Heart Break Almost Killed Me

Written August 2011

When you thank me for dealing with your bullshit...
Here's why I don't think it's bullshit.

I've never told anyone the whole story. Let's rewind 6 years

The anguish of heart break almost killed me.
I was 22, and my happy little bubble turned out to be a lie. a facade. Everything I believed to be true, everything I based my thoughts and opinions on had suddenly disappeared. I was alone, shocked by my own disillusionment.
I thought it would just fade away like boyfriends from the past. But this one lingered. I think it was feeling tricked or played that killed me the most. As soon as there was a break between songs on the radio - that millisecond of silence - my mind betrayed me and my heart broke a little more. I felt out of control. No matter how hard I tried to put on a happy exterior the tears would flow with or without my consent.
I couldn't talk to my friends because they hated him and were happy he was out of my life. They said, (from a place of love I'm sure) that they couldn't be my friend if I ever went back to him. and without any logic all I could say was, "but I love him"
I knew I was crazy. I knew he consciously and purposely played me for a fool. But I had lived in the disenchantment for so many years.
Our relationship was rocky at best. I grew addicted to the "I'm sorry's" I put up with the crappy relationship, giving and giving and giving until finally he'd respond and I'd be overjoyed by finally earning the affection I so craved.
After this break up. (and there were many minor break ups along the way.) I felt like I had worked so hard for someone I didn't even know. I was destroyed by the obvious ability he had to toy with my thoughts and emotions. He was the puppet master and I suddenly realised I had been the puppet.

It ached. I ached. I've never known pain like that before..
I couldn't get it to go away. the thoughts, the dreams, the habits, the hate and rage that filled me when I saw something of his.
I didn't want my family to feel sorry for me. I didn't want my friends to hate on him, or make me feel bad for having put up with him. I felt I had nowhere to turn to. so I went to work at the strip club. I painted on a beautiful face. Made sure my hair and outfit were nothing but spectacular.

Because that was the night I intended to die.

42 pills. I was so numb. I wanted to die dancing. Lost between the notes oft the music. I wanted to be on stage, under the lights where i felt loved.
I danced like never before. Every emotion and thought was left on that stage. the audience roared with appreciation. But then the music stopped. The night was over. The bar closed. and I was still alive. WTF!
Normally my girlfriend and I would go work out after the club closed this night we packed our bags and went to Tim Horten's and ate strawberry filled doughnuts. we talked about going on the road. She thought I could be a feature dancer after seeing my shows that night. I was relieved that I was alive. I survived a night were I had given up. I didn't feel hurt anymore. I was going to be ok. Life was going to go on.
I was walking back to my sexy silver strippermobile when I dropped. I woke up staring at the ridges in the cement. strawberry puke everywhere. Ambulance in the distance.
After that I don't know what happened.


I remember calling my mom and having to own up to my suicide attempt. I broke her heart. I drove to their house. my dad hugged me for the first time in 10 years. My mom was a mess. I went to bed.
I wish the story ended here. I lived happily ever after... but
I moved to East Vancouver.
Jason and I got back together
and broke up , and together and broke up
went to Thailand... and then we broke up
All that achy heart break kept coming back in waves every time we'd find a reason to spend time together.
It sucked and it hurt and my friends had vanished as they said they would if I got back together with him. I had played myself into a corner. I was alone and miserable and this time It was ALL my fault. I knew what I was getting into but without logic, "i loved him" (as I type this I put my hands up and make air quotes)

By this time I was a dancing all over Canada. I was on top of my game. People. random people Loved me, adored me. My shows were wild and insane resembling that one night of self destruction. I knew it was fake but no one else did. That's when "Samantha" became my escape. She didn't hurt or ache, she didn't feel anything, She belonged to the people. It was easy. It was safe. Samantha never had a relationship, her persona is that of a sexual bombshell that no man or woman could tame.
But I, the real me, needed a reason to get out of bed. a reason to get out of the house. I went to the SPCA found the saddest sucky dog in there and vowed through tears that I would always be there for that mutt. So he would never be hurt again. As long as he was alive I would have a reason to stick around. Mr Fluffy Muffin Head was stitched up and healing from all the abuse he took from his last owner. He was shaking with panic for days on end pissing himself and hiding with every new noise. He'd hide behind me when we walked.
till one day
He asked me to come over for some reason and we had a fight. I yelled, i've never yelled at a boyfriend before. I don't believe yelling has any part in a relationship. I pushed him away from me, he backed into the washing machine and then Muffin got in between us. He wouldn't let Jason near me. I was overjoyed that my damaged fearful mutt was protecting me.
I waked home with Muffin. Deleted Jason from my life, myspace, emails, phone #'s, I deleted all his friends.
I kicked a hole in my wall. and suddenly all my anger towards him turned to anger that I had kicked a freakin hole in the wall. What had i done??? I'm not destructive?? Who kicks a hole in the wall?!?!? Realising how distracted I was by the hole  I was thrilled that he was so easily replaced in my mind... by a freakin hole!!! I felt closure. I felt amazing. A hole was more important than him. What a rad realisation. The puppet strings had be cut. I had a hole to plaster over.
It was time.
he messaged me a few days later. and a few months after that. I never replied. 5 years later his shrink suggested he apologise. I told him to fuck off. but then I realised that it took so much energy to hate. I messaged him told him I grew up. and that I didn't hate him. we met for sushi and felt like strangers. I'm now thankful for the drama and bull shit.

I booked my tattoo appointment in 2006 after plastering over that hole. Got a broken heart. It's mended now. A chunk of it is missing. There's nasty stitches. But it's still a heart. I worked hard to put the pieces of my broken heart back together. That tattoo means so much to me.
I am the reason I moved on. I made the choice to change. I have become who I am now, because of the personal growth that came from dealing with such internal chaos. The tattoo isn't representing him. It's representing how I grew and changed and became, me.

what doesn't kill you makes you stronger

So that why I have a tattoo of a frankenheart, why I love my dog... and most importantly why I'm still alive.