The Raven Says Hello

An Open Letter to the Heartbroken

      Infatuation, adoration, and love are three independent and unique things, vaguely similar, yet each stands alone. I have experienced each emotion, some more than once, some simultaneously, and some so rapidly I wasn’t sure how to process my broken heart.  Infatuation is an intense and short lived passion; a spur of the moment kind of admiration, a crush. Adoration is devotion and veneration; it is more long term and does not necessarily parallel to love as much as it does respect. Love is an intense feeling of deep affection; it is much more long term, yet it is not necessarily related to romanticism.
     My first major experience with infatuation was years ago, when I was still in high school. I remember being the cliché good girl; perfect grades, never been in trouble, teacher’s pet kind of girl. My friend, who I had known since the age of six, was the exact opposite of me: barely passing (even though he was a modern day Einstein), arrested once our senior year, yet all the teachers still loved him. All the girls wanted him, all the guys wanted to be him, as stereotypical as that sounds. 

     About halfway through the year, my AP Trigonometry teacher fell ill and was replaced with another teacher, one I never got along with. His teaching style was a lot different than hers and I was never able to grasp what he was trying to teach. My troublesome friend, however, was failing our advanced English course. We agreed to partner up and help each other. I was over at his house (which just so happened to be right next door to mine) almost every single day, well into the night. We became a lot closer. He’d walk me down the long road that separated our houses and we’d sit by the pond for hours, talking about everything and then some. I wanted so badly to be the good girl with the bad boy. I was in love with the idea. He asked me one night how I felt for him and I began stuttering. My exact response, sans stuttering, was: “You can ask me that at any given moment and I’ll stammer and stutter and never fully make it through a sentence. If you give me the chance, I can fill notebook after notebook and still never even come close to describing my feelings toward you.” He smiled at me and told me to prove it. So every night, I’d stay up late, pouring my heart into these letters for him, giving him so much of me it now physically hurts to think about. I would hand them to him in our English class, he would read them, and when I would come over for our no-longer-needed tutoring session, we would discuss my letters. We set each of them on fire and watched them burn. 
     He and I were almost inseparable we were so close. We were close with each other’s family. He got into a relationship at one point during the year and she told him he had to choose: either her or me. They promptly broke up and she still resents me. He was able to be vulnerable around me and I was able to be carefree around him and that’s something no one seemed to understand. After our graduation, he left for the military and our relationship became a bit more strained. Whenever he would come home, however, it was like he never left. Bonfires, drinking games, spending the night. He was one of my best friends, but I no longer held any romantic affections for him. I felt a bit numb for a while, holding onto the hope that we might be perfect for each other, but it didn’t hurt because I was never truly in love with him and it was a simple infatuation.

     My first experience with adoration came after my first experience with love. My fianceé broke up with me while I was out with a few of my very close friends. I was sitting in my friend’s vehicle, outside of another friend’s house when it happened. I sat for a few moments before one of them asked “Do you need a hug?” I shook my head, but promptly found myself in the embrace of three rather large men. We left soon after, heading for one of our favorite lakefront places to get drunk. We were all playing truth or dare and beer pong, just silly drinking games because they were trying to cheer me up. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but my friend who I had known the longest leaned over and told me that our other friend, a really awkward, loud guy, was in love with me. I shook my head at the notion, but he persisted. “Maybe not now, maybe not even in five years, but I promise. You’ll see. And when you do, I’m going to say ‘I told you so.’” Later on, the awkward friend and I were joking around and I took his hat (he’s bald, I was drunk, it was going to happen) and we ended up with his arms wrapped around me, his face barely an inch from mine when I smiled and said “Bet you won’t.” And he did. He kissed drunk-me so hard I forgot why I had been drinking in the first place. Our other friends saw it, but they turned around and said nothing about it. For months, we’d hangout, makeout, and just spend so much time in each other’s company. He was there for me when I needed him, and not just as a rebound. Our friends suspected we were hooking up or dating (neither of which were true), but we never told them anything.  
     My friend knew what he was signing up for that night because he had known me for several years. I was, and still am, eternally grateful that he knew exactly how to comfort me and to be there for me when no one else did. A relationship never sprouted from that, but I still hold a deep respect and admiration for what we had. Our not-quite-relationship ended in a very angry, twisted way, and that’s why it hurt as much as it did when it finally did end. I strongly believe it would have ended much lighter than it did, but unnecessary dramas tore between us.

     Now, my first experience with love, true love, the kind you see in the movies, happened at the most unexpected time, in the most unexpected place, with the most unexpected person. I was held back at reception for my basic combat training for medical issues. I had finished processing and was patiently waiting to ship when I was placed in charge of a group that had just began processing. I noticed one girl in particular, with sandy blonde hair and the most beautiful eyes on anyone I had ever seen. I would ask questions to pass time, and she would challenge my opinion on everything. I remember that day so clearly and I remember thinking “I want her. I want her to love me.” I made every effort to get her attention, every time I passed her, I’d call out “loser” and she would smirk and respond “nerd”.
     We went through ten weeks of Hell together, passing notes and stealing kisses. If I could do it all again, I would in an instant. We somehow managed to fall in love in those few short weeks, and at the end of them, we had to part ways. She was heading north, to Virginia, and I was heading south, to Alabama. We videocalled almost every night and texted throughout every day. There was hardly ever a moment when she wasn’t occupying my thoughts. I finished my training in the early weeks of December and headed home to Louisiana, where I was stationed. After Christmas, she flew down to see me. We spent two weeks together at my dad’s house and it was two of the best weeks of my life. On New Year’s, we laid on the couch, talking about marriage and I casually slipped a ring onto her left hand. It was one of the only pieces of jewelry I wore. It wasn’t a proposal, as much as it was a promise. She left back for Virginia a few days later, after I swore to be at her graduation. 
     A month later, I found myself on a plane, on my way to Virginia, going to see the love of my life. I was only up there for a few short days, but we spent every possible moment together. I got to meet some of her friends, all of whom ranted about how much she raved about me. I proposed to her while I was there. 
     A few weeks later, she broke up with me. Out of the blue, with no warning whatsoever. That is when the awkward guy I adored comes into play. She was convinced (mostly by her mother) that I would be better off without her and I didn’t need to love her. I begged and pleaded for weeks. After a very emotional breakdown in the middle of a laundry room, she finally decided I was right and we should be together. A few days later, she flew down, but tensions were still high. She brought me a cat and he was our son. We were back to where we should be, truly, madly, deeply, in love.
     I could go on forever about the highs and lows of my whirlwind romance with the most amazing woman on the planet, but it isn’t necessary to the point. We were together for nine months when we called our relationship off for good. It hurt more than anything I have ever experienced. It hurt more than getting hit by a car and it hurt more than the death of a loved one. Because she was still alive, she just didn’t want me anymore. It hurt more when she got back with her extremely toxic ex, who I know she despises. She did it to get a rise out of me, she confessed, and she did get one. I was angry and humiliated and I was so distraught. 
     Now, I am in a new relationship with a man who is trying his hardest. He doesn’t know me, but he’s willing to learn and that’s all I care about. She shattered my heart, but he is helping me pick it up, piece by piece. My point in adding this is that heartbreak is inevitable and it hurts more than I could ever put in words, but healing is inevitable as well. You’ll find someone who will pick the broken pieces up with the most gentle hands. Hell, you may even find it in yourself to pick everything up and keep moving forward through life. You will move on, though. From one heartbroken person to the next, I promise it does get easier.