A couple of years ago, having been a lifelong cynic (i.e. irritable romantic) about true love, I thought I'd found 'the one', and she embraced me with apparently perfect empathy/understanding of my many faults, contradictions and areas of dysfunction: she'd been to a lot of the same dark places, and before long, we were engaged. In reality, of course, our knowledge of each other was purely circumstantial, and before we'd been together a full year, it ended: my 'understanding' angel spitting venom, abuse, and even anti-semitic slurs, before slamming the door. There was a total reversal from which I still, more than 18 months on, haven't recovered, from a sense of being loved for who I am/was to being cast out like vermin. She succeeded in making my sense of worthlessness complete for a long time, and I ended up becoming the junkie she'd accused me of being before leaving, which was a little ironic, as she'd been feeding me Vics and Xanax the whole time we were together. I'm still struggling to get off of benzos, and blew a serious professional opportunity in the immediate aftermath of the break-up.
All of which is preface to saying I know well, despite the very different timescales involved, the sense of shock when someone starts to act in ways that seem to contradict everything you thought you knew about them. I allowed my life to fall to pieces after the end - though I'm not sure I had any choice, and am now, a few years shy of 40, living with my mom, unemployed save for occasional freelance work, and fighting a constant battle to get off these fucking pills. The one thing I did right was not to rebound...though at this point, it's no longer a matter of rebounding. The combination of two destructive relationships in short order and the druggie depression that followed them left me with virtually no sex drive, let alone the willingness to be vulnerable and develop feelings for anyone else. I've come to accept I may remain celibate and single for the rest of my life - because I honestly don't know if I could survive going through anything similar again. The whole question of future romance, or even sex, seems as unreal as fantasising about winning the lottery (not that I've ever bought a card). That may well be a self-fulfilling 'learned helplessness' - maybe I've just capitulated to fears of abandonment/rejection, saying 'okay, you win. I've lost hope.'
This may not be true for everyone else, but over time, I've come to feel some peace - some, and it isn't consistent - with the possibility of remaining alone. What happens will happen, what doesn't, won't, and either way, life isn't going to be easy. I agree that waiting for the universe or divinity or jolly little leprechauns to come along and sprinkle bliss into one's life is starry-eyed and a sure path to depression and paralysis: but so is flailing into rebound messes and suddenly finding you've exchanged rings with a personality disorder (I'm pretty sure, in retrospect, that she'd been misdiagnosed as bipolar and actually suffered from BPD, which I have traces off myself). Nature hates a vacuum - but can pump in any kind of gas, and it may well not be oxygen that fills the void, but something, to strain the simile, more akin to petrol fumes or freon.
There's no right or wrong way to go about relationship recovery - though avoiding facebook pictures/emails et cetera is pretty much always a good idea, it's no vaccine for obsession - but immediately wondering 'can I love again?' invites the disaster of trying to prove that you can, and feeling that you have to: at which point, the human capacity for self-deception is pretty much infinite. Feel the pain you're feeling - don't fear or question the future any more than you absolutely have to, would be my only advice. And remember, many people live rich and fulfilling, but solitary (at least in romantic terms) lives. I'm not one of them yet, but I think I'll have to be before any future relationship that isn't just one more time-bomb delusion becomes possible again. If that never happens...I have a few friends I love and trust, (very few), and at my darkest moments, try to remember the wisdom of David Foster Wallace, who sadly couldn't abide by his own insight in the end: 'no single moment is in and of itself unbearable'. You may think it is...but in doing so, you've lived through it and proved yourself wrong. Just keep breathing, and as they say in jail 'move slowly and drink plenty of water.'
Sorry for the long and self-indulgent post - it's been a long, dark few years and sometimes everything seems pointless. Maybe it is. But I notice I'm still breathing, and when afraid that this loneliness will continue and worsen and never abate (which happens most days), I remind myself of the immortal wisdom to be found in the words, 'ah, fuck it, so what?' Maybe we can only really love - some of us at least - when we've given up on love's necessity. Or maybe I just can't. If so, it doesn't mean the universe is empty or without meaning: just that I've failed, as yet, to imagine other possibilities. But there are moments when I feel I've hit the bottom of the pit, see nothing ahead but tedious, repetitive pain and isolation: but can find a certain sense of healing in 'okay, so it goes - maybe.'
I'm rambling and will stop, but one final thing: a little pot - or even, perhaps, a whole shitload, for a while - is no big deal, but the worst mistake I made was to self-medicate with pharms. Whatever else, don't start hitting the pills or bottle hard, because they'll hit back, a lot fucking harder.
Anyway, it's brave of you to have posted here, and however incoherent the above, know that this is one more stranger, many miles away, who has felt some of the same pain, and feels sympathy for your situation. You'll survive - beyond that, don't second-guess the future. It may or may not be indifferent, but asking questions of it is pointless: it either says nothing or just lies to you.
