ELIM CIVOLUDAR'S MEMOIRS - OLD FLAMES

Three days ago, driven by an overwhelming sense of loneliness, I reached out to an old flame on Facebook. This wasn't just any past relationship; once upon a time, I was deeply and passionately in love with her. The intensity of my feelings made her decision to end our relationship particularly devastating.

Her departure shattered me completely, leading to an emotional breakdown that lasted for three agonizing days. I was plunged into a profound emptiness and despair that felt insurmountable during that time. Despite the searing pain of that heartbreak, I somehow managed to summon the courage to move forward with my life.

In the years that followed, new romances came and went. Each new relationship brought its own experiences and lessons. Still, none of them ever seemed to affect me as deeply or profoundly as the breakup.

It made me wonder: did my intense reaction to our breakup signify genuine love on my part? Or was it something else entirely? As I pondered these questions, I couldn't help but reflect on the nature of love and its impact on our lives. Was it possible that my first heartbreak had set a benchmark for all future relationships, making it impossible for anyone else to measure up? Or did that relationship hold a unique place in my heart that no one could ever replace?

Months—or perhaps even a year—passed by, during which I managed to find a sense of relative contentment. Life had settled into a new normal, and I was beginning to believe that the painful chapter with her was finally behind me. Then, out of the blue, her message arrived: "How are you?"

The message caught me completely off guard. There's no way to prepare for such unexpected encounters; they occur and, in an instant, can reshape one's life.

After our breakup, I consciously decided to sever all ties with her. I erased her from my life entirely, believing that this was the only way to heal. It was akin to a person with an addiction renouncing their substance of choice, convincing themselves that they are no longer an addict.

However, reality proved to be much more complex. I didn't erase her phone number.

Recovery is a process, not an instant transformation. You can't passionately love someone one day, endure the heartbreak of losing them the next, and then act like nothing happened on the third day. Finding that you can move on so easily may be a sign that the love wasn't as deep or genuine as you once believed.

For me, the process was anything but simple. Each day was a struggle, filled with moments of longing and flashes of our shared memories.

Seeing her message reminded me of all this. It stirred up emotions and memories I had tried so hard to bury. The simplicity of her question—"How are you?"—belied the complicated history we shared and the emotional journey I had undergone since our separation. Until her message, I thought I had successfully navigated the healing process. But I was wrong.

The floodgates of memory swung open, overwhelming my mind with a torrent of bitter recollections from our tumultuous past. Every argument, every tear, every moment of heartbreak we had shared came rushing back with startling clarity.

I couldn't help but respond with a surge of anger and hurt. Why was my ex-lover reentering my life now, just when I had struggled so hard to forget her? What did she want from me after all this time?

I'm not proud of my response. My words dripped with venom, each sentence carefully crafted to convey the depth of my resentment. In that fleeting moment, releasing my pent-up emotions felt like a form of catharsis, a way to reclaim some control over the situation. Yet, the instant I hit send, a wave of regret washed over me. The anger that had momentarily empowered me now revealed the true extent of my bitterness.

This outburst forced me to confront a painful truth: Had I genuinely moved on from her, or had I merely buried my feelings deep within my subconscious, allowing them to fester and grow? My reaction suggested the latter.

It became evident that my supposed healing was more superficial than I had realized. Instead of dealing with my emotions, I pushed them aside, hoping time alone would heal the wounds. Her message had reopened old scars and forced me to acknowledge the unresolved emotions that still lingered beneath the surface. This realization left me questioning the authenticity of my recovery. Was I truly over her, or was I pretending, masking my unresolved pain with a façade of contentment?

As I sat there, staring at the screen, waiting for her response, a new set of questions emerged. How would she react to my harsh words? Would this exchange lead to further pain, or could it serve as a catalyst for genuine closure?

Only time would tell, but one thing was certain: I needed to face these lingering emotions head-on rather than continuing to bury them in the depths of my subconscious. Perhaps the belief that we would never reconcile had been crucial to my healing. The finality of our breakup had allowed me to categorize my pain, place it in a box labeled "past," and move forward.

But her unexpected message shattered that illusion, reopening the possibility of reconciliation and, with it, a flood of fear. I dreaded the prospect of reliving the pain that had once consumed me. The mere thought of it made me feel vulnerable and exposed. I was scared.

Her response to my evil message was simple and disarming: "I just wanted to know if you're okay. I'm sorry for intruding. I won't bother you again. I wish you well."

When I read her reply, a wave of regret washed over me. My harsh words, meant to protect myself, had only served to push her further away. I had let my anger and hurt dictate my actions, and now the damage was done. Her message was a clear and final goodbye, laced with kindness that only deepened my regret.

Desperately, I tried to salvage the situation. I typed out a hurried response filled with excuses and attempts at an apology. I tried to explain my reaction and justify my outburst, but deep down, I knew it was too late. My words had already inflicted harm, and no amount of backtracking could erase them. I waited anxiously for a response, but none came. Each passing moment without a reply felt like a reminder of my failure.

I had allowed my unresolved feelings to sabotage a chance at closure, perhaps even a chance at rekindling a friendship. Instead, I was left with a gnawing emptiness and a stark realization: my healing was far from complete. In the silence that followed, I was forced to confront the truth. My anger had not been a sign of strength or self-preservation but of lingering pain and unresolved emotions.

It was clear that I needed to do more than move forward; I needed to genuinely process and understand my feelings to find a way to let go of the past without letting it define my future. Two years have passed since that painful exchange. Life has moved on, and I have made significant progress. I have established new routines, formed new relationships, and created peace.

Her memories occasionally surface, but they feel like echoes from a distant past, lacking the sharp sting they once held.  Yet, inexplicably, a month ago, I sent her another message. Why did I do it? What was I hoping to achieve? Was it loneliness that drove me to reach out to her again? I longed for closeness and attention, which was missing in my life. Had I truly moved on, or was this a sign that I was still grappling with unresolved feelings? In those moments of introspection, I questioned my motives.

Has loneliness driven me to such lengths that I would entertain any connection, even one that had caused me so much pain, to avoid the hollow ache of solitude? I seek reassurance, hoping that these actions and feelings are part of a normal process of healing and growth. May this be a temporary lapse?

Just my heart makes a fool of me again.