socially awkward.

kidaokagee:

When you had your heart broken, it feels as though you cannot concentrate on anything at all. All you want to do is curl up on that side of the couch and waste your life away by watching every chick-flicks you have in your disk drive (it doesn’t even matter if you perceived it as corny before), eat chips (that you despise before), and cry even if you’re watching a funny guy like Adam Sandler (your fictional rah-rah boy). Baths? Who needs a bath? You can die alone and stinking in that boxers and thread-bare shirt you had on for days with your hair all over the place. It feels as though no amount of talk with your girlfriends can make you feel better, and no amount of Kleenex could ever wipe away all the tears you want to shed. You can go acting like a lunatic for days and no one will tell you to stop until you, yourself, get tired of the same shit you do everyday.

You’d try to make sense out of what happened. You’d try to analyze things over and over again until it drives you mad. You get sad, you get weird. You shut all things and people and wallow in misery by yourself. You give up the things you used to do. You’d feel so much and react so little. There will be days when all you want to consume is a frigging cigarette, while there are days you’d think you’re going to be put in one circle of hell for being a glutton. (So much for the literally shit you had to go through to graduate. You see my point for having no sense at all?) And still, not even the taste of your favorite chocolate (Meiji Black) can make you feel better.

You go to work, you hang out in book stores or coffee shops and walk on your street with your mind wandering elsewhere, then you get hit by a frigging jeepney (how very third world). Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as the hurt you’re feeling. What is a broken limb compared to your broken heart, riiiiiiggggght?

And then, when you’re sick to your stomach about what you’re doing with yourself, you’d try to rise from the dead. You’d shriek, “Screw you all!” and try to live another day. You’d hit the gym, you’d enroll to a class you’ve been dying to take for years (Hello, Architecture!), you’d try to resurrect whatever passion you still have left. And, just for the heck of it, you reconnect with friends. Man, only then you’d realize what you’ve been missing.

This is an honest anecdote of one girl who had been to that deep shit and wake up earlier today and realized it’s February. It is love month. And as shallow as it sounds, it is also a heart birthing. The time when you realize that life shouldn’t stop even though you have considered stopping it before. The time when you realize you really have to take a grip of yourself and control your life by choosing your priorities.

Just a little bit stronger, just a little bit wiser, and you’ll see that there are lessons in heartbreak, too. Now, set foot on that road, say hello to the world, and get a fucking tattoo.