Anya's Diary:
Anya mends her broken heart

written by Anya

Anya is the quintessential girl next door - in search for real human experiences, emotional connections and yes, even love. This is her diary where she reaches out to you. You are no longer alone. Her diary is a place where experiences are shared and the reasons behind connections and disconnections are explored. When she shares her stories, you may feel just a little more understanding, a little more compassion and a whole lot of "Nooo waaay man, that didn't REALLY happen!" You know you know what she's talking about! ;)

Who would have thought that Axl Rose can bring tears to your eyes? I mean, like the real big, fat, rolling kind of tears. The other day, I was minding my own business in a coffee shop when suddenly I heard ol’ Axl sing that he’d hate to look into my eyes and see an ounce of pain. Well, that was enough to throw me over. Even though I could feel it coming on, and as much as I didn’t want it to happen, and as much as I tried to conceal my contorted face from the coffee serving guy at the counter, I started sobbing - well, crying really - because an ounce of pain doesn’t even cut it, sweet child o’ mine. Not even close.

If emotional pain was shown through scars and bruising, at this point, I’m pretty sure that I would be unrecognizable. Recently, during a hockey game, I was slashed twice in the same spot on my shin. Ouch... that hurt! As much as it hurt, and as many colors as the bruises turned, I could still put ice on it, wait a few days and know that the pain would go away. Eventually, the lump will go down and I will forget that it ever happened. How does the pain go away when you have a broken heart? Is there bruising? Does it turn many colors? Does it literally break? Fracture? Tear? With a physical laceration, you know it will heal. You know it will get better. But with a broken heart, who can be sure, really? The wound is re-opened everytime you see your heart breaker. Every time you hear his voice. Everytime you see him. Everytime you think about him.

When I am in the depths of despair, I have this uncanny ability to relate everything to my broken heart. It’s very fun actually, and makes me feel better. Head down, arms drooping, I happened to notice litter on my way home from the coffee shop that day. Yes, that’s right, litter - thrown away, unwanted, discarded. It was actually a grey afternoon, and the wind was strong. A strong gust of wind - swirling, aimless, confused and without direction.

Oh Pathos! ... see how much fun this is?

Actually, the next day, I had to go see my friend’s newborn baby and as cute and joyful as the little newcomer is, I have since concluded that a broken heart is like a newborn baby. Both must be given comfort, talked to gently and nurtured into the best health. You have to give both plenty of rest, nourishment, and you must just leave both alone. No point in irritating either. After all, when a baby is sleeping, it’s a godsend to just forget about it for a while, much like a broken heart. That gives you time to do other things, like the piled up dishes, dirty laundry, vaccuming. But when it’s awake - a baby and a broken heart - both will scream loudly until paid attention to and then you have no choice, often, but to just simply sit with it and wait for time to make things calm again.

In all seriousness, life throws us so many weird curveballs. It’s one thing to actually find someone with whom you can connect, and then it’s another when it’s just ripped out from under you with no support. Who are you supposed to rely on when you can’t rely on the person you’ve relied on for so long? I know that Oprah or God would say to me, "Well, now Anya, you are supposed to rely on YOURSELF! Isn’t that beautiful? Isn’t that the most valuable lesson of all? Isn’t the world just full of roses? Can’t you just hear the world rejoicing in you’re A-Ha! moment?"

Well no, I can’t.

As much as you want to, you can’t rely on the person who just broke your heart. Even if he is your best friend. How are you supposed to carry on without your most trusted friend? I should have had a dog when I was little. I would have learned life’s lessons much sooner than now. An old ex-boyfriend of mine once told me that without his dog, he probably wouldn’t know how to love, how to be happy, and how to be sad. A dog waits for you, he said, and you wait for your dog. Your dog truly does become your best friend, and then, your dog dies. It is in that death - usually a first mourning for many boys and girls - where you learn about the intensity of love, of missing someone, of hurt, of loss, sorrow, detachment and eventual surrender. It all comes around, he said. You learn to rely on yourself, and then eventually... you just get another dog.

... I don’t want another dog.


If you want to share your stories of love, laughter and tears contact me at anyafarik@rogers.com