Tricks From The Crypt!

In morbid self-discovery news: I equate breaking-up with dying.

After reading Joan Didion’s heartbreaking self-portrait, A Year of Magical Thinking, I decided that losing a husband is the same as being dumped by someone you love. Because I’m a drama queen slash douchebag. The author would describe her reactions to stumbling upon some of her husband’s old clothes or losing herself in a memory and I would think, “Joan…I’ve been where you are. It gets better.” I’d catch myself relating to the author and shake my head at the absurdity. These people had been married for several decades, whereas I consider three weeks with the same person “hanging in there.” And although I was completely aware of the disconnect between Miss Didion and myself, I found myself clutching my heart and letting single tears purposefully fall onto the pages.

The truth is, I’ve never really known anyone that has died. Well actually, my former Black History professor passed away two summers ago. By the grace of God, Mr. Orchid’s death is the closest that the concept of mortality has touched me. I’m very grateful to have spent 23 years on Earth without having a close family member or friend pass on. But it’s no wonder that a severe break-up or totaled car would be my emotional cataclysm.

Exboyfriends and the impressions they leave behind are my ghosts. Last night I was sifting through my hard drive, making space for new music, and I came across an mp3 that I’d never seen before. The song was a cover of that praise and worship song “I Can Only Imagine,” sung by a guy from Baton Rouge that I’d slept with only twice. I can honestly admit that I had never heard this song before, nor could I recall how I’d obtained the mp3. But as my former trick’s voice floated through my earbuds, I’d found myself smiling and thinking about the few times we spent together. But to me, he was dead now. A spirit of my early twenties.

There are three events that occur in the wake of losing someone you love:
1. Finding the body / The break-up
2. The funeral / The awkward closure conversation
3. The grieving period / The month you spend sleeping with strangers and dancing on top of things

But since I am myself, this process is expedited to a hasty degree. I value a clean break, and believe that tears are for Virgin Mary statues and gays reading Joan Didion memoirs. If I spent all my time smelling an exboyfriend’s t-shirt or writing letters that I’ll never send, how could I ever find out what’s next?

A resilient heart is more powerful than a tactful mind. And even though I’m haunted by my heart’s investments, I still find new life more attractive than old souls.