When They Tell Me I’ll Find Someone Else

“You will find someone else.” That’s what people keep telling me.

I don’t blame them. They don’t know what else to say.

They say all the right things. They tell me that I am beautiful. That I am smart. That whoever doesn’t recognize those facts is a moron, an idiot, an arsehole.

They tell me that I am worthy and amazing and brilliant. I know they are trying to make me feel better, and I do appreciate it.

But if I was so wonderful and devoted and bubbly, if I was as great as they keep telling me, if I was indeed such a catch, if I was even a fraction of all these things, why wouldn’t he have thought so?

If I was such a good partner, why am I now alone?

“One day, someone will come and sweep you off your feet.” That’s what people keep telling me.

I don’t blame them. They don’t know what else to say.

But what if that is what I thought about him? What if, before him, I had given up?

What if, when I met him, he had made my heart sing a song so sweet that it swept me off my feet? What if that song stripped me bare because I had never thought that my heart could ever again be filled so fully by another person?

“The perfect person is just around the corner.” That’s what people keep telling me.

I don’t blame them. They don’t know what else to say.

But what if he had been my perfect person? What if we had been incredibly compatible? What if he had seemed so wonderfully perfect that I had very quickly envisaged a future?

What if, by all accounts, we were meant to be perfect? And what if we had been, until he had very suddenly cracked the mirage?

“You will find someone else.” That’s what people keep telling me.

But here’s the thing: I might not.

There is not much of my heart that hasn’t been shattered. There is very little of my self-worth which isn’t bruised and scarred. Only a small portion of my soul remains, which has not been worn down so thoroughly that it is threadbare. At this point, there is not enough of any part of me that is whole enough to give to another person.

I am now tired and distrustful and hurting. And I hate the person that I have become.

I hate that I fought so hard to prove my worth to the one person who should have appreciated me the most. I hate that I spent so long trying to find any form of validation that the person who was meant to be my life partner actually loved me. I hate that I allowed myself to become that person. I hate that I allowed myself to become this person.

Because I am a person who is psychologically and emotionally broken. And I am trying desperately not to feel shame in it.

And I am trying desperately not to be upset by the clichés which everyone around me repeats because they don’t know what else to say to make me feel better. Every time one of the classic phrases is reiterated, I try not to think of the hopeful, bubbly girl who fell so deeply in love and the distraught and wounded woman she became.

I can’t even begin to think of the possibility of finding someone else. Even if I wanted to, even if I could bring my heart to try again, I just can’t even consider it.

How can I start to dream about finding the perfect person who will sweep me off my feet and who is waiting for me just around the corner?

How can I begin to even consider such a notion when so much of my energy is already concentrated on simply trying to wake up in the morning and not already be hurting?

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