This one song – a veritable “earworm” – has repeatedly been in my head lately: “Habits” by Tove Lo, where she sings, “Spending my days locked in a haze, trying to forget you babe, I fall back down…” Although I’ve never gone to such extremes as the song’s protagonist, it resonates with me because in the past, in the aftermath of a breakup from a long-term relationship, I tended to seek out constant external stimulation (besides validation). I tended to try to “stay high” on the rush of fleeting romances and parties that, after the fact, only left me feeling more alone and empty. I have learned that for me, the remedy against heartache can never be temporary euphoria- or numbness-inducing substances and experiences. It’s not even finding someone new. The only remedy is time and distance, and acknowledging the pain openly to and within myself, dealing with it on a daily basis until one day, it finally goes *poof* and feels like barely a pang.
Perhaps this poem I wrote two breakups ago was a good first step.
White glass, by Ana Ribeiro
The emptiness hits as
all the adventures become
memories without
tangible continuity
and impatience makes one
undesirable to its objects.
The silence is
all-encompassing, unbearable –
will do anything to hear a voice
in the harsh total absence
of yours.
Your once-sweet phrases
assault me cruelly now;
they’re ghosts
reminding me of the depth
of the loss I brought
upon us.
Someone who looks
like you but can’t be you with his
white glass face derides my crying,
shuts the door on me
for good.