So this is it.
So this is what a heartbreak actually feels like. Heartburn, heartache, I can call it whatever I want. It does not change the fact that my heart has been irrevocably shattered into bits. Little bits. Tiny pieces. Right now, there is no glue. It is that perpetual feeling on a searing pain inside you, when you cannot stop crying, when the tears do not stop however much you would like them to. They run, they pour. Then they run some more until your head starts throbbing in a dull manner. Then you cry some more and the headache becomes more intense. It starts from the centre of my forehead, just in between my eyebrows and then spreads out its tentacles, slowly and surely, to the sides until my entire head starts sending out shooting jets of pain. I lie in bed, willing myself to sleep, but end up weeping everyday. The pain is unbearable. The misery is unending. It has been more than a year now.
I try to sleep. I drink a lot. I wake up with a bad hangover when it is time to go to work. I walk around with a dead step and red, ferret-like eyes. Close friends say they miss my smile and humour, the fun and gaiety. When I smile, they say I am faking it. When I hang out with them, I end up more depressed. I miss the companionship. I miss those special moments we created, the love we made. I miss listening to Coldplay and Chasing Cars. The minute I hear them on television or radio or my phone, I change the channel. If someone plays their songs at work (loudly), I leave the room until the song has ended. I cannot take the reality that it has ended. I will never watch American Pie again, it reminds me of him too much. I cannot go through that pain and misery again. I end up with tears in my cup of tea, which make it salty; tears on my notepad, which rub away the ink; tears around my eyes that smudge the kajal and make me look like a giant panda.
I am depressed. I am morose. I hate being this way. I hate being glum. But thoughts keep rushing back and at times, one little thing, one innocuous object will set of a chain of memories that make me descend into a mental coma. And then I hope I never surface out of it. Inevitably, I do. And then lapse into limbo again, walking wounded, stumbling with a broken heart and soul, staring into my own world that suddenly appears blank and bland.
I try to sleep. I drink a lot. I wake up with a bad hangover when it is time to go to work. I walk around with a dead step and red, ferret-like eyes. Close friends say they miss my smile and humour, the fun and gaiety. When I smile, they say I am faking it. When I hang out with them, I end up more depressed. I miss the companionship. I miss those special moments we created, the love we made. I miss listening to Coldplay and Chasing Cars. The minute I hear them on television or radio or my phone, I change the channel. If someone plays their songs at work (loudly), I leave the room until the song has ended. I cannot take the reality that it has ended. I will never watch American Pie again, it reminds me of him too much. I cannot go through that pain and misery again. I end up with tears in my cup of tea, which make it salty; tears on my notepad, which rub away the ink; tears around my eyes that smudge the kajal and make me look like a giant panda.
I am depressed. I am morose. I hate being this way. I hate being glum. But thoughts keep rushing back and at times, one little thing, one innocuous object will set of a chain of memories that make me descend into a mental coma. And then I hope I never surface out of it. Inevitably, I do. And then lapse into limbo again, walking wounded, stumbling with a broken heart and soul, staring into my own world that suddenly appears blank and bland.
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