It was this feeling of immense frustration and sadness, collectively boiling up inside me – I couldn’t think, I did not want to keep dancing and I definitely did not want another drink.
Yet, there I stood – or danced – with my friends, amidst the hoopla of Pride last weekend, being offered small snacks while we screaming in excitement when a favourite song would start to play. And that’s when it just hit me: I needed to get out of there. I needed to get home, get in bed, and watch a movie and cry.
I told one of the girls exactly that, and she looked at me, nodded and said “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for months” and I knew she was right. I have been “feeling fine” since March and like nothing could hold me back or stop me and slowly, I have felt the crumble.
I left the bar, and started my trek for the TTC but opted to walk instead, taking a shortcut just north of Yonge and Dundas. I ran into a stranger, whom I exchanged pleasantries with and when he asked me to sit down and have a chat – I said yes. Why not?
Turns out, he’d been going through a break up as well and as our conversation turned from heart break to life in general I was reminded (again) that everyone goes through heart break, in many different forms – and I’d been denying my heart the process of healing.
They say that there are seven stages of grief when you lose someone (whether in death or a break up) and I began to realize that I have been in denial and anger for quite some time, that even though I was the one who initiated the break up, I still need to heal as well.
It’s funny that I was pushed into the heartbreak stage upon finding out that my ex has moved on with another girl, or maybe it’s not so funny, just natural. And just the realization that I’m going to have to deal with this no matter how much I thought I could get over it without thinking about it at all. After all, he did – I had forced him to.
I’ve pretty much spent my week crying, bawling – more like it, and dealing and trying to accept the vastness of the loss that I incurred a while ago – yet, to my heart, today, it feels like last week. Realizing the power of denial, and the effects that it had on my life – it’s just my turn to deal.
Today, I got a call from this stranger (we had exchanged numbers) who told me he had this urge to call and thank me. That he was sitting there Sunday night, content, but lonely, wishing he had someone to talk to – and I came along. He said my vivacious nature about the kick in my step (despite the upset bubbling inside me) and happiness gave him a slight reminder that there are people in this world connecting with others every single day, every single minute and that it is people like me that create differences in people’s worlds.
He wanted to tell me that I had made a difference in his world that night, and it continued throughout the week. From a thirty-minute conversation, I’d been able to create a space of hope in his life. He said that if he were family, or a real friend, he’d be so proud to know that’s what I’m projecting in this world and he wanted me to know that.
I stood looking outside my window at my office and listened to this man, this stranger, telling me what he thought of me, in a bit of shock at his courage to do that – because it’s a scary thing to do.
As we got off the phone, I changed my playlist on Songza from Rainy Day Indie to something a bit more upbeat and made the choice to realize that I made this difference in someone’s life, and I know I made a difference in my ex’s too.
More importantly, he made a difference in mine.
He made this exponentially large difference in my life of a realization that sometimes love just isn’t enough, and I did love him, I’ve loved him my whole dating life (I started my first blog because of him!). And it was because of that love, that we needed to part before it turned to something awful like hate or resentment.
If that’s not a rare gift, and a grand realization, I don’t know what is.