It sucks.

The word sounds glamourous and the emoji looks kinda cute, but the reality is quite literally the opposite. Faced with the option of heartbreak or stab to the eye with a blunt force object, I’d likely take the latter.

* Googles can you die from a broken heart *

The jury’s still out on that one, but it sure as hell feels like it. It’s this completely consuming, excruciating kind of pain that lingers longer than one can care to be thankful for. Past advice given to others seems trivial and there’s nothing anyone could say to make it better anyway.

It never gets easier. The first occasion won’t help with the second, nor the third with the fourth. Hoping so is like wishing bones to heal faster because they’ve been broken once before. You eat a lot, or you don’t eat at all. Usually fluctuating between the two. Do the days become slower? Surely they do…

Sometimes (often) romantically inclined, the feeling can be likened to a punch in the gut felt so strongly it reverberates through your whole body as an overwhelming sensation of loss transmutes every fibre of your being. The all-encompassing attack provokes a system shutdown of sorts and it feels YUCK.

Your supporters are amazing and thank god for them. With your best interests at heart, your puffy eyes and dull demeanour do little to scare them off. I guess this is the first time you realise things could be worse.

As is the way with anything, there must be at least one takeaway from trauma, and this, of course, is what you learn. You haven’t died, but you have changed.

Watch this space.

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