Random Introduction

There is a beautiful component that comes with heartbreak. It’s something that you can see and feel. You can watch as someone’s face crumbles, as someone’s shoulders droop.  You can watch as someone’s lips tremble as he or she tries to accept the harsh fact that the fairy tale love has come to an end. You see the failed attempt of a fake smile. The visible pain is tormenting. However, I think the internal damage not only lasts longer, but is more exhausting to live with. Could you imagine having to endure a day when your heart feels like it’s been shattered inside your chest? Or a night when you cry and cry in your bed, alone, begging God to explain to you how and why everything went wrong so quickly. Could you imagine convincing yourself to twitch your face into something that society would be appreciative of?

Something that would cause society to think, “Oh, see? The girl is just fine! She’s able to mosey around town, and she’s able to smile! I call that bouncing back with courage!”

Or for a guy, “He is such a man. He just got dumped, but he has the strength to stand up tall and continue on. Such admirable traits.”

            Little does society know that your head is swimming with ill thoughts about yourself, and little do they know that you would rather sink to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean than face another day.

Now, let’s put you in the shoes of the heartbroken. Well, I guess I’ve already done that. You can picture an individual who’s enduring a broken heart, and you can feel the emotional turmoil. Maybe you, yourself, have had a broken heart. Maybe you know exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe you’re nodding you head in silent agreement. I’m glad that you’re able to sympathize with the broken hearted, but that makes me sad  knowing that you endured such a rough experience. Still, I’m glad that you have a visual of this broken person, but, for my sake, let’s pretend that the broken hearted person is a girl.  Actually, I’m going to take it one step further. Let’s pretend that this shattered girl is me. Everything you’re about to read is a completely made-up, creative experiment kind of situation. I’m just explaining this false scenario in case there are people out there who feel like they’re all alone. Did I mention that what you’re about to read has absolutely no truth, no honest foundation? Yeah, completely made up.

It all happened when I turned twenty.  Well, supposedly happened anyways…

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