I’ve got Broken Heart Syndrome. I don’t even know if there is such a thing or not. It seems like I read about it a few years ago. My doctors have diagnosed me with anxiety and depression. I feel like many of my physical conditions come from my broken heart.
Looking back on my life, I realize that my heart was first broken at a very young age. I have a memory of me and my mother and sister in the back seat of a taxi. Mama had packed things in bed sheets and she had taken my sister and me by the hand and led us to the taxi when it pulled up to the curb. I remember crying in terror and clinging to my teddy bear. My father, who had rushed me out into the cold the year I had both pneumonia and whooping cough, because the cold air would jolt me back into breathing when I would stop . . . as the taxi drove us away, my father came running onto the porch and watched us as we left. That’s my first memory of my heart breaking.
There were many more broken heart memories in childhood. The teen years brought their own. I’m not talking about when some boy decided he didn’t like me anymore, but liked another girl in the classroom better . . . I’m talking about when my dog’s puppies drowned during a storm when I was 12 or 13 years old. I’m talking about when my sister’s baby boy died just before Christmas when I was 16 years old. We buried him on Christmas Eve.
I could go on and on about all the times my heart got broken throughout the years, but then you’d possibly be depressed too, so why do that? From time to time I sit down at this keyboard and type out a memory in an attempt to get it out of my head.
I’ve tried everything I know to repair my broken heart. I think it’s just broken in too many places, and I might as well give up. It’s just broken. Broken beyond repair.
author’s note: Being a researcher, I typed in broken heart syndrome to see if I’d read about it before. I ended up finding this term “taktsubo cardiomyopathy”.