“If you are going through hell, keep going.”
– Winston Churchill
What makes me most anxious about this whole experience, is how just when you think you’re feeling better, something jogs your memory and it suddenly feels like you are being repeatedly kicked in the stomach.
I woke up today feeling suspiciously less morose. Is this new-found sense of shaky normality I’m feeling this morning just a bit of a high, before I plummet down and splatter back down onto the ground? Hm.
Over the past few days I have had many, many lows. But I have also realized there have been short moments where I forget I’m in pain, such as this morning, and I cling onto those as long as I can. So, dear readers, here are my current highs and lows of my ride through hell:
High: My mother pointing out that Mr. B actually has a receding hairline at the ripe old age of 26. I realized that *gasp* I had noticed this as I tenderly ran my fingers through his hair for the last time. Now, before all the gents with thinning hairlines take offense to this, I really would not have cared. I would have loved a balding Mr. B with all I had. But because Mr. B turned out to be a major douchebag, I wish the wrath of premature baldness upon his head. (And perhaps another “premature” ailment that affects the male population while I’m cursing him…)
Low: Finding myself standing in the Self-Help section of Chapters Indigo, clutching an armful of Chicken Soup for the Soul books when approached by an alarmingly chipper employee asking me if I need any assistance, to which I snarl at her, burst out into tears, and run out of the store.
Does anyone remember a particularly embarrassing low during a bad breakup? Share your pain; make me smile, dammit!
Current Status: slightly holding it together / still watching Friends reruns / no appetite