My romantic history has been a mixed bag of lessons, some good, most bad. I’ve loved, but I’ve been IN love twice. The first time around, it was with someone who didn’t really love me back. I was his afterthought. It took about eight years of wishful thinking and pining for me to realize that. That drawn-out lesson cut a clear path for me. I had a better idea of what to look for. Anything after that was rather short. The things I didn’t want ended much more quickly, thank god. And I didn’t hold on.

The second time, the other person loved me back and still does. So heartbreak hurts doubly. Squared. I have accessed the pain, the sorrow, the anger. I’ve cried and cried and cried. And will still do all of these things for quite a while. Heartbreak is mourning.

Noone tells you that heartbreak feels like a rug has been pulled out from underneath you. You were sitting happily on that rug with your person, laughing and eating fruit in the sun. But some of the bananas have brown spots. Flies gather on that squashed grape missed in the corner. Or really, there was a rotten apple next to your right thigh, which you ignored.

Next thing you know, no more rug. No more person. No more fruit. And no more sunshine.

Some people kill themselves over this. I never tried and never will. There are higher stats for suicide among bipolar folks. Add heartbreak to it? Double whammy suckage. I should be off my rocker now, right? In the psych ward, jabbering nonsense.

I am made of stronger, sterner stuff. Maybe its my Christian upbringing. Maybe its my stubborn streak. Maybe its because I want to live my beautiful life, no matter what comes my way. I have looked back on it, and things seemed to fall together and make sense. So in another five years, I will look back on this and it will also make sense. It all makes sense! Just not how I foresaw it.

Nothing totally works out the way we want to. The non-workings? They are pinches from the Almighty. Wake up, bonehead, you need to change some aspect of your life so it will work. And it still may not work, which means it was never meant for you in the first place. And that, my friends, is the ultimate heartbreak lesson. But you do pick up the pieces and go on. You go on by simply getting through your days, no matter how painful they are. Such days are small victories.

I never had a meaningful adult Valentine’s Day until last year, with D. The fancy dinner, the cocktail afterward, the sexy dress and heels, the chocolates, and the diamond-chip heart necklace. It was perfect.

This year? Ugh. UGH!!!! So I’m going to stage a rebellion because I’m single again. I have the right to do it!!! You suck Valentine’s Day, you suck!!! No comments from you well-meaning marrieds and couples. You suck too!!!

You know what I’m going to do? I want to deconstruct V-day altogether. And that means chocolates. Mmm-hmm. Last year, I purchased quality ones from a favorite Buffalo chocolatier. None of that crap, I don’t have the money or the sweetheart to lavish them on. This year I bought the cheapest, most mass-produced ones I could find. To kill them. Mwahahahaha!!!

And well, if I’m gonna kill them, what am I to do with them? I remembered a Death by Chocolate cookie I devised when I was a teen, so rich you could’ve died from it, though I doubt I could get it to that legendary intensity now. I will add my chocolate to that. Y’know, chocolate increases serotonin levels. I need that right now, doubly. Squared.

I am not very good at recipes. I believe in creativity and improvisation, but here are the makeshift instructions:

Marie’s Killer V-day Cookies

(makes about 12-14, depending on cookie cutter size)

Mix together 1 ¼ cups of flour with ½ tsp baking soda, ¼ tsp salt, 1/3 package chocolate fudge pudding mix, and ½ cup unsweetened cocoa. Nuke 1 stick of unsalted butter and ½ cup semi-sweet chocolate chips until creamy, but not entirely melted. Cream in ½ cup of white sugar and ½ cup brown sugar. Mix in 1 egg and ¼ tsp vanilla. Mix first mixture with second mixture. The consistency should be moldable, like so:

Scoop out a hunk of dough of desired size, flatten on non-stick cookie sheet, and press with heart cookie cutter. Slice away outside remains with a knife. Bake in a 350-degree oven for 12-13 minutes.

Chop chocolates up. The gooey insides are messy, mind you. You ARE committing murder, after all.

I’d recommend pairing fruit creams together, or other creams with similar flavor profiles together. Top cookies when they’ve slightly cooled.

Pop back in the oven for 30 seconds. Take out and further decorate. (I used pretty sugars.)

Because the chocolate is SO cheap (mine was $3.00), it will be sweet. Maybe enough to salve love sorrows, or enough to make you sick of love altogether. Whatever you choose, bon appetit!