One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.

Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

I won’t beat around the bush.

October was nothing short of a big terrible bummer.

My car was totaled in a Walgreens parking lot.

Arlo was in the back seat when it happened.

Matthew Perry’s existential escape mission was successful.

He was found dead in his hot tub on a Saturday afternoon.

The people of Palestine continue to fight for their lives.

And my heart was broken not once, but twice, at the hands of someone who I thought was in it for the long haul.

(…shame on me for that one, though).

Now, if you haven’t had the pleasure of reading Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry yet, I’m guessing the bit above about his death caught you off guard. Without context, a statement equating death with success probably seems inappropriate and callous, at best.

But if you have read his memoir, you may be more keen to understand why I think an outcome like this wasn’t a matter of if, but when, for America’s favorite funny guy.

See, I frame it this way not to minimize or make light of the situation, but instead, to capture what can only be described as an inevitable end.

Now, let it not take away from how deeply my heart aches for him, his loved ones and the legacy he leaves behind, despite the heaps of pain he suffered through daily for 50-some odd years.

Internal heaps so high and so heavy, that you can only even begin to comprehend their weight, if you’ve wrestled with some of the same demons yourself.

This is a memoir changes you. His pain was palpable. It was excruciating.

It could be felt through every single word, on every single page.

And so, while his death should go down as nothing short of a harrowing loss for this generation, I think it can also be understood as a little sigh of relief.

Relief simply because he no longer has to face the heaps.

And life went on. It was not the same, but it went on.

Unknown

As I was left to navigate a certain sad end of my own, I found myself fiddling with a new vocabulary word: betrayal.

It is a rather potent and unfamiliar word that floated to the surface for me over the weekend. I think the main reason this word feels so foreign and unwarranted to me, is because it’s the first time I’ve experienced the full effects of betrayal first-hand.

Betrayal is the type of experience that knocks you down on your back and sucks the wind from your lungs.

Betrayal is whiplash.

It is a different kind of grief.

A crash-landing with no survivors.

One that leaves nothing but shards of heart and hope and trust on its trail for miles, as far as the eye can see.

Online sources say betrayal most commonly rears its ugly head in the form of disloyalty, infidelity, or dishonesty.

They call betrayal traumatic, with lasting effects that include shock, grief, morbid pre-occupation, broken self-esteem, increased self-doubt, anger and sadness.

What cannot be said, will be wept.

Sappho

Betrayal is headstones.

Turns out, disappointment is another inevitable end we must face a handful of times the course of our lives.

Sometimes, it is the people we least expect it from who let us down the hardest.

We are selfish creatures by nature and the older I get, the more I learn that at the end of the day, people are always going to do what’s best for them. Or at the very least, what they believe is best for them at any given point in time.

Even the people we trust the most can let us down six ways from Sunday.

These people may enter our lives with pure hearts and good intentions, and still wreak havoc on our hearts.

From mishandling our trust, to taking advantage of how much we care —it knock us over and leaves us gasping for air, while they walk away from the wreck unscathed.

Luckily for us, what matters more than the crash, is how we pick up the pieces.

It’s not about how many times you get knocked down or who walks away with your blood on their hands.

The most important part will always be what you do with the wreckage.

It’s about how you pick the scattered shards off the floor and piece your trusting heart back together again.

It’s in how you labor through the heaps of grief, restore your spirit and sow the courage it takes to start over, again.

It is a blessing, to love so deeply. But a curse to grieve with the same depth.

Louise Kaufmann

Don’t get me wrong. It’s definitely easier to fall into patterns of self sabotage after going through a heartbreak. For a long time, that was the only way I knew how to cope with the grief I carried.

Now, I cope differently. I take salt baths. I floss my teeth. And I make small promises to myself that help restore a sense of worthiness and optimism within the folds of my pieced together heart.

Ultimately, it is within these small acts of self-preservation where seeds of forgiveness get sown.

Seeds of acceptance.

The wherewithal to move on.

I like to find comfort in the possibility that everyone is just out here doing the best they can. Doing the best they can to cope with their own existential crisis.

And I like to find comfort in the possibility that with each heartbreak, we become that much more resilient. Resilient and well, spunky, of course.

It was her habit to build laughter out of inadequate materials.

John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

It’s hard not to think that all these strokes of bad luck are punishment for all the ways I’ve gone wrong in my life.

I think one of the hardest parts about betrayal is learning to not take it personally.

For me, rejection triggers my fear of abandonment. The latest inevitable end had me wondering if the amount of suffering I face, correlates to the amount of suffering I’ve caused.

It’s during times like this when I can’t help but wonder, how much longer until my debts to society are settled?

Will I ever catch up and catch a break?

I’ve always had a, “hope for the best but mostly prepare for the worst,” type of mentality when it comes to pretty much anything. I don’t think this mentality has ever actually lessened the blow of any unfavorable outcomes. But I do know that when everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching and don’t take no for an answer—they are the ones you want to keep in your corner.

And I know that when it comes my people, I’ll fight tooth and nail to the bitter end for them, no matter what we’re up against.

I’d like to live in a utopia where I can remain friends with my exes even after havoc has been wreaked. But the reality is, I don’t think that kind of thing is doable until a proper amount of healing takes place first.

So for now, I’ll keep hanging out with myself until I feel like me again. Because when push comes to shove, she’s the only one I know will keep showing up for sure.

Let us forget, with generosity, those who could not love us.

Pablo Neruda, Sonata with Some Pine Trees