What should I do to get over a relationship?

Big, magnificent, pumped up I WANT YOU IN MY LIFE kind of love. There is absolutely no question of love not being there in your life.

That every act of resilence makes your belief in yourself stronger. That all the kindness you shower on yourself, and all the compassion you fill yourself with, makes your heart bloom again.

And here’s the thing. Whether its a broken heart, or losing a loved one, you always remember your first’s as you heal from the grief.

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I realised the pain I feel, and the debilitating experience I am going through is not just in my head. Its real and its holding me back from leading a fully functional life. And so instead of languishing in shame, that I am a burden on everyone for merely existing, I told myself that I deserve help.

And you replace resentment and anger with joy and fill your shattered heart with gratitude.

I felt because I am human. I felt because I cared.

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The first few days after a relationship or a friendship ended, were the hardest.

And days will pass by, and before you know it, you are singing in the shower again.

And I did the best thing I could do for myself. I seeked out professional help. If I hadnt been heartbroken, I wouldn’t have been pushed to seek therapy and find a therapist actually suited to my needs.

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And I gave myself permission to feel all of that, and to discard any shame attached to feeling too much.

There will be love, when you open your heart to it.

As you watch everyone giggle away, you realise that this is probably the first time in a long time, when you havent thought of them at all. That you havent felt this happy in ages, something that you presumed you will never feel anymore.

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You are way stronger and way more resilient that you can ever imagine. Your mere existence is proof that you are going to make it out alive. Every single time. You are going to be okay. Believe in that will you?

Except it didnt. The world didnt end.

The world is ending, the world is ending, the world is ending.

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I am lovable. I am lovable. I am lovable.

There will be love.

The first time you got out of your depressive spell and gave a great seminar. The first patient that came up to you smiling, telling you that they feel so much better, thus ending your days of hibernation.

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Caught in a cycle of self loathing, going brutal on myself because thats what lack of self love does to you, I simply felt I cannot go on.

It can be the romantic kind where someone spreads their arms like shahrukh khan and sings for you, it can be the quiet kind where your friend listens to you sobbing on the phone, it can be the crazy kind where your room mate swings you around and forces you to dance as your favourite song blares on in the background. And it can be the “feeling everything” kind, when your sister hugs you tight and refuses to let go.

I forced myself to shower, I forced myself to eat. I forced myself to show up at work even though I would take a half day and come back.

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So when a friend asked me why cant you just move on, I didnt defend my stance. I did not act cool. I did not pretend to be strong. I decided to allow myself to feel the full impact of the emotions I felt.

I am still living. I am able to show up at work. I am able to sleep. People are kind to me.

There may or may not be a perfect version of you.

Is there a possibility that we are living in a simulation and that there is a concept of rebirth?

The first realisation that the only way you can go on, is by doing the things that you do, again and again and again. That you do not wait for things to get better, but you make it better.

I had the extreme luck to be surrounded by people who just overloaded me with love at a point where I just didnt feel lovable anymore.

What exists is this version of you, vulnerable, raw, honest and kind. You are exactly who you are meant to be.

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The first run. The first hike. The first learning how to pump the cycle. The first solo trip. The first snowfall of the season. The first of doing everything that you felt you couldn’t do without them.

Push my body out of the room, drag myself down the road next to the beach, even as flashbacks of the relationship plagued me, even though panic attacks would hit me when I least expected it.

And yet in the middle of the night, I would wake up with a spasm of pain, and cry into the silent darkness.

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I stuck chart papers all over the room, and marked each day and made endless to do lists, most of which I couldnt finish. And yet I tried. Day after day.

I will never get over this. I shall never be loved again.

I crawled, I trudged, I swayed from side to side but I held on. If I needed sleep, I slept for hours. If I needed crying, I didnt hold myself from crying. I allowed myself to be as sad as I wanted to be, validating my emotions.

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I would lay on the stone cold kitchen floor, my face against the granite and let tears roll down. I would struggle to get out of bed. I would skip meals, and this sinking, gnawing feeling in my heart was a constant companion following me everywhere I went.

I can do this. I can do this because look at me, I have been at it, every single day.

Thats all I could think of, with my droopy eyelids heavy on anxiolytics.

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I was hurt. I was sad. I was heartbroken. I felt I had done something terrible to deserve feeling like this. I felt unloved. I felt small and trivial and disrespected.

The world is ending Pallavi.

And then I set down to do the actual work.

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What is perfection anyway? Not feeling, not being flawed, not getting affected, not being sensitive? Thats not human, thats a mannequin on waltair street.

And that I would take my own sweet time to recover because I do not care about putting on a “look at me I dont give a shit, look at me how quickly I can go from loving to not caring” performance for anyone.

By doing just one small thing a day.

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And one day, when someone says something really funny, you burst into laughter with happy tears streaming down your eyes.

My wonderful queer community, my childhood friends, and even that colleague that I barely talked to, quietly sliding in a box of palak paneer, at lunch time, which he specially asked his mother to cook for me.