Soon, very soon I will be 23…yeahhhh (or not really). It was hard enough to remember that I am 22. Anyway, I decided to do a not-so-brief-as-intended re-view of my 22s since this year was indeed memorable and transformative.
What do I mean by that? At the age of 22 for the first time in my short life I fell truly, blindly, and stupidly in love with someone. It’s not that I haven’t dated before but it had never really reached the stage where you make plans and exchange the ‘I love you’-s. So yep, I was basically all in, legs, arms, body, head, soul, heart…you get the picture. And I won’t lie…it was the best thing ever, especially when I started believing that it was mutual. I was with the most astonishing guy I’ve ever met and he wanted to be with me. I found out that the cringy clichés about being in love are true. Moreover, I was living the cliché and I was rocking it. Being in love gives you purpose, inspiration, motivation, sunshine from within. You’re indeed blind or at least immune to the misery of the world, having the impression that as long as everything goes well between you two all other troubles could be resolved. How can you bother too much about temporary problems when you think you have found someone significant who would like to stay despite them?
And then, touché! Guess what? Turns out he did not want to stay. Bye, finito, au revoir. And I ended up at the other side of the cliché spectrum – the one of the heartbreak. The reality punch, guys…The happy bubble may burst anytime. You learn that no matter how much you love someone or how much they have claimed they love you back, there’s no guarantee they would not wake up one morning and realise that something has changed for them, and actually you’re not their priority anymore, well, maybe you’ve never been but let’s not go this direction. And how can you blame them for leaving when they did not want to stay? The sh*ttiest thing , when you still love them you even want to forgive them for it. Anyway, in the following weeks I explored new sides of myself…yeaaayyy. Of course, of course I went through the banal cycle of tears – alcohol-tears, spending most of my Christmas holiday unsure whether I am recovering from the heartbreak or from the hangover. An ugly picture. I extended the humiliation boundaries and I found new meanings of reaching the bottom …I digged through it 😀 What was this b*llshit – what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?! (puke) I’m sorry Kelly Clarkson, but I am not bursting with power right now! Nevertheless, she’s right. The entire experience – from love to heartbreak, was indeed transformative. Somewhere on the way I lost my innocent, I’d even say dangerously naive outlook towards romantic love and relationships. I still believe in love, though, and I now know it is worth the heartbreaks, yet I also figured it is not as easy as I thought.
Last but in fact the most important; I learned, no, I rediscovered the love of my friends and family. Gosh, these people, these amazing human beings have literally been my life support system. They put up with me at moments when I could hardly bear myself. I feel we sometimes intend to underestimate the value of the other forms of love we already have and give in our life just because we’ve lost the romantic expression of it. But in fact there isn’t a better cure for a break-up than some quality time spent in the company of a good friend and two bottles of wine as well as some aspirin pills and a disappointed mum’s face waiting for you in the morning. 😀 Hahaha, another cliché!
So to wrap it up as it got way too long (as usual), the lessons from my year of 22 are:
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Love is a gift. Any form of it. It is given and accepted willingly. You cannot reason, beg or ask for it. You cannot force it. It is a round trip, for which a one-way ticket would not lead you anywhere.
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Heartbreak is like a chickenpox. The later in your life it comes, the more dangerous and damaging it might be. It indeed leaves you broken, so you’d better have something or someone, or both, to get you back at your feet as soon as possible. The recovery is a slow process of depression, humiliation, anger, regret, sent and unsent messages, tears over the good memories, inability to listen your favourite songs, and all the similar negative stuff, but surely there should be a way out! Right?!
And since it turns out in my 22s I have vainly invested too much love, attention and time in someone else, I hope I could make my 23s a time of self-improvement and self-love. This doesn’t mean I will turn into a selfish anti-social, anti-relationship girl. Just next time I fall in love (not sure when) I want to be able to recognise my own value as much as the one of the other person.
So, in 4 days, cheers to my 22s! 23 bring it on!
Chattily 