Anyone Who Had a Heart
There was a time, when I was a girl when I believed in Valentine’s Day. I thought there was a boy who I had a crush on, who was going to give me a special Valentine’s Day card. He had asked me if he could give me a Valentine. That must mean — he had a crush on me too. Out of all of the cards in the box, I picked out the special Mickey and Minnie one where she was kissing him on the cheek and I took it and elmer glue’d it to a big red construction paper heart and added fluffy white pom poms all around the edge. It was spectacular.
From the image above, you might gather what happened at school on Valentine’s Day. He gave out a lot of Valentine’s Day cards.
I was confused and hurt and I cried.
I thought I was special to him. I thought it was about me. I thought it was a mutual crush.
Being an adult is not that different than those childhood moments. Ofcourse, the emotional stakes are way higher at 50 post divorce and our entanglements include way more than just a crush on someone. But what has happened to me this summer and what happened to me back then are eerily — the same.
I gave my spectacular heart to someone. Not all at once, but slowly over 3 years. I trusted him. What is love, after all BUT TRUST? Trust to it’s highest degree.
I was diagnosed with skin cancer and he dumped me.
He began posting online about other women.
It was revealed there had been other women during our time together.
What I am left with is the same feelings.. confusion, hurt.. crying.
Making art is truth.
I have a problem with lies. I have a problem with liars.
I made art today from this truth. I have had a lot of painful truths in my life and a lot of extremely painful lies from liars.
My truth is that there are wounds that stay open. As humans we look to find another who might help us heal. We search for the ones who feel safe and kind and caring and real and true.
But sometimes, we get it wrong.
He was just giving out hearts.
Not to anyone special.
The truth ends up being.. The pom pom’d heart needs to be protected and we have to heal ourselves.
Make Art. — I have spoken.
