Mini heart attacks and forced humor
“Because losing someone isn’t instant, it happens every morning you wake up thinking of them, and every night you fall asleep missing their warmth. You will lose them over and over again until you are done with it. So admit to this, knowing it’s okay to leave someone you love.” — Miles Carter
When my stomach ties itself up and only wants enough food to ensure my survival and my tongue gets bitter, you’ll think I’m sick. I’m not, but I understand the sentiment. My chest feels heavy, I’ve been going to the gym for a minute, but I can’t still carry this weight.
My phone has sent me into many mini heart attacks lately, or something like that. This feeling is what I imagine heart attacks feel like. The mobile vibrates, and my heart accelerates at a numbing speed; I can’t move, and breathing becomes a little complicated. The ideal thing would be to silence my phone, but the constant worry of missing something makes that impossible. I want the world to observe a continual moment of silence; I want to only listen to you speak.
When I feel this way, I tend to go to bed early. I know what the night brings to a troubled soul — Ideas. Ideas are great, but you know they need a clear head to be well-executed. An idea in my trembling hands is nothing but another medium to cry since tears don’t fall anymore.
You would think early to bed keeps my monsters at bay, but the night whispers to the day, and when I awake, it leaves a note on my bed. There are some things you can never run away from no matter how you try, but trust me to delay the inevitable until my limbs give out.
I call my friends and ask if they would like to meet, walk around town, grab an Ice cream or just be with me. I’ve become more outspoken, and telling jokes comes naturally to me. My laughter has caused ripples in the fabric of time, louder than they usually would be, and they last a few seconds longer. There is something that pushes us to mask pain in giggles and company.
I like to think I’m a good person, but that is what a terrible human being will say too, so I’m conflicted. People do not blow their own trumpet; it spells arrogance, especially when no one seems willing to back your claim. But you know your intentions are clear in your heart, but somehow, your two and two don’t make four. So I’m here between consciousness and sleep, questioning everything I ever said or did.
I know none of these feels good now, but It’ll get better. I also know my heart will break a thousand times. When I think it is whole again, a memory will give it a crack, and before long, my heart will break into a million pieces again and again.
