Change (verb): To make or become different
Change (noun): The act or instance of making or becoming different.
People often use the phrase “Fake it till You Make it” when talking about overcoming heartbreak. While I understand the concept, I’ve never really been one to fake anything. I never saw a point to pretending. I always dealt with my feelings and eventually life grew calm again. But, I’ve never dealt with a wound of this magnitude, an ache that doesn’t seem to lessen.
Maybe I need to change my way of thinking if I want to heal and live life fully.
Maybe I need to go out, get a hobby, get a second job, meet new people, and experience life to have a fresh perspective. Maybe I need to dress up and feel pretty, be charming and laugh often even if it’s not that funny to start feeling happier.
Maybe I need to date whoever asks me, go out and have fun, with no expectations to start getting over the end of us. Maybe I need to feel another body in bed with me, skin against skin, to start forgetting how he felt beside me, beneath me, behind me, on top of me, inside me. Maybe that’s what they mean by “Fake It Till You Make It.”
Maybe it means forcing something until you really convince yourself that things are okay, that you’re okay, that time has washed the wound clean.
But, is it real?
Sometimes we need distractions, even destructive ones, especially when we constantly overthink and the pain of loss is overwhelming. But would I really feel and get better? Could I pretend well enough to make my heart and my head believe I’m okay? Or would it be like putting a band-aid over a deep puncture wound?
What if faking it just make the present easier, while the wound festers and grows, and later I live with a gangrenous infection in my heart and soul that needs excised? What if I turned into a forceful, aggressive woman who knows what I want and won’t accept less, who never lets anyone cross my boundaries, but also won’t let anyone over that moon high wall?
What if I end up alone, surrounded by 37 cats still lamenting my lost dream of forever while he carries on, moving forward in life, remarrying, having more babies, and enjoying with someone else everything that was suppose to be ours?
But what if pretending I was happy actually changed me in positive ways?
Could I be kinder, softer, less of a force of nature but still strong because I have known great love and even greater sorrow and grew from both? Could I become a better, happier, more contented person knowing I was lucky enough to have the type of soul searing, raging, deep rooted, hearts entwined love that we lost?
Could I finally let go, let him soar far, far away from my heart, and live a contented life free of the ghost of what was and could have been?
I don’t know. I’m so tired.
I don’t know which direction to go or what will help me let go and move on. I don’t even know if I want to. The wound is still too deep, too tender, the pain of losing my mate, of rejection, of not being enough once again still feels too fresh. But something must change.
I will change. I must change.
I just don’t know when.