To whom it may concern... but not really

Tonight I took a stroll down memory lane. I’ve been unable to sleep tonight as this most recent of rejections has my heart under arrest, flitting about in my chest as if I drank a red bull then hopped into bed. Its annoying really, to be as tired as I am with a full day of work looming over head, and not a wink of sleep happening. In light of my previous blog I have taken on new coping mechanisms for heart ache, don’t worry, I tell myself every morning that I am 27 and I am brave (I think its actually working). But tonight I thought I would roll back and satiate my need to write but using one of my tried and true methods, the unsendable letter.

Ya ever get that inkling that you never quite got to say what you really meant? Or tell that person how you really felt? Well, I’m a self diagnosed crazy person, so more often than not my thoughts are better left to myself, but it helps me to get all the words out… so he get’s a letter, one that I never send. Sometimes two, three, even four letters, each one residing in my computer. Ha, if only these boys knew how tortured I was, but that’s not the point. The point is that in some small way, writing this letter helps bring me just a little bit of peace and a little bit closer to acceptance.

Tossing and turning until four in the morning, I finally decided that an unsendable letter was in order. I grabbed my Jurassic laptop from the desk and began spilling my heart out onto the screen. To my dismay this letter left me feeling rather unsatisfied. Maybe because the wounds are still so fresh, or maybe because I thought this one understood me and after writing my letter, it seems like he has grievously misunderstood me. Regardless of the why, the fact remained that I still felt rather lousy, but then something kind of neat happened…. Wait for it…

I went to save my unsendable letter and being as organized as I am, I would naturally have a file containing all the letters I wrote but never sent. Sometimes when in a melancholy mood I treat myself to a bowl full of misery. Perhaps I wanted to punish myself further tonight, but I was curious as to what some of those old letters contained as quite a few of them were written years and years ago. I opened one and began reading… the feelings I had written… the pain, the hopelessness, the anguish… all these feelings I felt all those years ago are the same exact ones I’m feeling now. Here is this past letter I had written for someone, about feelings I had felt very intensely at the time I wrote it, and yet here and now I feel completely fine about it. I don’t still miss them, although according to each of my letters I thought I would miss each one for eternity… but I don’t. The feeling of an epiphany never gets old folks. The saying that time heals all wounds could be the most useless statement when suffering heart ache, yet the most profoundly truthful saying with hindsight.

The letter I wrote tonight didn’t help me much. It was nice to get some things off my chest but what has really helped ease my caffeine powered heart are all those old letters. The proof that it actually does get better. Here I had written that it would never get better, that I would never find someone new, that I would never move on, and wouldn’t you know it, I moved on to five other heart breaks and subsequently wrote about those ones. I am sad, might be sad for a little while and that’s okay, because it will get better. Someone else will come along… he’ll probably break my heart too but we can worry about that one later.

I am 27 and I am brave

Breath in
Breath out

Don’t forget to breath…

I haven’t written in a while... like 9 months a while. I blame my computer, it freezes all the time and I pretty much want to throw it out the window. As I am laying here I thought to myself, why let this computer get me down? Why let it defeat me? I will not let this device conquer me! I will write when I damn well feel like writing, and right now I feel like writing.

Nothing unique is happening in my life. I live in the same house, I have the same job, and I have the same story, my heart is broken. What is unique is I am no longer 23. That‘s actually not new information, I haven‘t been 23 for nearly four years now. Here this very night, amidst this freshly broken heart of mine there was a moment that I screamed that I wished I was 23. Why 23? Years and years and years ago, back when I was in high school I had this dream that I would be married by 23, at the time it seemed like the perfect age. Then this crazy thing happened when I turned 22, I got baptized. Which to me meant I no longer had the stigma of being a “non-member” holding me back from this teenage dream of being married by 23. But 23 came and went, so did 24... And 25... And now 26. Yeah, still not married, not even close, not that I was close before this hurt my little heart strings, I mean, we hadn‘t dated for very long, but I‘m certainly less close tonight than I was a week ago. I cried for a minute, but after the initial sting of rejection wore off, my breathing slowed and returned to normal, I thought over this little outburst, and I’m actually pretty grateful that I’m not 23.

You see, 23 year old Noelle would have handled this little heartbreak situation very differently. She would start off by throwing a serious pity party. She would personally invite misery, doubt, and self loathing to throw up a chair and enjoy some refreshments. Twenty three would close the curtains, turn off all the lights and cry and cry and cry, believing the notion that maybe if she suffered long enough, this boy who broke her heart might come back. It’s a crazy thought process I know, 23 was a real whack job. Twenty three was prone to this self perpetuated suffering for weeks. Lots of angsty poetry and writing, really cry baby status updates on Facebook, basically she was a hot mess crying for attention and approval from any which way she could get it. Twenty three needed lots of validation and convincing that she was still worthwhile and desirable, in spite of the rejection from her beloved.

Each year between 23 year old Noelle and now, nearly 27, have taught me a lot. Twenty six has been rather fearful, more so than all the years before it. Apparently all those negative experiences in relationships have really got 26 backed into a corner like a frightened little child. Twenty six has been afraid to fail and not live up to personal expectation and the expectations of others. She’s been afraid to walk away from bad situations, feeling an overwhelming obligation to see things through to an end. The worst of it, 26 has been so afraid to trust people and let herself enjoy a good thing for fear of how much it may hurt when the good thing ends.

Well 26, no more I say. No more fear, because 27, she is brave. She will live and let live, love and let love. She will not cry for weeks because some boy was afraid to love her, she will fight for happiness. She will fight every day to be the happiest damn person in the room, even if it annoys everyone around her. Twenty seven, unlike all the years before her has let go of this unbridled need for approval. Twenty seven knows she is awesome and she will not be knocked down by some silly rejection. She will open the curtains, take the rejection and flip it the bird! Twenty seven doesn’t have time to waste being sad like 23 had, she’s only got time to be motivated and take on the world.

For the better part of the last few months I have been dreading turning 27, but now, I’m just going to start telling people I already am 27, because I already think she’s much cooler than 26, and 25, and 24, and especially that wussy 23. I am twenty seven and I am brave.