You learn not to assume things. You learn not to assume that the day you spent together in bed and took photos of each other against that white wall was important to both of you. In reality, only one of you will ever care about that day. Only one of you will flinch when you see the white wall again. The other person will forget it ever happened. You’ll have to remind them, years later when you meet for coffee, about the pictures and you’ll feel so stupid for holding it so dear. Why do you have to be the one who remembers that day? You assumed that your memories would be the same. You didn’t know that one gets to forget and the other has to remember.
You learn that the person who once protected you from all harm could one day become the harm. They could become the thing they spent so much time shielding you from. That’s how it always seems to work though, doesn’t? We give people power over our lives, we let them dictate the rhythms, and then we act surprised when there’s scratches.
You learn about the cruelty of time, the cruelty of fickleness. You learn that it’s possible for the person who knew you the best to eventually know nothing at all. You counted on them always knowing. You took solace in someone keeping score. But reliance is the first thing to go in a break up. You lose the right to call someone. You lose the right to ask how they’re doing. Imagine that. One day you had a VIP pass to their life and the next, you’re shut out completely. They’ll tell their grandma more things than they’d tell you.
You learn how bad heartbreak can hurt. All of a sudden you’ll be relating to sad love songs and feeling like such a chump. You listened to them before but never quite understood why they had so much resonance with people. Then you realized that it’s strictly for people who’ve dealt with the loss of love. To get the full effect of a Patsy Cline song, someone has to take an emotional dump on your face. Otherwise you’ll just be like “Gee, this lady sure sounds sad!
You’ll learn terrifying things about yourself. Most notably, the fact that heartbreak will turn you insane and obsessive. It makes you irrational and cripplingly nostalgic. (Your friends will even get fed up with you for a bit because you’re so cray cray.) There’s no real way to fix a broken heart other than time and sleeping with the next person you could potentially love.
Most importantly, you’ll learn that it will all be okay in the end. Just like time killed your relationship, it will also be the thing that repairs you. Eventually enough time will pass that you’ll have nothing left to mourn. You’ll develop swiss cheese holes in your memory about the relationship. All you’ll recall are occasional flashes of happiness and feel grateful for it. You understand that this is just how life works. You fall in and out of love with people until you land somewhere that makes sense. You’ve learned a new secret about life and people. You get it now.
English is so bad at describing what it means to grieve. We use words like bereft or bitter or sad, or we say we have a broken heart. But none of these really get at the nuances. The words don’t seem to capture each exquisitely painful feeling.
For example, there should be a word, maybe borrowed from German, a language so good at expressing complicated mental states in a single lengthy word with many chewy consonants, for when you miss someone so incredibly, achingly much, when that person pervades every thought, every interaction, every waking moment, but you also loathe them. Because they treated you badly, or because they were too weak to be honest with you. Because you were betrayed. And because you loathe them, you hate yourself for missing that person so intensely. For missing the laughter they inspired; for wishing for the easy intimacy that you built. You hate yourself for knowing that they aren’t worth so much sadness, that such an outlay of mental energy is entirely wasted and useless. But you feel it anyway, and you cry in the shower or into your pillow or anytime something reminds you of that person. Which is all the time. There should definitely be a word for that.
There should also be a word, maybe from the French, who do existentialism so well, for the feeling of disconnection you cultivate when you walk through the streets with your headphones on, sad songs blasting into your ears loudly enough that you can pretend you are alone. You pass by other people almost without seeing them, since you can’t hear them. You walk by shops and offices on the sidewalk, going somewhere or maybe not going anywhere in particular, feeling like the music in your ears is a soundtrack to your sadness. This song makes you think of that person; that song comes close to capturing how lonely you are without them. You isolate yourself physically because you feel so isolated inside; surrounded by people, you are still alone, because you have been abandoned by that one person who made you feel somehow less alone.
English is also missing a word for how it feels when you know that person has moved on so quickly. When you find out you weren’t as important as you thought you were. When you realize that they were acting selfishly instead of caring about you, or when you understand that you didn’t really come into it at all for them, they were just doing what they needed to do. Maybe it should come from Russian, because the Russians know despair. You thought you were finally getting over them. You could almost go an hour, if you were busy with something really important, without thinking about them. Then you see a Facebook post or hear some gossip from mutual friends, and you realize you weren’t over it. Not even close. You realize you were still holding out hope that you would get back together, that there would be some way to repair the damage, to be happy again. When that hope is crushed, the fragile Jenga tower of your life tumbles down. There should be a word for that kind of defeat.
And there should also be a word for when you’re just so tired of being sad, for when you are tired of being lonely but somehow don’t know how to stop. When you’re tired of crying, tired of thinking about that person, tired of missing them. You can’t yet make yourself recognize all the bad things; remembering how you’ve been done wrong doesn’t help. But the hurt over the good things, the things you still miss so much, is a dull twist in your stomach now, instead of a gaping hole in your chest. You don’t know how to turn that off, don’t remember how to be happy. But you sort of remember happiness as it existed before that person, and you want that so desperately. You want to stop this misery that drags at your ankles and eyes and insides. You know it will take time, but sometimes just the fact of being tired of crying makes you cry. Maybe we could co-opt a word from Japanese for that, since melancholy is a specialty of theirs.
There should be an English word for all these feelings of grief. And I desperately wish they existed now, just so I could tell you, next time you ask, how I’m doing in only four words, instead of all these.
"I would want to tell you that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And let you know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are my eyes, that those photons created within my constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever."
According to the law of conservation of energy, you’re not gone, you’re just less orderly. Heat, energy, every wave of every particle that has ever touched or was part of you, it’s all here.
I don’t understand how as a country we can be okay with the building of Olympic stadiums, when we have plenty of stadiums and athletic centres across the country. Centres that could be fixed up with a few thousand pounds. Instead of millions for a building that is only really going to be properly used once . Those millions could have gone to the numerous charities in the UK or around the world. Millions of pounds could literally have saved thousands of lives of people dying from preventable diseases. Another thing I don’t get is how football clubs can spend millions, ‘buying’ a person for their team, to run around on a peace of grass. I don’t watch football, and while it is great what footballers do do for charity…I don’t think it’s fair that all that money goes to one person, when they only donate a few thousand pounds to charities.
I don’t understand why we can just live, ‘carefree’, complaining about the littlest of things… and only really think about the people that need us, once of twice a year for Comic/Sport relief or Children in Need. We need to make a change.
‘Prevention is better than cure’
Please donate to Sport Relief today on bbc.co.uk/sportrelief … call 034567 910 910 or text ‘YES’ to 70010 to donate £10 - you can give the tiniest little bit, but it really could save somebody’s life, from a preventable disease.
Because in our world, spending money means making money. If there was money to be made by feeding the poor, world hunger would’ve been abolished before WW 2
“I wanted to thank you for doing everything you’ve been doing. Um, I know you don’t have to, and I appreciate it, and you’re truly setting an example for me for the future of, uh, doing the right thing even when it’s tough, and, uh, I appreciate it.”—
“I think the hoodie is as much responsible for Trayvon Martin’s death as George Zimmerman was.”—
Geraldo Rivera • He continued:, saying that “every time you see someone sticking up a 7-11, the kid is wearing a hoodie. Every time you see a mugging on a surveillance camera or they get the old lady in the alcove, it’s a kid wearing a hoodie.” Geraldo eventually concluded that, Million Hoodie March aside, “you can not rehabilitate the hoodie.” We predict that these comments won’t be controversial at all. source (via • follow)
Remember when Geraldo went into Al Capone’s vault?
Someone should have shut the fucking door behind him.
Chase Bank contributed $1 million to Invisible Children to help them produce the KONY 2012 campaign, among other programs. JP Morgan Chase is also a major investment banker of Tullow Oil. That’s right, the oil company that needs US military help to pump oil out of Uganda.
This is extremely disturbing.
For everyone who might’ve been called a conspiracy theorist when KONY 2012 first came out and swore up and down that this was a distraction to get Ugandan oil,
You officially have the right to say “I TOLD YOU SO.”