I Am Here

Some sweet, caring folks out there are worried about me and have been commenting or e-mailing me privately to check in. Thank you for that--for caring. I am OK--all right, that's not always entirely true, but I will survive this. Without going into the how, when, and why details, I will tell you that for the last several weeks I have been suffering from a badly broken heart, that the breaking of my heart came with terrible timing (not that I'm suggesting any time and circumstances would have been good, but these were particularly awful), and that my life has been essentially in pieces. But I'm doing better now--or maybe I should say for now because I know how easily my emotions can swing high and plummet low, and I know there are more difficulties ahead. But right now, in this moment, I'm almost all right.

This is not the first time that my life has suddenly changed or that the future I envisioned was suddenly swiped away with one unexpected conversation or event, but this was the future I was most sure of. I could see my future clearly this time, and I had plans and hopes and dreams--and not the fairy tale kinds, but the real ones--and I thought they were shared. And so although I will survive this, I just can't guarantee that I will do it gracefully.

Those who have known me for some time are probably the most worried right now--because they know what became of me the last time my heart was broken and my life blown apart; they witnessed me descend so deep into sad, inconsolable darkness, for so very long, that there were times it wasn't clear I'd ever surface again. I know that hearing and reading about the depth of my heartbreak has made, and is likely to make, some folks nervous and protective of me.

So I am writing to say this: please don't worry. I am still here, in all ways. (Indeed, I am even still in the house that was so recently my home. And when I move sometime in the next couple months, it looks like I'll be moving next door. It's complicated.) There are some days when I am hopeful, even optimistic, about what comes next, and there are days when I am devastated and distraught; there are days and fights during which I believe that this ending was inevitable and is for the best, and I remember the times and reasons I wanted out, and there are days and fights and loving moments during which I worry that we're making the biggest mistake of our lives by not holding on, by not trying again. But most days are a mix, a mix of crying and laughing, a mix of believing that I will be all right and fearing that this will be a heartbreak that changes me for the worse.

I'm also lucky to have just recently started doing something I feel is meaningful and about which I'm really excited, and having that distraction every day--having tasks I must complete each day, writings that have nothing to do with my heartbreak--has been and will continue to be helpful.

I have not been giving all the details here in the last month-plus for various reasons. Part of me has wanted to write about it, and another part of me has wanted to talk and write to no one--indeed, especially for the first three weeks or so, I did write and talk to almost no one, and even my sisters are still having a hard time getting me to answer my phone sometimes. And there is also the consideration of the other person in all this, consideration of how she feels, of how I feel, of how we feel. This change, though her choice, is not easy for her either. There are two broken hearts in this house.

But please know that I am still here and that your kindness and love and worry have meant a great deal to me. In several cases, that kindness and love has come from people I've never even met face to face, and yet I know the concern is genuine--I know the friendship is genuine--and I feel so lucky that the world and Internet have brought you into my life. Thank you.