***This article originally appeared on VoElla.com in June 2015.***

There is a fine line between fear and excitement.

Take my morbid fascination with horror flicks, for example. I love the chills and thrills that quicken my pulse, but hate the nightmares threatening my sanity long after the credits stop rolling. Yet I continue to be a glutton for punishment, getting my kicks by watching these cinematic scare tactics through a veil of webbed fingers while resigning myself to a foreseeable future of sleeping with the lights on.

Fear. Suspense. Hair-raising pricklies and spine-tingling pandemonium. It’s all par for the course and part of the fun. And let’s not forget those ghoulish, flesh-eating, ax-wielding scene-stealers. The proverbial Preceptors of Doom and Provokers of Death. They have a way of permeating our intrinsic, even-keeled dispositions until we are literally one blood-curdling scream away from soiling ourselves.

Ghosts
Demonic spirts
Poltergeists
Zombies
Boogiemen
Past lovers

Hold up. Huh?

Hear me out.

Early in my adulthood, I took my first crack at a “steady” relationship with a guy we’ll call Keith. Admittedly, I hadn’t a clue what I was doing, and I fought my budding feelings, tooth and nail. “You can’t hurt me. I won’t let you” were the words I had actually uttered to Keith in a moment of affection rebellion—a pitiful attempt at self-preservation when I felt myself slipping into that vulnerable space where brains stop functioning and hearts reign supreme.

In other words, I was scared out of my wits.

We were good friends who sometimes kissed and held hands and succumbed to bouts of intense spooning. No need to make an over romanticized production out of it. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

Oh, what I fool I was.

Two years later, I was indubitably head-over-heels in love, having taken up permanent residence on Cloud Nine. Keith and I spoke of marriage. We were deliriously happy. Or so I thought. Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, I found myself on the receiving end of his litany of excuses, a string of break-up lines fired off in rapid succession, beginning with the ever popular “It’s not you, it’s me” (which we all know is codespeak for, “I don’t love you anymore, so do me a solid and take a permanent hike out of my life.”).

Needless to say, I was devastated—an emotional basket case and dispenser for the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. I felt used, ugly, and unwanted. I prayed to the gods of dating karma, hoping they’d take pity on me while commanding the Earth to open up and swallow me whole, putting me out of my misery.

Yes, I’m being dramatic, and justifiably so—because amid such an experience, a real-life horror show takes shape—a relationship massacre, so to speak. Not only is it downright terrifying, but it hurts like hell.

When someone we love leaves us behind, we immediately embark on new journeys we didn’t intend to take.

As we trudge through the aftermath of our failed relationships, we dissect the remains and wonder where it all went wrong. It takes time for the grief to settle enough for us to grit through the pain as we begin to think that maybe…just maybe…everything will be okay.

Eventually, with a little help from our friends and Haagen-Dazs Rocky Road, we move on. Though sometimes, it’s not that simple.

The ghosts of past relationships have a twisted sense of humor, and they enjoy haunting us, looming large over our psyches while threatening to sabotage every future relationship we dare to dip our toes into.

When I finally reentered the dating pool, I was more of a wet blanket than an active participant. I started seeing a kind man—we’ll call him Pat—and our relationship chugged along for nearly six months before he finally cut his losses and kicked me to the curb. The saddest part was that I barely batted an eyelash after the fallout. My walls had gone up the moment we met, an emotionally impenetrable steel trap erected around Keith’s memory, holding it in protective lockdown where the spirit of my best self could live on.

Such a shame. Pat was a great guy. Smart. Funny. Handsome. We shared a palpable chemistry and were insanely compatible. The breakup should have hit me with the brutality of a belly flop gone horribly wrong. Instead, I remained comfortably numb in the shallow calm of my own denial.

So, what happened to being vulnerable? Why couldn’t I get with the freaking program?

The short answer?

Hearts are stubborn and fearful.

The longer answer?

More often than not, hearts remain fiercely loyal to the ghosts of past relationships, with ill regard of consequence. That’s because when we exchange a deep love with another person, it becomes unconditional, a bond so powerful that a breakup alone can’t squash it.

I remember my thought process after Keith sent me packing. Until that point, he had been the love of my life, and I couldn’t fathom ever replicating the same connection with another man. Instead of opening myself to the possibility of falling in love again, I shifted gears, resolving to be comfortably noncommittal.

Eventually, my warped sense of logic got the better of me, and I grew terribly lonely. After spending an inordinate amount of time in relationship limbo, I realized that my past with Keith had become more than just a memory I couldn’t let go of.

It was the symptomatic corpse burdening my soul.

With a fresh supply of determination coursing through my veins, I picked myself up, brushed myself off, and performed my first exorcism. It was fairly anticlimactic, devoid of blood, guts, or spinning heads. Yet it was undeniably effective.

If you, too, have been trapped under a mountain of baggage fashioned from ghosts, here are several ways to lighten your load and surrender all that dead weight…

Stop torturing yourself.

There’s no gentle way to say this. If you keep harping on your ex, he wins. Simple as that. Your inner sadist may prompt you to monitor his social media activity, “accidentally” run into him at his favorite hangouts, or drive by his house 50 times a day because you just “happened” to be in the neighborhood. But it’s best to resist those urges. If he catches you, trust me, he’ll be less than impressed and you’ll possibly earn a stalker reputation. He chose a life without you, regardless of how jilted you feel. So, you need to let him live it.

Toss out the mementos.

That ultra-comfy T-shirt he gifted you right off his back when he caught you admiring it—the one that smells like him—the one you still sleep in every night? Get rid of it. All those handwritten letters professing his undying love? Burn them. That goes for photos too. Sounds harsh, I know, but if you truly want to live in the present, you must first extract the keepsakes that keep you steeped in history.

Visualize.

What qualities do you look for in a partner? As you consider these traits, let your mind wander until it produces a clear visualization of your ideal mate. Mentally register each feature, mannerism, facial expression, muscle flexion, and lilt of vocal resonance. Then imagine interacting with this new love interest—flirting, laughing, trading anecdotes and smiles. Successful visualization can be a powerful tool for attracting what you want into your life. At the very least, it’ll shift your focus away from Whatshisface.

Get out there.

Enough with the sadness and isolation. It’s time to infuse all that gray with some light and color. Gussy yourself up, leave the house, and become reacquainted with the land of the living. Make plans with friends. Take an art class. Join a gym. Find new passions or rediscover old ones. Being proactive and dedicating time to the things you enjoy puts you back in the driver’s seat and the skeletons back in the closet where they belong.

Ditch the third wheel.

Speaking of skeletons, if you meet someone new and ignite a spark, don’t invite Bones along for a threesome. Comparing every potential love interest to an old relationship you’ve idealized in your head is unhealthy and counterproductive. Dating is supposed to be about having fun. Don’t ruin it by stressing about the future. Feeling scared or ambivalent is normal, but it’s important to stop looking at every new encounter as a failed relationship in the making.

Have faith.

Your ex is not the end-all and be-all. It may seem that way, especially when the wounds are still fresh, but you will love again, and on a deeper level than ever before. When you find “The One,” you’ll know irrefutably that your ex’s decision to end things was actually a blessing in disguise. I knew it the moment I met my husband, and still do all these years later.

~ ~ ~

Getting hurt is damaging and surviving loss is difficult. But in coming to terms with our fears, we can expel our inner demons, get out from behind those emotionally closed doors, and invite in the possibility of love. And with possibility comes the probability of a fulfilling, lasting relationship in the future.

Copyright © S. A. Healey