Love--a grave mental disease

You remember your first heartache. The sadness crept over you every chance your mind had--like it was a state you'd get back to after the distractions. You struggled getting out of bed, and bursting into tears in public occurred all too often. You had very little control, and it was something you were not used to. You started whole, and you ended cracked open. Boston was interminably a cold, somber space in your memory. Junot Diaz did say "Boston winters are on some terrorism shit." You never felt so alone.

Sad-napping for days on end became a thing. The only solace was in sleep. Every few months, you get manic depressive episodes--ugly-crying in the middle of the night, constantly needing to pacify your unforgiving moods. Therapy was futile because it was merely another distraction. You don't really trust your shrink, do you? You choose to be horrible to others because you. just. don't. fucking. care.

Do you ever really go back to normal?