The last heartbreak – 338

I now realize that in the process of defending my mother I may have slandered my brother. He did go through a wild period, but that’s behind him. Now he is just kind of gruff and overly influenced by talk radio.

It is time for my final traumatic even. I liked a boy once and he did not like me back. It made me very sad. Wow. That was easier than I expected.

Yeah, I can be a bit gorier than that. I have mentioned before that usually I just fall in love at first sight, and when I have to talk myself into it, it does not go well. With this guy, whom we shall call Bill, it was neither. I knew he existed, but he really was not on my radar at all until I went to talk to someone next to him, so sat down by him. It occurred to me that I was about to be really rude, so I chatted with him for a bit, and this led to me later inviting him to an opera.

In my previous dating history, things usually got awkward at some point either during the date or after the date, but everything was fine. There was nothing earth shattering, but there was also nothing bad. Later on we were out with a group of people and he mentioned that we had gone out. That was probably the turning point for me, because him mentioning it meant that he was not ashamed to have gone out with me. Remember, I had this core belief that no one could ever like me. I started to have hope that maybe he could like me, and I could be with someone, and it was exhilarating.

I did take leave of my senses. We both had the same monthly meeting and I remember gazing at him and thinking, “He’s so cute.” And then I would tell myself, “No, he’s not. He’s a skinny balding accountant.” But I kept gazing, and he had become cute to me.

Alas, I was not cute to him. Well, I don’t think that’s fair actually. I don’t think cuteness had anything to do with it, but he did not reciprocate, and I took too long to see it because once hopes had gotten up it was too hard to let go, and this is where we get to the heart of the problem. My liking of him was not really him so much, though he was a great person, but it was really about feeling like I had a chance at all. Not being desperate and with a twisted self-esteem, he had no need to fall for me.

I guess my liking of him was symbolic and his rejection was horribly symbolic. I was still at the not trying to think about things too much stage, but what it felt like it meant was that I had been right all along. It was a joke to think that anyone could ever love me, and the pain of knowing I was right was unbearable. I was so angry with myself for ever believing otherwise, even momentarily, because it had robbed me of all of my ability to cope.

I had gotten used to periodically have a few days of anger and depression, but this lasted at least six months. I am not sure of the exact length of time. I know it was long enough for him to date one other girl, then break up with her, then date someone else and get engaged and married. It was long enough to do a comedy routine about it, and get his compliments on how funny it was. (I am usually better adjusted than I was then, but it is not unusual for stand-up comics to be basket cases.) It was a long time.

I have never been less functional. I still went to work, but I would be sitting at my desk with tears running down my face, and wondering if an allergies excuse would work if anyone caught me. I was fighting with my family a lot too, because they had no idea what to do with me. The thing I had feared most, and tried to hold at bay for as long as I could remember, had come true. That could almost have been a relief for some fears, but this one meant that the rest of my life was going to be like this, barren of love, and hope, and I did not feel like I had the courage for a future that bleak.

Obviously, in a situation like that, death has a certain appeal. I never really considered suicide, because that is wrong (simplistic reasoning, but it works for me), and also I am too responsible. It’s a rotten thing to do to the people around you. I was just sort of hoping that maybe if I worked really hard for a year, and got things squared away financially so that no one really needed me anymore, then maybe I could just sort of die somehow—like maybe I could get hit by a car or something.

The funny thing was that a year or so earlier I had been thinking that my life was meaningful, and that even if I died without getting married or having children, it would have been a good life based on the things I had already done. I had believed that once, but I couldn’t feel it anymore. I couldn’t seem to feel anything that didn’t hurt. People tried to help me, but they couldn’t reach me. I even lied to the therapist. She was trying to get me to see that I could be loved, and I said I saw it, but I really didn’t. I just said it because I knew she would keep at it unless I conceded her point. Really, nothing worked.

And then, I realized that nothing worked. I was walking down Cornell, going from the gym to Safeway, and I realized that I was not getting over this on my own. If I was capable of healing from this on my own, I would have done it already, and it occurred to me that maybe I needed to pray for help.

I did it that night, and just poured my whole heart out about everything, and begged. I did not feel anything then, but the next day I realized that I didn’t hurt anymore. I had in fact been healed.

It was the first time that I had really knowingly drawn on the Atonement. As an independent, capable, take-charge kind of person, I don’t ask for help a lot, and I don’t really repent that much. There were times when I had come kind of close, but there was never such an obvious and instant healing, and I will be forever grateful for it.

It’s not that everything has been a cakewalk since then. For one thing, just because you finally learn that a false belief is false, you don’t necessarily know what is true. I could get that it had not been impossible for anyone to love me my entire life, but I still had doubts about how likely it was that someone was going to love me now. I hadn’t exactly been beating boys off with a stick, and waiting to get your head on straight until you are in your early thirties (now mid-thirties) doesn’t exactly improve your prospects. Even if you have gotten a completely accurate worldview, there are still all these bad habits accumulated from when you weren’t seeing clearly. It’s tricky, is the point I am trying to make. I am still learning as I go.

I had thought I had defined myself by my intelligence (and my weight), and others have defined me by my kindness, but I had not realized until going through this how crucial my cheerful nature was. I had always been pretty sunny, and when that was gone I did not even recognize myself. Having lost that for a while, it is more mine now. Yes, I was resilient before, but I would lose it every six months or so, and there was this dark story underneath it all that I didn’t want to see. Now that is gone, my happiness is more real. I had heard it said that you can’t love others until you love yourself, and I did not believe it because I did love others without really loving myself. Now I love others much better—there’s less to get in the way. I do still feel my mood slipping when I am not taking care of myself in terms of sleep or nutrition, or when I am not being true to my dreams, but that is part of loving myself too.

I have no idea whether I will get married or not. I like to think it will happen, but it may not, and if it doesn’t my life will still be plenty meaningful, and it will not be a statement on my worth as an individual. Perhaps it will merely prove that boys are dumb. No, I don’t think bitterness and male bashing are the keys to happy single-hood. I have worried about the time I have wasted, but I have gotten other answers that make me feel okay about where I am and where I will end up, and so what happens in the middle should be okay as well.