Lover Gxrl Summer, Interrupted

On heartbreak, futility, and ruinous natures.

As this blog has fast become an assemblage of personal and professional musings, I decided maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to write about a breakup. Or, rather, my reflections on the breakup, rather than the breakup itself. That will be coming in my debut album, Lover Gxrl Summer, Interrupted.

When my last serious relationship ended I resolved to be more careful about any future ones, especially when it came to sharing on social media. So, when I started dating again, I adopted an approach of “converse about it, don’t post about it.” For a while it felt so good. I had reclaimed control over my previously-eroded vulnerability. Then, when I met someone, I felt free to pursue it on my own terms. Which was great, because it was going so, so well, even resulting in a very romantic, adventurous story that I will be happy to tell my future kids about one day. But for now, sitting here steeping in heartbreak, that day feels like another lifetime away.

You see, when it comes to love, it is in my nature to go down with the ship. Blame it on the combination of childhood experiences and an overly-romantic personality. I’ve always admired the kind of love story where people risk it all for each other. Against logic, against safety. That is what it means to be truly alive. Problem is, I use it to justify staying when everything was screaming to go. I cling to things and people clearly not meant for me — at least not forever — because I see it as a virtue. Now, I am starting to understand that there is no valor in this kind of self-sacrifice.

The hunger for survival is second only to my one true desire, which is to be fought for. I have gone my entire life daydreaming about someone chasing after me as I board a plane or slip into a taxi. Even recently, as it became clear this was the end of the road for me and this individual, I was telling my close friends “but if they show up at my window with a boombox begging for me to come back, I’ll fall for it.” Because I would.

Maybe that is why I ended it. Maybe that is why I finally became the person to say “enough,” and walk away, even though I carried a heart still full of love for this person. I knew if I remained I would be wronging myself. Once again I’d be committing to a pattern that’s burned me over and over again. Now I have clarity, and it is utterly brutal.

And after having burned everything and said my literal and spiritual goodbyes, I must confess there’s little hope in me. This part of my life I worked so hard to keep safe, to keep private, became the easiest thing to erase — and that only broke my heart more. The primary evidence of its once wonderful existence is only in me. Some days it holds me close, and others, it tears me apart from the inside out. I am reminded of Machado’s In The Dream House about what it means to be a haunted home within yourself, a body full of rooms and hallways where both great and terrible things linger. They are in the kitchen making their coffee and I am hiding in the bathroom waiting for them to disappear.

Then I realize: once they move on, they’re never coming back. No boombox, no doorstep plea, no zoom-out as the credits roll to an 80s love song. And along with them and all of their harmfulness, so, too, will the good things vanish. They will leave me to my loss, upended hopes, and another promise that one day it won’t hurt this bad.

Every time this happens I hope I will be better at it, that somehow I will have a stronger metabolism for devastation. Then, when I realize that isn’t how it works, I listen to heartbreak songs to remind myself it’s no weakness to love this strongly (thank you, Kehlani). But the fact is, this kind of strength isn’t one of the glorious ones. It’s deeply embarrassing from where I’m sitting now. It’s like when people get horrendously conned by a stranger on the internet, and their loved ones get interviewed about it on the news. They fall all over themselves condescending to this person’s trusting character: “She didn’t know any better! She just sees the best in people!” Yeah, well, eat glass.

There really isn’t an upside, and I apologize if you are expecting one. I wish I could offer some resolute ending which convinces you that I’m looking toward the future with enduring faith. But the reality is I am exhausted on a level I haven’t been in years. I feel used, betrayed, and jaded. Everything you’re not supposed to be. And yes, maybe I am doing things for cheap thrills to distract from the hurt. Yes, maybe I bought a pack of cigarettes for the first time in 6 years. Yes, maybe I spent way too much money on trying to remind myself I’m worth a damn. Does that fix anything? No. Not really. It just makes me hotter while I am lose my mind.

So, no, I can’t offer you solace, reader. Life sucks, love is humiliating, and we really never learn. Toss me the light.