Dear Heartbreak

by Heather Demetrios

  The answer, almost always, is “Because I was scared.”

  I don’t want to live my life in fear. There is a certainty in Aloneness. No one can tell you what to do, what to watch, what to wear. You get to make all the choices. You never have to compromise. There is plenty of uncertainty in Alone, too. I would like someone to alert me when I have spinach in my teeth. I would like to be able to tell the joke that occurs to me when that particular Downy commercial comes on. I would like to tell my joke, and have someone there to laugh. Is it really so much to ask to not be all alone?

  I sit here, slightly shell-shocked, and I find myself wanting to call someone. Today, I find my courage by thinking of you, N. I wonder if you feel it from afar, a burst of a feeling that is softer than Alone. Probably not, right? I don’t have your number and so I can’t call you. I can only tell you, long after the fact, that thinking about you gave me more courage than usual.

  I called my friend Emily from the side of the road. I pushed down the knowledge that I was probably interrupting her dinner with her wife. I called anyway.

  Guess what? She answered.

  Guess what else? For those few minutes, I felt less Alone.

  * * *

  Okay, N. A few hours have passed and I’m safe and warm and fed and able to charge my laptop. (All the important things.) Having some distance from my moment of crisis helped me see that I was never as alone as I thought. I figured out who else to call, and kind friends came to the roadside to wait for the tow truck with me. They helped me ask the right questions and rescue my belongings. My friend Nicole, who lives a hundred miles away, offered to come get me, and I started to cry.

  When you have a bad day, a bad week, a bad moment, however long it lasts, it is easy to lose perspective. I don’t know if you’ve had a significant crisis in your life yet, but when you do, watch who shows up. Make note of who you most want to call and how they respond. We don’t form our closest friendships in a vacuum. We forge them in the fires of adversity, as we walk hand in hand through the valley of despair.

  For a long time, I believed I needed to be as perfect as possible in order to get people to like me. Good behavior had been drilled into me as a child, and I learned to equate such behavior with respect and affection. The version of myself that I performed in order to be seen as a responsible student, a good daughter, a polite young woman in the eyes of the adult world … that performative self only allowed a small part of me to be revealed. I believed that you had to behave a certain way to be good and to be liked, and this belief messed with my head. I hid the things about me that were weird, because I wanted to fit in. I tried so hard to be normal that I made myself bland. I missed out on a whole great nerdy and quirky subculture that would have resonated deeply with me. I was too afraid to let my freak flag fly, and, as a result, I probably missed some opportunities to befriend similar freaks. I didn’t find the friends who really GET me until late in college and in my early twenties. As I get older, I continue to become better at being ME, and that is what helps draw the right kinds of people to me. Most amazingly, some of these people are actually people I knew and hung out with in high school, but we have all become more OURSELVES and grown closer. Some of us grew apart for the same reasons, but that’s okay. I’m left with something better.

  If you don’t quite fit in with the people you know, think about why that might be the case. Why do you feel that way? Do you really like these friends? Do you have some things in common, but not everything? That’s actually all right. Most of us need a lot of different kinds of friends to fill all the corners of our hearts.

  I spent a long time assuming that the longer I knew people, the closer we would become. I believed that our friendships would deepen automatically. This is true to an extent. Another piece, though, is finding the right friends. People that you click with. It can take time to find those people. It can take a little bit of searching.

  Think about the handful of people you genuinely like best and want to spend time with. Invite those friends to hang out. Think about what you have in common and what would be fun for both (or all) of you. There’s nothing wrong with being the one who calls!

  My problem is so often the opposite. I get too afraid to call people or to invite them over. I get so convinced that they don’t really like me or wouldn’t want to hear from me. I don’t really even know why I feel this way. There are a lot of things I like about myself. I’m creative, I’m funny. I’m thoughtful, I’m caring, I’m smart. Other people should like these things about me, too. And many people do. I no longer expect EVERYONE to like me, and I no longer go out of my way to try to win anyone’s affection. It’s very freeing, to simply be myself and do my best and HOPE that the right people will notice me and respond. When I’m left by myself, which happens quite often, I find ways to celebrate myself and remind myself of my best qualities, because it’s important to know.

  Alone doesn’t have to mean lonely. There are plenty of things to love and appreciate about yourself while you’re waiting to build deeper connections with others. What are your best attributes? How can you enjoy your own company? Your relationship with self is as important as relationships with friends and family. What do YOU like about YOU? What is your safe space? What is the best part about Alone? The part you can stand?

  The thing is, we never fully know how other people feel about us. Self-doubt and insecurity are cruel little brain buddies. They can convince you that your best friend, who just invited you to a sleepover, doesn’t really want to hang out with you. Sometimes you have to use logic to override the emotional fears and awkwardness. Remind yourself that people like you. Remind yourself what is most likable about yourself. Don’t let yourself forget.

  I understand your fear about being a pest when you reach out to your friends. I happen to be an introvert and very skittish. I fail at this test more often than I succeed, by resisting the impulse to call someone when I want to. I don’t carry a lot of regrets about my life, but the main one is not telling people how I feel. Not telling them that I care. Not calling. To me, dear N, it sounds like you’re well on your way to a happier place. You are braver than I have often been. You call.

  It’s entirely possible that some of your friends are more like me—too shy or nervous to reach out. Maybe YOU are the strong one; maybe YOU are the one helping other people feel less Alone.

  I know how you feel, N. I want to be called. I want to feel chosen, and cared for. I don’t want to chase anyone’s affection. That’s a good way to be; that takes strength. It means I’m not diving into a bad situation simply because I’m desperate for someone, anyone, to like me. But relationships are a two-way street. The way to get called is to keep calling. The way to get called is to continue to forge bonds with other people, inch by inch. Let them see you vulnerable. Let them see what you need and who you are. They will begin to reveal themselves to you, too.

  Sometimes the thing that makes you feel most alone is having someone that you want to reach out to, but your mind convinces you that they will not want to hear from you. That you’re a “pest.” The feeling of being alone in a crowd is so much worse than being alone on your own. Your mind can play tricks on you, try to convince you that you’re not fun, or funny, or clever, or interesting. Why would anyone want to hang out with you, anyway?

  Tell your mind to STOP BEING SO NEGATIVE. It sounds easy on paper, but it may not be that easy in real life. It takes time to develop confidence in social situations, and we all make mistakes. We say the wrong thing or we leave an awkward voice mail, or we text one too many times and slightly annoy someone. The good news is: A true friend who is worthy of your time and energy will understand and forgive that kind of mistake. Humans are flawed and relationships are messy. If we don’t take any risks, we never get to the good part of relationships—which is being flawed and messy together, and finding joy in the things that are wrong with all of us.

  I wish I could give you a miracle cure. I wish I could tell you it gets a thousand times b
etter. Alone is not the sort of thing that goes away.

  Most of all, I wish I could tell you that you are not alone. Sometimes you are. Sometimes we all are.

  What I can tell you is, the moments when I’ve been brave enough to make the call, the moments when I’ve been bold enough to kick over the Eiffel Tower—these have become some of my finest moments. In my weakness, I find strength. In my fear, I find courage. In the depths of Alone, when I stretch out my hand, I always find something to hold on to.

  I’m like everyone else in this stupid, bloody, amazing world. I’m flawed. Impossibly so. But hopeful. I’m still me.

  —The Sweet Far Thing, Libba Bray

  Dear Heartbreak,

  There are many days where I wonder why nobody has ever liked me in the ways that some have liked my best friends. I am a virgin in every way. The only date that I have been on was prom and I asked him, not the other way around. I have a disease that I feel has really hindered my chances of finding any type of romantic love. I have had heartbreak, but it has come from other things. My parents met when they were in middle school and were high school sweethearts. I have always wanted a love like that, that would last almost three decades, but I am at the end of my first year of college and nothing has happened in that department.

  This year has been harder than most because I lost my first dog and one of our cats. It was the first time that I had ever really felt the pain of losing a beloved pet and I just felt so broken because our dog was one of the only beings who ever hung out with me and loved me unconditionally and it was just so hard letting him go. I just miss him so much. I do know that he is in a better place but I will always have this huge hole in my heart that will take a long while to really fill back up.

  There have been a few boys in my life who I thought could be a boyfriend, but now I see that it might not have been the best time for me to have one. The first one was someone that I met in the third grade and we connected through our love of Harry Potter. When I had one of my more scarring surgeries he pretended like Daniel Radcliffe had signed this poster that my classmate had made for me since I was going to be missing a few weeks of school. I was so touched that he had done that. We would talk in middle school and high school but we drifted apart and I’ve always hated that. There was one guy in fifth grade who I knew would never be into me just because it was fifth grade and there couldn’t have been anything between us. I wrote a fairy-tale story with us being the main characters and I read it out aloud to the class and I was so embarrassed. The last thing that I vividly remember about this boy is that he hit me in the back of the head with a basketball as I was walking onto my bus. Another one was a guy that I knew in middle school who was in a class with me. He was one of the cutest guys in our grade and I had asked my best friend to ask him if he had any feelings for me. Obviously he didn’t. Most of the guys were idiots in that school, but he was one of the nicer ones. There were some guys in high school that I had crushes on, but it really never went anywhere.

  I have also had heartbreak with friends. There was this one girl who I had been friends with forever and she was getting too toxic for me. She would keep ditching me for other girls in our grade. I have always wondered if it was because of my disease or something. I can’t drive because of my eyesight and I have always wondered if I could drive if it would have helped at all. I do have this great guy friend who I met through a support group for teens with chronic illnesses. He was the one I invited to prom and we had the best time at two proms. How many girls could say that they were able to go to two proms? He is really like the brother that I never had. He is one of my best friends and I wouldn’t change a thing about our relationship.

  My questions are:

  •   Why are there people who seem to find love so early in their lives but there are others who search for it their whole lives and never seem to find it?

  •   Is it okay to wear your heart on your sleeve all the time or should you close yourself off?

  •   How much of yourself should you let show when meeting someone you might like the first time?

  Thank you for this opportunity,

  Hoping for a Chance @ Love, 19

  WE HAVE TO BE WHO WE ARE

  Dear Hoping for a Chance @ Love,

  Let me start by saying that I am so, so sorry about the loss of your beloved pets. Of course you feel devastated and heartbroken. That’s because you have the capacity to love and be loved in return. Pets do love us unconditionally. It’s only natural to mourn their passing and miss that burrowing-our-faces-in-their-faces kind of all-good love when it is gone. I’m so sorry.

  Guarding against pain is something we humans do, in all sorts of ways, and I hear that fear of additional loss lurking here in your letter, dear Hoping. Loss of friends. Loss of potential boyfriends. Loss of pride in the face of rejection. Loss of love before it begins. There’s so much to talk about here, and I hope it’s okay if I take my time.

  To have a chronic illness is tough. I don’t know, of course, precisely the nature of your disease, and so I would not presume to understand what you struggle with daily. I can only relate to you, one human to another, heart-to-heart. You have been open and honest with me; I promise to respond with openness and honesty in return. And so, I will say that I do know from my own experience having been disfigured after a car accident at eighteen and losing my eye, what it is to feel different or apart from others because of that experience. I know what it is to have harbored fears that somehow my “differentness” hindered my chances at romantic love and friendship, just as you wonder about it now. (I, too, cannot drive due to vision issues, by the way. We would make for a fun road-trip pair: “I thought you were driving.” “Dude, I thought YOU were driving.” “Where’s the car?” “Dunno. Can’t see it.” “Yeah, me either.”)

  I hope you’re okay with really irreverent humor, Dear Hoping for a Chance. Honestly, a sense of humor has seen me through heartbreak more times than I can count. And it has been a better companion than some dates.

  More on that shared sensibility to come, but first, let’s talk about boys and being dateless. Mind if I sit next to you on this bench in the park, dear Hoping? (I have imagined us in a lovely park setting. It is late spring. The weather is perfect—warm with a breeze. There are ducks. But they are far enough away that they won’t bother us. Ducks, while fluffy and cute, are actually big biters. See? Nothing is perfect. Anyway…) You were a virgin all through high school? Dude! Me too! Here. Have some popcorn. (In this fantasy park, we have buttered popcorn. It’s amazing. People wish they were us. Who can blame them?)

  Even before my accident, I spent a decent portion of my high school years wondering why I was so dateless when almost all of my friends got asked out on the regular. I mean, I showered every day. I was not totally unpopular. I had, to the best of my knowledge, never turned to a guy and said in a demonic voice, “Upon our first kiss, I will rip your beating heart from your chest with my bare hands and devour it, thus granting me immortal life while banishing your soul to an everlasting hellscape where they do not even have fries. Mwahahahaha!” Pretty sure that never happened.

  But the gentlemen? They were not inclined to dial my digits. Like, ever. I remember having a massive crush on this boy named Greg. One day, he asked me if I wanted to go to an art museum in Fort Worth to see a photography exhibit. This was it! My glorious Technicolor dream date had arrived at last! While we walked through the museum, tilting our heads in unison as we examined black-and-white, postwar French photographs, I kept waiting for him to ask me out. And when he said, “Hey, Libba, there’s something I really wanted to ask you…” I was so glad I’d put on lip gloss and mascara because, whoa! This was going to be epic. Until he confessed that he had a wicked crush on my BFF: “I was wondering if you could help me get a date with her?” Girl. That long ride home SUCKED. I sat in the car with this demented, frozen smile on my face while my heart seized on the floorboard like a dying fish gasping for air. This was not the fir
st nor the last time this happened. It seemed like I was always the friend. The confidante. The matchmaker. But never the girl that made them go weak-kneed. Never the girlfriend. I began to wonder if there was just something about me that spelled doom in the love department.

  When prom rolled around, no one asked me. I ended up going through a date arranged by a high school friend. It went down in the girls’ bathroom kind of like this:

  Her: “Hey, Libba, I heard you don’t have a date to the prom.”

  Me: “No, I don’t.” (Good to know my dateless status IS EXCITING NEWS FOR ALL!)

  Her: “I’m going with a boy from Jesuit in Dallas, but my parents will only let me go if I double-date. If I can find somebody for you, will you go?”

  If I can find somebody for you. A date had to be found for me! Duuude. I felt like a sad TV commercial. “For just pennies a day, you can fund a prom date for this poor, hideous girl and keep her from a night of skin-clearing masks and mindless Doritos eating. Won’t you make a donation today?” I admit, I had to get over the wound to my pride. No one had asked me to prom, and now I was going, but it wasn’t the sort of romantic lovefest that all the teen romance movies had promised me. It was a charity date, to my mind. The date in question, a super-nice guy named Chris, showed up in a tux and red Converse high-tops, and I thought, yeah, this’ll definitely work.

  If this were a Hollywood movie, he and I would’ve fallen in love over the course of that night, probably while also fighting crime. Didn’t happen. We had a great time with zero pressure. I never saw him again, and that was perfectly okay. Mostly what I remember about that night was that I saw the new video for the Tom Tom Club’s “Genius of Love,” which I had more love for than any boy. (Meanwhile, my BFF had gone to prom with one of our high school’s total stud muffins, a guy with perfectly feathered hair who cleared the dance floor so that we could all witness his signature splits-and-back-up smooth move. She had been crazy excited about the date, certain that it was the start of an epic romance, only to realize during the long night that he was only using her to get back at his ex-girlfriend. I’m just saying, my dear Hoping: Sometimes, what looks like perfection on the surface turns out to be a real shit sandwich underneath, and the stuff you don’t even see coming, those beautiful happy accidents, turn out to be the best of times.)