Percentage

“It’s so good to see you again.” and you answer with; “How are you doing?”.

The question I wished I would have been asked is; “How much percent of your heart is missing?” I could’ve answered that one properly; with a number. A round clear answer. That would’ve been easier. Easier for all of us. Easier than what I got asked. The dreadful “How are you now…” The inevitable pause, and then ”…you know. now… after?”

I know I made a rookie mistake. I’m sorry, I know it was my decision to say; “Well you know, better now” while I was nodding in agreement. It was my decision to allow them to float away. This isn’t judgement. It is just an observation. With a clear answer, like a round number, I could’ve gotten more. Further. Deeper understanding. Numbers aren’t liable to an emotional judgement. Clarity in calculations. Clarity in facts.

If I had said “85% of my heart is missing.” and we agreed that you would’ve said “That’s terrible”, Slow moving nods around the group, decorated with sad eyes. Hugs and free drinks. All would’ve poured my way. All gestures to heal, all to give me space. All would’ve followed along with me.

If I answered “60% of my heart is missing” they would’ve said I am strong, and I should “Keep on keeping on.” “You’re doing great” “The normal rhythm of life will help you move on.” “Time will heal.” and randomly placed comments of “I’m here for you”, followed by “if you need me to.” “You can call me anytime. You have my number, Just send a text,” Really meaning I will help you if you’ll take that shameful initiative. I see you are scared to hear more and to deal with it

I went lower in the ‘numbers chart’, but not right now. Right now I am strong. Strong in life, strong to myself, and strong in pretending. These moments are the worst. My smile cracks because the glue isn’t good enough. People are dancing around me like I am contagious, a person who is just a bit too honest in answering questions about how I am.

It was awful to see how easy people can dance around the difficulty, how they can dance around the things that matter, how they can dance around me, and then to hear them ask me for an honest opinion about their ability to actually dance. Because they fancy the guy over there, who they know about through their apps. And they want my opinion as their friend.

I’ve wanted to say to some, “My heart is broken, 40% is still missing, even though it’s been a couple of months.” I am growing, I am lying with these numbers, I am recovering, in other words; healing. It is so very hard, I am on the way forward. The way is covered in bumps, and I expected it to be easier. But I think no one has a rulebook for me, and whoever I asked for help doesn’t seem to know what to do. I can only wait for my eyes to shine again, suddenly. And at moments they do. They glimmer.

When I remember the music, for instance. I remember all the songs from spending evenings in clubs. With him. Back when the good memories were formed. Discussing who would walk to the bar, to get us some drinks. Discussing who of us would go for that guy, who by exception tickled both our fancies. Discussing the big and small, the futile, the nothings. Evening’s long. It’s so hard to rub those memories out. Impossible. It’s so hard to put those memories next to now. So ridiculously hard. All with a straight face. All in these moments.

Now that time has passed, it seems to be expected. Heal, move on, shut up. And now I am wondering every night if I am overly emotional. Dramatic after all this time. Am I creating a bubble called “us”, that is more than we were, from the grief that I am feeling? Were we holy? Were we just friends, and did I inflate “us” to fairytale status? Would we have the happy ever after that I feel was stolen. Would me and him have ended the friendship in two years over a petty difference? The outcome is obsolete, but I don’t want to explain this feeling to them, to you. I don’t think anybody can understand.

I know the pain of not telling you how I felt is something I’ll have to live with. Should I have, Or is it good that I didn’t? This question, which I discuss with myself daily, I don’t tell others.

So I say to new people, when they figure out parts of the story. “Only 20 percent are missing. It’s fine now. It’s been a while you know. Couple of years. Yeah, it was terrible to go through, but you know, life goes on.” “Time has healed.” A silence created by me and broken by me. Onwards. Automatically, all follow suit. And they nod, and they ask me about where I grew up. Some thanks for the apparent honesty. I feel like a villain. Lying because I don’t want to bother them with my story. I feel like a vile person because I lie.

So now, here we are at this moment. You asked how I am, and I was sick of it. Not of you, don’t get me wrong. Tired of this here. Just tired in general. Tired. That’s all that it is. Tired of being so fundamentally alone in the middle of others. And now that I know. It is so hard to see the individuals in the groups. Strangers, being so alone. But you know you asked, naively, and I am gushing these feelings. Here it all is. Well most of it. And it does heal my heart. To put a number on it; one percent less is missing. I guess your smile filled some of the empty space.

Sorry. I know you need to move on. I will let you go. Can you just promise me one thing?
Be honest. We can agree to recognize that both of us are fighting through the difficult days. We can agree on the easy days. We can be out of sync, and help each other. Just promise me next time that I answer your question. Smile, don’t say anything. Don’t say you’ll be there for me. Don’t let me text. Make me a coffee, rub my shoulder for a split second when walking past. I hope to see you understand, regardless of the answer that is demanded by circumstance.

But here I go again, babbling along about myself. On and on, I promised you some time ago that I would pay attention to that part of me, to adjust that. Improve. Sorry, It’s just that we have just so much to talk about. How are things, How are you my darling? You look fabulous by the way. Oh wait, One thing, How could I forget. Hey, are you listening?
How much percent of your heart is missing?