One Month Later

Did anyone else ever go through Sex-Ed in middle school? 

 

I remember my eight grade year's Sex-Ed class more vividly today than I ever have before. The teacher did a demonstration with one of the girl's in the class. Teacher gave her a paper heart and described different scenarios. The heart started out as a whole heart, and gradually, as the teacher explained different dating scenarios, the student would rip parts of the heart off and give it to the teacher, depending on the severity of the break up/disaster. At the end of the scene, the student is preparing to get married and only has a one inch piece of the heart to give to her groom. Eighth-grade-Amelia thought that was the most ridiculous dramatization ever. There's no way I was going to give enough of my heart to someone to feel like I was anything but whole once we broke up... Or so my sweet, naive self thought at the time. 

 

Today-Amelia does not agree with Eight-grade-Amelia at all.

 

What do you do when you reach a point where you don't even know what to pray for anymore? When the pieces seem too shattered to gather off the floor, what do you do? I sit on my bed every night with tears pouring down my face and beg God to please, please give me just a sliver of peace, just a tiny moment where my heart doesn't feel like it's being ripped from my chest. But the words feel like they hit the ceiling and fall back onto the sheets beside me. I go through every day with flashbacks that leave me breathless and holding my stomach in an attempt to physically hold myself together... Flashbacks of sushi and pet stores, of Jimmy John's at 3am, of days spent laying around playing video games or watching Netflix, of trips to the zoo, of simple, menial tasks like grocery shopping and setting up bank accounts that would otherwise seem like nothing worth remembering.

 

But I remember. Part of the trouble being a person who feels too much, who takes everything on head-on and full force, is the part where I take everything in.. All of my senses kick into overdrive, and the filing cabinet in my head starts to burst with memories that don't want to be contained. As hard as I try, I can't fit them back into their respective folders and let them stay.

 

I think the worst part of it all, is knowing that this is how it has to be. Knowing that God had him in my life for a reason, but without God as our Center, that we wouldn't have been able to make it work the way it should work. Wherever we were, though, we were miles apart. Regardless of how close we were physically, we were distant psychologically, and try as you might, that's not something you can change on your own. That doesn't make the love any less real or the ending any easier.

 

I don't know what my purpose in writing this is. I don't want your pity, I don't want your words, I don't want your attention. I want to be real, and I want to own my feelings and acknowledge that I'm not okay. I want it to be okay that it's taking longer than I care for it to to move on. I want you to stop looking at me and telling me to find things to do to keep me busy, or to tell me that time heals all wounds. Stop with the cliches. Stop with the telling me to cheer up. Stop with it all.

 

Pray for me when I don't know what to pray for. Pray for him, that he finds what he's looking for.

 

This isn't a good way to end this writing, but I don't know how to.