When the time comes

I have to admit that this has been one of the hardest things to write about. This is not because it is so personal (even though it is), but because this feeling will come again in the future and I honestly dread that moment. What feeling?

The feeling you get when someone leaves your life.

It could be a friend or a family member or a significant other; it doesn't really matter. When someone leaves your life, when they go from being there every day to not being there at all, it changes you. It makes everything a little different. For some, the world is a brighter place after a person leaves, but for others, for most, the world isn't so bright. Or at least not for a while.

If you are reading this post to get a play by play of what happened at the end of my relationship, or even some clues of who I am writing about, I would like to not so politely ask you to leave my blog. This is not a Taylor Swift song (no offense to T Swizzle). I am not here to reveal the names of the people who have left my life or talk about their flaws or even about what was said. I feel like that kind of stuff is A. personal and should stay between that person and I B. Exceptionally trashy/petty to reveal to the world C. in the past, meaning what was done was done and what was said was said. I am here to talk about how to take these feelings when the time comes, and how to deal with them.

(Disclaimer: I am only seventeen years old. I don't know the ins and the outs of this world. I don't know  everything there is to know about heartbreak or breakups or people leaving. I've only gone through what I have gone through. This is simply my story.)

When someone leaves you, you feel like you are floating. It's almost as if that person who left had kept you tethered to the ground, and when they leave, you are suddenly floating. That’s how I felt at first. It felt like I was floating down the hallways of my high school, trying to take one step at a time. Everything sort of feels like a blur also, as if suddenly that test that I had studied for the night before was unimportant, and only a sheet of paper with a bunch of letters on it. I felt like how I felt whenever I went on a long and painful run with my earphones at full blast; I couldn't hear anything around me but I was so aware of the fact that I was moving, breathing, and hurting. Losing someone, I imagine, is also similar to losing an arm or a leg; I can imagine them there, even feel them there, but they aren't. And no matter what I do to substitute their existence, nothing can fill the space they occupied.

The moment a person leaves, I don't think we really recognize that they have left. Or at least I didn't. The night that I was brutally untethered from the ground,  I was sitting on my bed, my back pressed against my bedroom wall, my brain reeling at what had just happened. I was in a state of shock, disbelief, and oddly enough, relief.  Instead of processing what had happened, I called Blaine. When she answered, I  had felt fine. But the second I tried to open my mouth, a sob had choked its way into my throat and I had realized the weight of what had happened. I had lost someone and I didn't know if they were ever coming back.

I feel like we find some comfort in placing the blame on the other person for why things went wrong. We like to blame people's flaws or insecurities or their inability to accept our flaws and our insecurities. So many people put an emphasis on who broke up with who, who cried more, who yelled louder, and who was the first one to walk out the door. We care about these things as if the one who broke up with the person, or the one who cried less, or the one who didn't yell as loud, or the one who bolted as soon as they got a chance was the true winner of the situation. I don't think that's true at all. I think both people lose something when the separation occurs. Sometimes people lose a person who truly loves them. Sometimes people lose faith in love. I would even dare to say that no one truly feels like a winner after these separations. Even when the separation was for the better, there is always this sense of emptiness.

My first wave of emptiness hit me when I was leaving starbucks after seeing Lilli. As I walked into my house and flopped on my bed, I stared up at that ceiling and realized, that no matter how badly I wanted to call that person, I couldn't. It's an odd feeling. I could have called anyone, could have asked anyone to hang out, but it wouldn't have mattered to me. I wanted only one person and when I couldn't have them, the cold feeling of empty washed over me. There was a sense that I just wasn't the same, and I probably never would be.

The hardest part about losing someone, toxic or not, is the sense of Before and After. It's hard going through pictures of you Before and wondering if life will ever go back to normal. It's hard wondering "How couldn't I have known that this was coming?" Or worse,  "I knew this was coming. Why did I ignore it?" Then there is the difficulty of the After. This is when that feeling that something is different is so strong and harsh. The After is heartbreaking. It's listening to songs differently, avoiding places that remind you of them, and doing everything in your power to not feel anything at all, even when it seems like you feel everything all at once. It's looking the exact same on the outside but feeling completely different inside. The After sucks because you are different, whether it's for the better or not.

We try really hard not to feel the After. Whether it's through drinking, smoking, immersing ourselves in new people, or, in my case, working until I'm too tired to think at all, it doesn't really fix that sadness that comes with the After. It's a hard realization to come to when you realize that drinking, smoking, and working doesn't bring that person back or make you the person that you were Before. But sometimes, it's better this way. Sometimes these lessons are necessary for your growth and for your wellbeing. Sometimes, as painful as the After is, it is a necessary step to you becoming a better version of you.

The first couple of days after the separation, I begged my friends not to coddle me or pity me. My mother had always taught me to acknowledge the sadness and feel it in its completeness before picking yourself up and moving on for better. So I did. I spent a pathetically long amount of time listening to sad music, crying in bathrooms, and eating tubs of ice cream. I felt the sadness in its completeness, because burying it wasn't going to make it go away. After a day or two of this, I did another thing that always helps when hard times come; I reached out to my friends.

There was Erin, kind and gentle Erin, who was there in a heartbeat with cheerful stories and sweet advice. There was Olivia, my fiery and passionate friend who is always willing to perform ASMR over the phone or just go on long tangents about Mamma Mia and the importance of ABBA. There was Abby and her corny jokes, odd sense of humor, and her love for sushi and Zumba. There was Ellie, adorable and sassy with her hugs and words of encouragement. Of course I had Blaine and Lilli, who were more than willing to roast the person for me and threaten anyone who made me feel stupid about being sad. There was Grace with her lewd humor and funny side conversations in English. And finally there was Lily, with her patience and kindness whenever I called her in the middle of the night in a panic or in tears. I greatly adore Lily, because she stayed on the phone with me that first horrible night, and talked with me until we both collapsed in exhaustion.

The next thing I did to feel better was write. I wrote and wrote and wrote until my fingers ached or until I had gotten all of the words out of me. When writing was over, I listened to music. And when the music wasn't enough, I ran. I learned from Legally Blonde (10/10 would recommend) that exercise releases Endorphins and happy people don't lay around all day and wallow in self pity. So I put on my sneakers and I ran so hard my lungs burned. I ran until my legs nearly gave out, until sweat had blinded me, until all I could think about was my heart beating in my chest and my lungs heaving. And finally, I prayed. I prayed for the strength to forgive myself and the other person. I prayed for the ability to push through. I thanked God for the lesson and prayed that I learned all that I needed to know from it. I thanked and I thanked and I thanked God for the friends he had given me.

I'm still coping. I'm still going through it, and I probably will for a while. I will keep you updated on my After and I hope that you guys will find comfort in yours. Thank you so much for reading something that was so exceptionally difficult for me to write. Thank you.

With love,

Nia