It happened in an instant. A message, hastily written, trying to communicate loneliness, emptiness, and need missed the mark. The recipient, instead of seeing a cry for help received only an accusation to horrible to bear and broke under the onslaught.
The response is far from what the original messenger was expecting. The pain and anguish of reading those words, broke her heart. The accusations of selfishness, intentionally inflicted wounds, and the underlying rage stole her breath. She gasped, she shuddered, and she sobbed the sobs that wrack the entire body and leave one exhausted to the very core of the soul. She typed ten responses and deleted them all. She cried for most of the day. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Finally, exhausted, broken, she moved into clinical detachment and responded. She clarified her intent. She expressed sorrow for wounding the other. She stood up for her own right to be wounded. And she cried some more.
The response this time was not as fast. It acknowledged her cool head. It acknowledged the intent to hurt. She cried once again. The knot that had formed with the first message had not relented. So she took the normal route of the heartbroken. She deleted all the messages. She hid on Facebook. She even blocked on skype. It wasn’t mature, but it was all she could manage in her grief.
She distanced herself and waited for time to heal her this time. It took many long months and it will never be the same.
Heartbreak changes you. Whether you break their’s or they break your’s. Tears flow, tempers flare, everything changes. You can heal, move on, grow past, but the shadow is always there.
How many times can a heart be broken before it cannot heal itself anymore?