No one likes being sick. No one likes feeling like their head is going to explode or like they'll never be able to leave the couch again. I'm no different. Not only is it uncomfortable to feel like breathing through your nose is as impossible as breathing through gills, I hate long hours of forcing myself to do nothing. To just sit there and heal. I feel guilty, I feel helpless, I feel like I'm wasting so much time, like I'm just babying myself. There is also something about being sick that reminds you that you're still dealing with a broken heart.
I haven't really told you much about Him since our rapid rise and even more rapid fall happened during my blogging hiatus. Perhaps there's not really much to tell anymore since it turned out he ultimately became a figure in my past instead of the permanent figure in my future that I thought he would be. Let's just leave it at he was wonderful, he was intelligent, he was funny, he was handsome, he was caring and affectionate and we were so unbelievably happy to have found each other... until god-knows-what happened and he freaked and left. Through the tears in his eyes he gave me some cop-out excuse that he had to put every ounce of focus into his many ambitions and couldn't make any promises that there would be room for me. Ever. And that, as it was clear that we would only get closer and continue to develop deeper feelings, he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it if we didn't work out. So he decided to end it in order to avoid the risk.
I was left standing there with my heart on the table and my jaw on the floor. Through my own tears, I managed to mumble something about if this is what he believed was best for him, I had no choice but to support his decision. I am not sure I have ever been as stunned in my life, particularly because a mere three days before the big drop, his best friends told me they had never seen him so happy.
Still, I have been through enough relationships to know that no matter what you originally thought, if it were meant to be... it would have been. And though my heart broke like it has never broken before, I know that everything happens just as it should and life moves on. (And oh it has in the last couple of months!)
But there is something about being sick on the couch, sniffling and sneezing like a buffoon that opens the floodgate of memories of a past love taking care of you. During the middle of the run of my play I had lost my voice one weekend. It was completely gone on Monday and I was terrified that it wouldn't be back by the time I had to be on stage to sing Friday night. He took care of me. Breakfast in bed, movies and chicken soup. He kissed me sweetly, told me stories and shushed me every time I tried to speak, reminding me to let my voice heal. And it did.
God, I loved that man. I still do. I miss him every day. But I also love myself enough to know that I deserve a man who would never ever dream of letting me go. I know that, with or without a leading man, I'm strong enough to carry myself through this epic adventure of a career and life. If Hollywood can't stop me, this cold (or a broken heart) certainly can't either.