The Sensbile Thing

I always think to myself that I’ve been through enough, so nothing could ever possibly ever hurt me that badly again.  I always make the mistake of thinking that surviving past heartbreaks and hardships means that it won’t be that hard to go through more in the future.  And it’s true.  But it’s also wrong.  Nothing will ever hurt quite like that; it will hurt differently—not less.  It makes me think of the Scott Fitzgerald line, “There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.” There are all kinds of heartbreak in the world but never the same heartbreak twice.  It’s like a virus that mutates.  There is no immunity.  

And even as I’m crying and reminding myself that eventually it always gets better, that eventually you accept that the bed is not half empty but half full, eventually you get up and go out into the world and start to trust people again—even as I’m telling myself that, I wonder if it’s really any better or just different.