I have mentioned briefly my life imploding last month; now, I won’t get into all the gorey details, in case said imploder stumbles across this blog in a sudden renewed interest for me and my life (too harsh?), but I would like to reflect on the feelings I had the day after this all happened.
I was a wreck. That’s putting it lightly, really. I had been on and off the phone with my parents all day and they were thinking of flying out to rescue me from this increasingly miserable situation. The imploder was gone, already out with friends trying to move forward with his life (oops, too harsh again?) and I knew I couldn’t sit in our apartment anymore. I had spent the whole day crying but decided to go downtown anyways to help my friend who was moving.
Something wasn’t right from the moment I stepped out of my apartment. Everything was… the same. It was just like it was the evening before when I came home from the hair dressers, excited to see my boyfriend after a long day. There had been no shift in the world, when I myself had been irrevocably changed by the events of the previous evening. I sat on the bus and watched the happy people laughing, loving, and just generally enjoying themselves.
I resented them all. I resented them for being happy around me, because couldn’t they sense that something was wrong? Couldn’t they see the broken hearted girl at the back of the bus, puffy eyes and angry demeanor?
No, that’s the thing about life and people. We are unaware of the suffering of others, unless it directly impacts us. The world will continue to turn, and like my father always tells me, The sun will rise again tomorrow.