"That which does not kill me . . .": The real pain of a broken heart

My heart hurts. It's not a heart attack. My blood pressure is fine and a had an Angio-gram a short time ago. The doctor thought I might have acid reflux or something wrong with my lungs. But, the pain goes away for very long periods of time. The medication makes no difference when I am in pain. It doesn't matter what I eat. None of that triggers pain. This happens to me off and on when I am in a depressive state. I hang onto the words of Goethe, "That which does not kill me, only makes me stronger." It hurts enough, but I know I won't die of it.

Science has proved the same part of the brain that is stimulated by injury or disease is triggered by depression. The pain is real. But, no pain killer will take it away. I've tried that. My physician prescribed Oxycontin once. I took it only twice and when it didn't work, I didn't take it again. I knew it can be addicting. There was no reason for me to take it.

It feels like my heart is broken - as the songs and poems say it is. No figure of speech, it can cause suffering. There are things I can do that will help. I write poetry. For a poem to be any good, the writer must go "to the bone." It involves a dreadful honesty that is painful in and of itself. Strangely, it helps lessen my pain to put it on paper.

I have been accused of over-sensitivity. My feelings don't hurt when I am criticised. I am not bothered over much about personal attacks (though I try to avoid them). However, beautiful literature, mustic, art, another person's suffering can cause me to be moved. When I listen to other people's problems, I feel their pain with them.

On the other side of the coin comes great joy. It doesn't take much to make me feel happy. Not zippidy-do-dah happy, the happy that comes from a geranium in bloom, sunrise, a good conversation, the company of someone I love. Those things please me beyond words. It is not just a matter of "simple pleasures." It is real joy.

I don't mind being sensitive.

But, the heart break sometimes associated with my depressed states is hard to bear. It started when my therapist told me I would make an excellent therapist. It was a compliment and I was pleased to hear it, but that statement started a grieving over what might have been were I not mentally ill. I was getting close. It would only take two years to become a therapist.

Intellectually, I know how much I have to be grateful for. Intellectually, I think of those things. However, my emotional body feels the loss. It is a grief, a mourning as though someone had died. In truth, who I might have been did die with the onset of the illness. The children and friends I lost were really lost to me (at least for a time). And so I battle with my mind and and my pain body. I try to be in the now, the present moment with the person I am - a person I am truly glad to be.