The honest ugly truth about heartbreak.

When you’re heartbroken you don’t want to see anybody happy, you want to see people broken, sad. You want to see failed marriages, you want to see the’I just got back from my honeymoon in Amsterdam’ guy a few months later drunk posting on Facebook about what a bitch his ex-wife is and how he’s not gonna let her win the custody battle, and she’s not going to get shit from him if she does.

You want to see posts from the ‘I just lost my girlfriend to his best friend’ guy, you want to see the ‘I’m estranged from my wife, who cheated on me when I was in Afghanistan with some frumpy every man’ guy. It’s fucked up, it’s evil, but it’s true. At least you wouldn’t be alone with those people, at least those people–are honest.

That’s what you want to see, you don’t want to see pictures of couples, or kids, you would rather see pictures of food, or people’s beloved dogs or some hot chicks painfully PAINFULLY average looking cat. Rather that than someones snobby kids. When you’re heartbroken, that’s what you want to see.

But when you’re heartbroken, everybody seems to be in a relationship, everybody seems to be happily married, or just married. when you’re heartbroken you are literally the only single friend in your group of friends. And they’re always asking you to go out with them, but you can’t stomach their significant other, or you just can’t stomach them anymore. Because they have become the same person. They wear matching clothes, the have shared bank accounts so they constantly go over what their budget is for the ‘night out’, which consists of getting drunk at an Applebee’s and then maybe desert…such a wild night! *Insert sarcasm*

When you’re heartbroken you have a pre-conceived notion in your mind that you are the only person that’s heartbroken, you hope that your ex is as broken as you are, but in your heart you know they couldn’t possibly be as low as you are. You’re the only person that’s unhappy with your life, you are a fat disgusting slob, that will die alone most likely from self-inflicted wounds. And every month that passes, only affirms that.

Me?  I’m past that stage, this was all of 2016 for me. All it took was one night at a New Year’s eve party, watching my best friends lesbian sister cheat on her girlfriend,with a butter-faced 19-year-old, for me to realize that love is never final. And love is not always the answer to all of our problems, just like OxyContin wasn’t the answer for all of my problems back in ’09.

I’ve only felt passion two times in my life. Once in the fifth grade playing basketball, for 10 hours a day every day seven days a week I went from ‘Shelly belly’ to the pre teen girl that my Mormon neighbors wouldn’t make funny of anymore. I eat slept breathe basketball and I honestly thought people like WNBA how could I have been so naïve I was a complete lezbo at that age and I didn’t even know it.

The other time I felt passion was in the desert where the air smelled like hot burning garbage and the average temperature was around 120-130°F. Where everyone spoke Arabic and drove white shitty little Toyotas and drank chia no matter how sweltering it was outside. It was a place that often times didn’t have running water didn’t have the Internet sometimes not even electricity and if you did find a bathroom it was the squat shitters. In Iraq some people call them floor urinals, much like you see in Japan. It’s basically a floor toilet that you squat down and Pee or shit into. Yep that was the place I have truly found what I thought I was going to do for the rest of my life but only ended up doing for the seven months I was out there.

Aside from burning shit (literally) when I pissed off my superiors, I helped the Dep. of Defense (DOD) conduct Rule of Law surveys, the only reason I was allowed to go on these missions is because I was a female and male coalition members were forbidden to touch or talk to women. Because they would be disowned by their husband and possibly killed, and frankly when we did this we would get shot at or mortared. Piss off an entire village it does come back to you, you are not exempt in a third world country, they have their own kind of justice.
Those are the only two times I felt passion for what I did. One was a child, and one was a childish 20-something year-old. But when you’re in love with what you do you don’t care that you’re not in love with another person, that doesn’t bother you. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I really need therapy.


No but seriously. Anyone that agrees please let me know. What was your first passion? Are you currently in a career that you absolutely love? Once you find a career or line of work that is your calling, all that “love” shit falls in place later.