Time for another heartbreak?!

There is something that worries me lately. Although, I guess, worry is a big word. But it’s something that I do think about every now and then:

What if I lose ‘my writing’?

You see, I started this blog in august, suffering from the worst heartbreak my heart has ever (and hopefully will ever) suffered. And, looking back, a lot of my blogs around that start had a very cringe-worthy wine-and-bitch-level to them. My pain was apparent from them. I was hurting. Seriously badly. The wounds were big and deep and the need to vent immense. Hell. I thought I was never going to EVER recover. A bunch of those blogs were actually SO painful now, reading back, that I set them to private (not wanting the world of today to see me ‘like that’.)

Before I started this blog, I was posting my writings elsewhere. And they were thrilling. It was the type of writing you do when you’re madly in love (aka: pre-breakup) and was just the delirious, over-the-top gooey love-story that flows out of your pen when you’re on cloud nine looking through rose-colored glasses. I was writing stories that reeked of ‘that couple’. I was writing the story of ‘us’. The nauseating, in-your-face happiness that is too much to take for anyone but yourself, mainly. And people were gobbling that up, as well, just like the painful bits.

Which. In a way. Makes me the fucking Taylor Swift of blogging, I fear.

You know what I mean, right?
Her songs are either glossy love-balads for her current boo, showing the world just how great love is when it’s great. Or they’re the heartbroken rants of a madwoman showing the world how she was wronged. Taking jabs and kicking around in pain, at the ones she loves (or used to love). That’s, I feel, how I tend to approach blogging – as well. It’s an either-or situation. There’s no world really existing ‘inbetween’. There’s no Limbo.

When my writing finds it’s roots so deeply in the realm of love, whether it’s the ‘having it’ or ‘losing it’, one starts to wonder: what if neither is the case.

Because my life right now is both devoid of love, and heartbreak. Empty, in a sense. Will I still have things to write about next month, when the pain of ‘before’ has subsided even more?

Will I still find topics to explore when there’s no connection to be made to the things I apparently hold important? The idea of suddenly running dry scares me, even if there so far is no indication of that happening.

But it IS a possibility. More and more I realize that my heart IS healing. When ‘his’ ringtone chimed last week, my first response this time was a frustrated ‘what does HE want this time?!’ instead of an instant fall into tears and mourning and grabbing a bottle of whatever. And these days, when a car pulls up in front of my house I no longer risk serious injury craning my neck to see if it’s a white station wagon parking there, but I shrug and figure ‘what the hell ARE those neighbors doing that requires them to pull in and out of that driveway 50357823457 TIMES A FRIGGIN DAY?!’.

Plus, now that I’m no longer drinking to forget him (or well, at all #personalwin) the amount of ‘almost accidents’ of me drunk-apping him at ungodly hours to give him a piece of my mind. Or offer up my body for ‘just sex’ or begging to find a way to still be together has entirely disappeared from my system. I AM – regardless of every doubt I had on the topic – healing. Which is good, I reckon. But also bad ‘for business’, I fear.

Is it weird that I sometimes sit here thinking: ‘God. I need myself another heartbreak.’
Just for the sake of having something to write about?

And on the other end of the stick: my need for a new love has all but completely subsided. I can’t really even imagine wanting to spend the time looking, trying and finding that next person to shatter my heart to pieces. And since my libido has now died a gruesome death of starvation and has been buried so deep that I wonder if it’ll ever be found again…this leaves behind a gaping hole of ‘what now’.

IS there going to be something interesting to life (and to my writing) – when it is not love or the absence of it?
I wonder.