I have wanted to write about heartbreaks for a long time.
Perhaps it was ever since that boy broke up with me at 15 by changing his MSN name from ‘<3 Jessie’ to ‘<3 someone else.’ I like how the way I just wrote that implies that I can’t remember the name of the person, even though I don’t think I will ever forget her (stupid) name. I know it wasn’t her fault, but that doesn’t change the fact that she had, and continues to have, a very stupid name.
And I know what you’re thinking. Wasn’t the fact he declared his love for you via his MSN name warning enough that he was a bit… lame? My response is YES – as were the tacky love-heart-shaped K-Mart earrings with fake diamantes he bought me. But hey, hindsight’s 20/20 or whatever it is my mum says.
At 24, I would say I have come to terms with what we will call the ‘MSN dump’. I even think I may have processed the subsequent heartbreaks. Even the long-term boyfriend who explained that even though I was ‘an 8’, the girl he wanted to be with was ‘a 10’. Firstly, an 8 is generous, and secondly, WAIT A MINUTE WHO THE HELL RATES PEOPLE OUT OF 10?
I remember sobbing on the floor of my shower, crying in overseas bathrooms, and hiding under my bed for hours waiting for the pain to subside – seriously pathetic stuff that is super embarrassing to write about. I have friends who have, in a fit of rage, thrown out $400 pieces of jewellery, booked a flight to the other side of the world, or teared up mid-presentation at work. These are sane, smart, rational, level-headed people. There are few things in life, other than death, which elicit such an intense emotional response. It is equal parts tragic, fascinating and bizarrely beautiful.