hurt them, and I wouldn’t think twice about it. I felt like I knew more, like wow I had been through it, I had seen the worst, and I came out on the other side a stronger, smarter person, who was no longer a naive love sick puppy who would fall for the first person to make me feel something. It was awesome, I’m not gonna lie to you, it really was. To have the power, to not feel small, to not feel like I was nothing, to feel like I was the one to finally have control. I wasn’t going to feel pain again, at least not the pain that made my heart hurt and made me want to die on the bathroom floor, while the boy I loved was off gallivanting with another girl, never again would I let that happen. For the longest time I closed myself off. If a boy got too comfortable, if he got too involved or too romantic and cheesy and anything that made me want to run, that I did, I ran. I ran far far away. Every drunk text he sent to me, begging for me to respond, I looked at and deleted. I didn’t care. And I mean I’m sorry for that. If during my time of pain, my time of numbness I treated you poorly, I regret that, because no one deserves that. Not even the guy who hurt me. No one deserves to feel like they are nothing, like they aren’t worth it. And that’s what I did to these guys, I made them feel like nothing. I mean there’s no excuse. I can’t say wow my heart was broken so sucks to be you, nah, I was mean and I am sorry. There are a few boys I am thinking of when I write this, and I think if they ever read it they will know I am talking about them, and so if you are, I am truly sorry. I guess that doesn’t mean much, me giving an online apology to a group of people, not even naming you, but at this point I am too disappointed in myself, and how I treated these people to make any of them into actual individuals, actual humans, to write them genuine apologies, so instead I am going to be a coward and give them this little post instead. 

So as you can tell, I was an asshole. I wasn’t caring about any of these people, and they deserved to be cared about. I mean granted some of these guys who I used for sex, who I used to get off when I was bored of being alone, were totally fine with it (they were doing the same), but the ones who weren’t, the ones who smiled when I texted them, the ones who got excited to see me, those, I feel bad about. I let my heartbreak, I let the pain, I let the boy who broke me, dictate how I treated other people. Instead of taking that pain, taking that heartbreak, and not wanting anyone else to feel it, I was some selfish, inconsiderate monster who almost hoped they would feel it. Hoped they could only see how horrible it could get if they were stupid enough to fall in love. So then, and only then they would be as deterred from love as I was. But as you all know, from who I am now, from my posts, from this whole blog, I absolutely ~love~ love, I adore it. I smile at romance, I see people kissing on the street, holding hands while walking along the river, going on dates, and I literally get giddy. Every part of me is excited at the idea of love, at the idea of a soulmate, at the idea of spending my life with someone, waking up next to them every Sunday morning and eating M&M pancakes cuddled up on the couch. This took a while though, to get me to this point. To get me to even believe that love existed again, to believe that it was worth it. That being in love, finding that one person that makes you so very happy, that makes you smile just thinking about them was so worth it. Despite that it might not always work, despite the pain and the sadness, despite that heartbreak ~could~ (not would) happen, it was still worth it. I didn’t feel this until more recently, until I met him to be honest. I wish I could say it was all me, that I was strong enough to overcome the anger and fear, that I didn’t need to meet someone in order to stop being a cynic, but I won’t lie to you. I could’ve kept on going, on my rampage of hurting people and treating them as disposable, as a person who hated love for ever, but then I got a taste of it all again. He took my hand so gently, and kissed the top of it, and I had butterflies fucking swarming my stomach. That feeling of the initial crush, of the excitement of seeing them, of wanting to be with them all the time, of them holding your hand, or kissing your lips really can’t compare to anything. It was scary to let someone back in, to let my heart open up to someone new. But as I did, as I slowly let my guard down, let myself fall for someone again, it all came back. The memories of how amazing love is, and how happy it makes me feel. It also made me realize how much it hurts to be.. hurt. That when someone treats you like you are nothing, when someone acts like you are disposable, like you don’t have feelings, like they don’t care, well it really fucking hurts. And as I started to fall in love with this person that made me wish for longer days, I realized how I couldn’t let myself get to that  dark skeptical place again. That even if he walks out of my life, even if he breaks my heart in two and looks me in the eyes and tells me he doesn’t love me back, doesn’t mean I stop believing in love. It doesn’t give me an excuse to use people, to hurt them, to break their hearts and (almost) enjoy it, just because I was hurting. I don’t ever want to break someone’s heart, I don’t ever want to be the cause of their pain, and I never want to justify it with saying that “well my heart was broken so I don’t care”. It’s unfair, it’s cruel. Just because your heart hurts, just because someone fucked you up emotionally, doesn’t give you the right to do that to someone else. Love is scary, letting someone in, falling for them, seeing a future with them, it’s scary. But it’s so very worth it. I wonder if I never felt love, if none of us did, if love actually wasn’t real, would any of us truly be happy? I don’t think that we would. I think that if I had everything I ever wanted, a beautiful house, the perfect job, all the money in the world, I wouldn’t be completely happy. I think we need love, I really do, and I think it is vital to our happiness, I think it's the one true thing that connects us all as human beings, and even if my heart breaks again, which it probably will, I won’t stop believing that. I know that heartbreak is one of the worst feelings in the world, boy do I know it, but we can’t let that control how we treat people, and we really can’t let it stop us from wanting love, from falling in love and being in love. Everyone’s situations are different, their heartbreak, their pain,  but I really do hope that everyone who has had the chance of loving someone who has had the unfortunate pain of losing someone is still able to say that love is worth it. I know not everyone is as helplessly in love with love as I am, but I just hope that knowing what love is and what it feels like would mean they would choose the possibility of feeling heartbreak again than never being able to feel love again.