Why do they call it heartbreak?

Why do they call it heartbreak? Who invented heartbreak? What, did someone get dumped for the first time and then felt that their heart all of a sudden was like being physically ripped into two and that’s enough for them to declare that their heart was breaking? Or maybe it’s not merely a metaphor? Maybe that person is literally having a mild heart attack triggered by the emotional turmoil they were going through at that moment? Because seriously, there HAS to be a start, a point, or a moment, where the idea of heartbreak came to life.

Since I was curious, I looked about it on Google. I have typed “Who invented heartbreak?” only to have a lyrics of a song, a Youtube channel, and different sites of the singer and the song as results. And then I typed “Who was the first person to have been heartbroken?” Google gave me 10 Ways to Heal a Broken Heart blog, an It Must Have Been Love lyrics by Roxette, a list of broken heart related songs, and etc., but none about what I was exactly looking for.

It sucks big time to not know because I want to know so badly. I want to know who that person was and what he/she did to overcome it, and also because I’m so done reading How To shits because I did them all; every single one of them, and yet it. stiLL. HURTS. 

I cried it all. Sobbed in front of my friends. Rhymed his name with all the swear words I could come up. Cursed his entire person. Burned every single picture we had. Wrote a three paged back to back angry letter on long sized sheets of bond papers. Sang my heart out for three consecutive nights in a karaoke bar with all the songs I feel that I relate to. Deleted his phone number and every picture we have together. Deleted every picture we have on Facebook and Instagram. Deleted every post on Facebook that has anything to do with him. Read every damn book about a girl who was cheated on. Cried myself to sleep. Partied with my friends. Told my mom I’m going to be a nun. Cleaned up my room, arranged it, and then re-arranged it. Told my family that his name shouldn’t be uttered anywhere at any time and that from now on it’s a form of blasphemy. Took all of the things he gave to me, put them in two boxes, and then mailed it to him. Threw away our stupid couple ring. Permed my hair and dyed it brown because he loved it as naturally straight and dark blonde. Wore dresses more often because he loved me on my jeans and band shirts. Ate all the sweets in the world. Sent the three paged back to back angry letter to him but left a copy for myself that I inserted in my journal. I did everything that an angry heartbroken girl could do to overcome her grief and yet I still hurt.

And then when I was done with being angry, I started the next step: Acceptance. So I did accept what happened to us. He cheated on me, fine, because men are polygamous by nature and all that shit. I accepted that he’s the absolute worst asshole under that sweet, pretentious, charming mask and that I was a fool to have been fooled because I knew better but I still risked everything and hoped that he would change but he did not so shame on me. I accepted the part where breaking up with him would only hurt me more than staying with him but I did it anyway because I thought myself as brave and a kind of girl that will not take any shit from anyone anymore. I accepted the fact that he’s never coming back. I accepted the part that maybe he never loved me at all. And I accepted the fact that maybe he really is in love with her and that the two of us are doomed before our relationship had even begun.

So I was done accepting everything about him and me and what we once were, what we should have been and what we are now. So I should start the next step right? The biggest and hardest one: Forgiveness.

But even though I’m done being angry and have accepted everything, I can’t find it in me to forgive. I see him almost everyday and I still feel this bitterness inside of me. It’s not because I want him back but because I have this feeling that unless I do something, he’s going to repeat what he did to me to other girls and they would undoubtedly give in because I know how charming and nice and deceptive he can be. He’s such an asshole he’s not supposed to live and breathe and not warning the girls away from him feels like a sin.

Everytime I see him I want to stick my fingers inside his eyes and take out his eyeballs. If only I could throw a good punch I would have done so and that would be the end of it. But no, I can’t even throw a stone and expect it to land in the direction I want it to. 

I want to hurt him, like hurt him physically and emotionally. I want to get even. I also want to hurt my friend—no, that bitch doesn’t deserve to be called my friend anymore. I will call her “The Bitch” starting now—hurt THE BITCH and pull her hair out and make her bald and humiliate her to the entire school. 

I recognize this feeling: pure hatred. It makes me evil and I don’t want this. But I can’t help it. They hurt me. They didn’t think about how I would feel when they stabbed me behind my back while I was left ignorant and oblivious that I’m already bleeding. 

Which brings me back to my first dilemma: who invented heartbreak? Because I seriously want to strangle that person for giving humans the ability to recognize the ache in their chest as an emotional thing because it shouldn’t have been. Feeling a tightness and pain to your chest should never have meant that your heart is breaking. We all should have been a bunch of science freaks and believes in it more instead of believing in mere feelings and emotions. We should have been more on science and only sees the literal facts behind what we feel and not romanticize every fucking pain and hurt someone is inflicting on us by their mere words and actions. We should never have been that sensitive. In fact, we should have all been born unfeeling. The earth would have been an easy place to live in.

In a perfect world, people are given the chance to feel and not to feel. I would choose to be insensitive. I don’t like feeling broken hearted. I don’t like feeling like something just died in me, a heart, a liver, a kidney. Even my stomach felt ruined. And so it is unfair to call it heartbreak when in truth every single part of you shatters into bloody pieces. 

It wasn’t just heartbreak when I felt like someone punched me in the gut that moment I saw them kissing. It wasn’t just heartbreak the moment he turned to me when he heard me gasped and the look in his eyes said it all and I felt like my mind just blew off. It wasn’t just heartbreak when The Bitch looked at me and said sorry, that she didn’t mean to hurt me and that she didn’t mean to betray our friendship, even though we both know she’s lying, and every word she said felt like flame in my lungs because I couldn’t breathe and I was hyperventilating. It wasn’t just heartbreak when they both looked me in my eyes as they held hands and said that they’ve been together for two months and through it all, it felt like they ripped my heart out, stepped on it repeatedly and set in on fire. 

It wasn’t just heartbreak because it was so much more than that. My heart did not only break, it shattered into a million bloody pieces that have fallen scattered all over the floor and all the time I can do nothing but watch them murder every single piece. 

So who the hell told everyone that when the love of your life hurts you, you are called brokenhearted? Because I tell you, that’s fucking inaccurate. 

But you can’t get away from it either, can you? So how do you not hurt? How do you unhurt? How do you forgive and forget? 

I guess you don’t, right away I mean. Eventually, yes. In the meantime, you just learn to live and deal with it. At least that’s what I’m telling myself right now because I have nothing else to do but move on and let them be. 

But I do know this. If he cheated his way into her heart, he’ll cheat his way out too. I just pray that she’s not going to be as devastated as I am when that time comes. Or maybe not? Maybe their relationship will grow into something deeper and will end up in marriage. Who knows? I just hope that when that happens, I have moved on. Like completely, unaffectedly, moved on. 

However, at the moment, unfortunately, I’m still as heartbroken as a girl can be. Hopefully, I recover fast enough so I can get back up and start over again. Because the thing I learned through all this is that it’s fucking exhausting to be angry all the time while trying to heal your broken heart. I don’t know how humans learned to cope with this shit but I will get over this in a way that I know I can; with boxes of ice cream and set of words to help heal my brokenness.