I’ve been racking my brain for a post for about a week now. I have several started already but somehow I can’t finish them. While looking for old files, I came across a diary-like file I’ve written way back in 2002 about my first heartache. Its deeply personal, but something I’d like to share with friends so I’m posting it here in chapters. (Yeah, wrote it in 8 chapters…)
I call this whole story my diatabs….
Chapter 1: Attack of the EX
It hit me at 2:40 in the morning while I was enriching my vocabulary by answering Reader’s Digest’s Word Power. I saw a mental picture of him leaning over a table, looking apologetic and sorry. He was trying to say something, but I didn’t get the whole of it. But from the way it looked, I’m pretty certain that it was somewhere along the line of “Sorry, I don’t love you anymore. I love her.” I was about to say something, ask something but I was too late. In the blink of an eye the image was gone replaced by a stabbing pain straight to the heart. Straight to where it could hurt the most.
Defensively I clutched the digest into my heart, trying to block the pain but failed. How could it hurt so much? Why did it have to hurt so much? My mind incessantly searched for something to ease the nagging pain inside. How do I make it stop? Clasping both hands, I started to pray. God, please make the pain go away. You said I only need to call and You’ll help me. Help me stop the pain. I know you won’t give me anything that I can’t survive. But this time I’m asking you to please, help me forget the pain.
Though the pain subsided, it didn’t stop. It won’t stop. I have to do something else to occupy my mind. For three consecutive nights now, the pain would hit me at the middle of the night, leaving me bewildered and suffering. For three nights, I prayed for God to take the pain away. It worked the first night. But last night and this night, it didn’t work. I believe God was so tired and overworked he couldn’t get the job done. Praying just didn’t work anymore. There has to be something else. Alas, my tear glands obliged me.
I cried. I cried my heart out. I cried until I could hear my own muttered pathetic sobs echoing through the dimly lit room I cried until the pain stopped. I cried until no tears fell from my swollen eyes. I cried until the Blue fairy made me sleep and swept me off to Dreamland. But even in my sleep and in my dreams I was crying. But nobody knew about that except for God. And I swear He wouldn’t tell a soul about it.