My Broken Heart

by Donna Schoenkopf

I have just heard some unhappy news.

I can’t tell you about it. I can’t go into who or what. I don’t know how I’ll write this story today because all I can think about is what happened.

I guess I should write about what is happening to me right now. THAT I can do.

First, the feelings.

Feeling Number One: I feel sick to my stomach. I literally feel as though I am on the edge of throwing up. I wish I COULD throw up. I want to get the agony out.

Feeling Number Two: I am afraid. I am afraid of death—for me and my loved one. My dear ex-husband told me that there are really only two emotions, fear and love. (He got this from his drug rehab training.) Anger, hatred, jealousy, all the “negative” emotions are really fear. And fear is actually fear of death. When I look down the long hallway of the future, it is grim. There is nothing but gray. Unforgiving, relentless gray.

Feeling Number Three: I feel angry. I want to yell, hit, flail, bellow, scream, HOWL! I want this not to have happened. I want things to change. NOW! Anger feels powerful.

It doesn’t hurt as much as fear does.

Feeling Number Four: I feel sad. My heart is breaking, breaking, breaking. The tears well up inside me with no place to go. My throat aches from unshed tears. Grief grabs my heart and squeezes blood out through its gnarled fingers.

Feeling Number Five: I feel despair. I feel as though things will never change. That there is no hope. That everything will end badly and that there will never be happiness again.

And what do I actually DO when my heart is broken?

First thing I do: Today, I write. It doesn’t help, of course. I only am able to express (sort of) my feelings but that doesn’t assuage them.

Second thing: I could drink alcohol. Get drunk. Anesthetize my feelings. I have never gotten in the habit of doing that, however. Yes, I drink. Not too often, but sometimes. I have rarely grabbed a bottle and tried to drown my sorrows. I am proud that I can feel my feelings even though they hurt so deeply that I think I’ll die.

Third thing: I think about the person incessantly. This causes a frenzy in my brain. I start getting short-circuited. I rethink things until I can’t think straight. Being an action-oriented person I try to figure out what to do and when I run into a brick wall I churn things over and over again in my mind trying to find something that will be the answer.

Fourth thing: I’ve discovered, much to my amazement, that sometimes there is nothing I CAN do. Nothing.

I’ve known about the Serenity Prayer for years but haven’t been able to actually use it very often. I am fine with the “courage to change the things I can” part, in fact I am very good with that part, but I have trouble with the “serenity to accept the things I cannot change” part. And the part that gives me the most trouble is the “wisdom to know the difference” part.

I don’t give up very easily, you see. How could I know when I’ve run into a thing I cannot change? I keep thinking I’ll think of SOMETHING I can do. And as far as “wisdom to know the difference” goes ... well, you can see that I can’t even get past the “cannot change” part.

But lately I’ve looked at the situation and realized that I couldn’t think of a damn thing, not a single damn thing I could do differently. And then, THEN came a tiny, wee feeling of serenity. About as big as the head of a pin.

There LITERALLY is nothing I can do. I say it again.

I exhale.

I breathe.

I let go. A little.

When I let go it feels almost ... bad. As though I’m not trying hard enough. That I’ve given up on the one I love. That I’m letting him drown as he calls to me, arms outstretched, head disappearing beneath the water ... painful. Beyond words.

As I write this, tears fill my throat. Well up in my eyes. I see death. I see me standing on the edge watching ... death. Doing nothing.

Maybe I should have that drink.

Later:

Okay. Have my drink. Have been getting nonstop collect calls. Every one of them is a knife through the heart. I hear the sobbing, the anger, the fear through the telephone line. I take a sip. This is not like me. But what the hell.

The liquor is hard on my tongue ... unpleasant. But I know that I will be feeling less in a while.

I struggle for words. As I get older I realize that sometimes my brain just swims with nonverbal chaos. Probably the beginning of Alzheimer’s. Which would be a relief. I would be a happy Alzheimer’s person. I just know it.

My thoughts swing back to my broken heart. I am so tired of the cycle and am trying hard to pull out of it. I have not answered several of the phone calls, but then I move into such pain at having to turn my back that I pick up the phone and talk. The crying begins again. The weeping.

Day is turning into night. There are no shadows because it’s overcast. There is just the lessening of the light. Everything is wet outside, dripping. It’s been pouring for two days and everything outside has grown by inches overnight.

The dog comes in and out, in and out, tracking in mud and shaking orange-brown splatters over the floor and furniture.

The cats are content. They sleep on my bed.

But my broken heart is still with me.

I press the “Word Count” button. There are now 924 words in this piece. Is that enough? Have YOU had enough? Have I had enough? Is enough, enough?

I go on Facebook and find a long lost lover. He’s as handsome as ever. I will not contact him. He was my drug and I put him away. I loved him and he didn’t love me back.

There is no God.

I will not answer the phone again today. Tomorrow is another day.

The gin is kicking in.

I have had three drinks this month. That’s enough.

Like I said, enough is enough.

Enough is ENOUGH!

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