When a normally perky, upbeat, and optimistic dating blogger (in short, the anti-me) posts something like this, I pay attention.
She details her dating history, the rise and fall of each failed relationship--who she trusted, who she shouldn't have, what she lost: Mark, David, Jack, John, Chris. I have my own Mark/David/Jack/John/Chris--I suppose we all do--only mine are named David, Jason, James, Andrew, Luke. Each one taking something vital, leaving less and less. Each time wondering how it's possible to do it all again. And yet we do, taking that flying leap, only each time with a little less gusto, each time with a little bit more of a backward glance. Is it any surprise, then, when we land on our ass?
Then, in a straw/camel's back denouement: "I'm broken," she concludes. "They broke me." Not just one, but all of them, cumulatively, the hurt slowly building until she broke. Comments were closed, but I wanted to say, "Yeah, me too. I'm broken too."
Then, not even an hour after reading that, I settled in for a dose of Ally, and yikes:
I have some strange synchronicity with Ally McBeal re-runs, always managing to land on an episode that speaks to me at that moment. But yeah, "one gigantic stress fracture" sounds about right to me.
Hit over the head with this double whammy of emotional introspection, first in blog form and then through the t.v., I wonder, how many of us are walking around broken? Will we be alright again? Can everyone be fixed? Will I be?
When I started the Diary of Why four years and a couple weeks ago (missed my blog's birthday, damn), I wrote this in the very first entry:
Some things never change, it seems. Some things do change, of course; in my experience, mainly the good stuff. But the shit? It sure is hard to get rid of some shit. The shit, it sticks."[M]y mind drifted back to the past, to the guys I once knew, and the myriad ways each and every one of them had jerked me around and broken my heart. Being once again at the dawn of a fresh new heartbreak (fresh like roadkill, or an open wound), it seemed appropriate to dwell upon the subject, pouring out to the cosmos all manner of questions, such as Why me? Why again? And, Why, God, why????"
That broken blogger I mentioned? Turns out that post was one of a three-part series. Part two reveals that she's met someone, a "good man," her "life raft." So, maybe good things can happen, after all. Maybe we are fixable.
Or maybe some people eventually hit the jackpot while the rest of us keep playing the wrong numbers, over and over again. I just don't know. I'm still holding out for part three.