Breakup Breakdown

The human experience is an imbalance of ups and downs. Some of those ups and downs connect you and I through relatable emotions like grief over the loss of a loved one or laughing at an inside joke with your best friend. Growing up as a black girl in the South, this relatability often kept me going through nights of feeling like the world was on top of me. Tears strained against my eyes, wanting to be released and felt in their entirety. Instead, I sucked them up and covered the blackhole in my chest with cement. I wasn't the only one going through ups and downs. I didn't have the right to sit around and cry. Let alone the nerve to be depressed and anxious. I had to focus on school, so that I could actually have a chance at success. I had people that looked up to me as an inspiration on how to live their lives. I had to be strong. So, I put on a smile and put away my heart and soul—only letting the mask show.

    Throughout my teenage years and the beginning of my young adult years, I did what I thought made me strong. I hid how I truly felt and didn't let anything stop me from going after my goals. So, imagine my disappointment when something as human nature as a breakup shattered my mask of perceived strength. Let my mom tell it, I had a complete breakdown. Though, I beg to differ. That breakup, though not my first, was my first experience of complete and utter grief. And the grief simultaneously infuriated me and terrified me.

    He wasn't perfect. In fact, maybe that's why I fell for him. I'm not much of a relationship person. I'm afraid of commitment. Not in a I want to do whatever I want way, but in a I don't want to be vulnerable way. I can't let people in. What if they break my heart or ghost me for no reason? The hopeless romantic in me died in high school after being left on read one too many times. So, when I found this guy who was actually willing to stick around and listen to all my random, deep, sometimes conspiratorial (Do people really still believe aliens don't exist?) thoughts, I thought I found my soulmate. We could read each other's minds, and we had such similar pasts and paths that we wanted to take in life. It took months and a lot of convincing on his part, but eventually I opened myself up to him. I let him see the side of me that was behind the mask. Turns out, the cement covering the blackhole in my chest was actually glass, and he shattered it.

    The breakup came as a complete shock. I woke up from a night of toss and turning, hoping a text from my boyfriend would make me feel better. Instead, I woke up to a text full of excuses about why he was breaking up with me. To make matters worse, he was already in another relationship and had decided to move in with the other person. Everything I thought I knew crashed and burned. I used to think grief was only reserved for death. But I quickly learned that you could grieve someone or something that wasn't dead. And somehow that hurt more.

    The first night after, I was okay. I was surrounded by family and my best friend. I went to a movie and a basketball game. I was sad, but I knew that one day it wouldn't matter. Then, Monday came. Monday meant no one would be home but me. I had recently resigned from a toxic job, and Monday's usually meant I could finally have peace in my rambunctious home. But that day, the silence was screeching. I was used to anxiety from being around too many people. Yet, nothing compared to the complete hopelessness and panic I felt from being alone. For days, I didn't eat. I didn't sleep, and when I would find ways to sleep, I would dream of him. Those dreams made feel so voiceless and worthless that they were more like nightmares. I had never been angrier. How could he do that to me? I had done everything right. I made sure not to be clingy or annoying, so he wouldn't ghost me. I reciprocated his emotions. I forced myself to try new things he liked. I did everything right only to be wronged. Funnily enough, there was no one I was angrier with than myself. My biggest fear had come true. It was deeper than a petty high school break up. My soul was traumatized.

    For years, I thought keeping my emotions to myself was being strong. But the strongest thing I ever did was tell someone how I felt. Opening up and asking for help is one of the bravest things I've ever done. At first, I started off small by telling my mom. She would hold my hand at night until I managed to fall asleep and would come back to my room an hour later when I awoke again. Next, I opened up to my best friend, who made me laugh and listened as much as I needed. Then, my mom convinced me to talk with my doctor. I felt silly at first. Why would a doctor take me seriously when I was depressed over a breakup? But I was wrong. Going through such devastating emotions, no matter their cause, is tough to do alone. No, support didn't erase how I felt, and support doesn't stop me from feeling that way at times still, but it gives me an outlet to channel my emotions healthily. When something reminds of me those bad feelings, I'm grateful I can count on others to remind me of how far I've come and the good that's yet to come.