I entered the white room and saw her there, sitting at a small round table, sipping on hot chamomile tea, its steam lingering in the air. She was a middle-aged woman with soft facial features, dressed decently in a long-sleeved black dress.
“Love isn’t for the weak, is it?” she said, smiling as if expecting me. She had a mix of relief and worry in her eyes when she saw me, probably due to my current disheveled appearance. I was sure my eyes looked lifeless, complemented by eye bags, with lanky, pale skin, and a general lack of mental presence.
I gave her a small smile, walked weakly towards the table, and sat opposite her. I buried my face in my hands, crying, “It’s so hard that it hurts, it really hurts.”
She sat there smiling, waiting for me to finish my sobs, then grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Yes, it hurts. It's the risk of feeling something beautiful and deep, isn’t it? It was worth it, right?” she said softly between her smiles.
I started crying again hearing her say that. The fact that it is what it is makes it hurt even more.
I paused and started to think for a while, making my cries slow down, but then they ascended. “I do think it’s worth it, I don’t regret anything, I just don’t know how to deal with the pain and the overthinking. I’m drowning, it feels like I just want to die to make this stop. I hate myself for feeling everything.”
All I could hear was the sound of my short breaths and wailing as I cried, facedown on the table. She didn’t reply, but I heard her chair creak, assuming she got up. I felt a warm rub on my back, “Can I hug you?” she asked. I looked up, but all I saw was her silhouette through the tears. I nodded.
She wrapped her arms around my body and patted my back gently. My cries now turned to deep sobs, it was hard to breathe through all of the snot and wails. “It’s okay, don’t think about anything else, just think of how much the break-up hurt and let it all out,” she said lovingly. I listened to her, surprisingly feeling secure, loved, and understood.
“I haven’t even had the chance to love him the way I wanted to give him so much love.”
“Yes, but you know it’s not his way.”
“I hurt him and now he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“You’re hurt too, plus, you don’t know that, whether he wants anything to do with you or not, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“But I hurt him the most… and why doesn’t it matter?”
“Who got hurt the most also doesn’t matter. There will always be the one who got hurt the most, and it’s subjective in every aspect. Now, what matters is what you want.”
She’s right; my heart became less heavy as I paused and asked myself, ‘What is it that I want?’ She looked at me lovingly and shrugged a bit while she smiled, “you know exactly what you want in a relationship, right? Do you think he can provide that?”
“No… but we can try?”
“But you both did try, didn’t you?”
I know this, of course, I know. I just didn’t want to own it; I wanted to deny everything that is hard, painful, and sad.
“It hurts when I see him, it isn’t the same. It hurts looking at him knowing that we were as close as humans can ever be, and now so far away, not knowing anything anymore.”
“Yes, it does, and it’s fine to feel so because every encounter in life is as beautiful as the person itself, as beautiful as both of yourselves individually, and beautiful things don’t last; we all die eventually too.”
“As beautiful as our own individual?”
“Yes, you both are perfect as yourselves, but together, it was a whole new thing being born, like a baby, its beauty is pure. So, of course, it hurts when it goes to crumbs, but the hurting is not something you should hate, be mad about, or push away. The hurt itself is fulfilling; it’s hard to feel it now, but you will, so take your time.”
She squeezed my body harder and continued, “the truth hurts, baby girl, but you can make the pain be seen in a different light. You can’t choose how the pain is delivered to you, but you did choose this path, so embrace your own choice. Just one step at a time, don’t be too hard on yourself.”
I love talking to her; she understands and validates everything in the right way. I don’t know why I hardly ever come to her when I’m having a hard time. I would mostly crumble up alone in this white room with the lights out, laying on the floor feeling hopeless and pathetic. Damn, it’s starting to creep in again looking back at it; I could feel the lump in my throat grow bigger.
“I hate having to go back and forth in my own thoughts and emotions. I hate it that today I feel okay and content with everything, then the next day I blame myself for everything, and then the next day I blame him. I hate that I even had the thought of blaming him.”
“That’s healing, baby girl; you know that, and you’re doing so well. In time, the back and forths will lessen, and you won’t even notice it. You also know, right? That you both are wrong but both are right in a way; it is what it is. I’m just proud that you don’t want to hate or blame him, but don't blame yourself too much too. You are a good person, and so is he.”
“How do I even know if he is?”
“But you do, don’t you? At least for what has happened so far; he's just not what you need or probably the relationship isn't what you need.”
I finally let go of her hug and looked into her eyes; they were starting to get teary. I could feel that she was sad for me but also proud of me. I held her hand and gave it a squeeze; she squeezed back and hinted that I should drink some chamomile with her head. The tea no longer had steam brewing out, and I confirmed it with two gulps from my cup.
“Now, I know you know everything I've told you so far. So, after you’ve settled, let’s come back with a clear mind to this table and bring that notebook of yours. We’ll go through on what we need to work on in the future,” she said while pouring some more tea into my cup and hers. I nodded in agreement.
“How are you feeling now?” she asked. I sat there and digested the question.
“Better, but still healing,” I said with confidence.
“That’s good. Well, let me know if you need me again; I hope I can see you when you’re happy next time.” She got up, patted my head, and walked towards the entrance that I came from.
Suddenly, I woke up, and the white room was no more. All I could remember is just seeing my older self patting my head.
