Jan 31, 2020
No one wins in a break-up.
Even if you’re the executioner fully prepared to drop the guillotine’s blade, there is always some level of disappointment that comes with unrealized expectations. And when your trusted partner finds themself incapable of ending a relationship in a personal way, opting instead for the path of least confrontation, the empty void can be tough to fill.
When love and infatuation are fresh, the deluge of heart pumped blood gushes through the veins in fantastic fervor. But over time the annoyances and frustrations build to supersede your irrationalized ability to rationalize your incompatibility, and the ending can feel like being stranded on the moon. You hate hurting and you hate getting hurt. No one wins.
There’s a band called Trampled By Turtles, a name that depicts a sluggish, miserable death. The name of this band is obviously absurd, but it does kind of align with what it’s like when someone doesn’t have the guts to respect your heart by informing you in person that you’ll no longer be sharing meals and family. You’re suddenly thrust into the piercing realization that you may never speak to this person again, and the venom dilutes like a slow, melting glacier.
Thousands of turtles crawl over you, crushing your lungs into suffocation. It’s similar to waking up in the morning, opening your phone and reading the breaking news that agonizingly details your new, invalidated life. The bed becomes the enemy as the mocking clock and barren silence create a personal prison that turns your bones into bars to the jail cell that is your mind, body and soul.
You obsess over how it went down. “Siri, play Jagwar Ma on Spotify. Oh, and break up with Mike.” There are no emotions, only emojis.
Thank God for Cannabis.