Exegesis of “You Broke My Heart”

I recently recorded versions of “You Broke My Heart,” a song by Lavender Diamond. The thought that went into the recording of it was mostly to the effect that this song conveys something I feel to the nth degree. Multiply the literal meaning of the song by a googol and you’ve got about how heartbroken I feel on any given day.

Version One
Stairwell Version

Should I name names? Yes. But before I do that, I would like to convey a more universal sense to my heartbreak.

Poverty, wars, more refugees than ever before. The fashion world as a model of white supremacy enforced by an army of women suffering from eating disorders. Income inequality skyrocketing. People becoming more rich because of all of that.

The world is a heartbreaking place.

Will I ever meet anyone as sensitive as me? Am I the most tender person on earth? are questions I ask myself daily.

There is no way to cope with just feeling so much. The confusion at how people could, in good conscience, be so callous, so rude, such assholes is just another layer of the cacophony of lived pain, and how it accumulates so excessively throughout the day.

In Paris as in many cultures, it is not seen as morally wrong to take advantage of others. If I had a dollar for every time a man dominated or exploited me by dishonest means, I would never have to work again. But like anyone who will take advantage, the seat of their bigotry is an actual sense of superiority. Not only do they not feel bad about taking advantage, they feel entitled. Attaining sex for self-esteem purposes (ie perverse selfish motivations) is the sort of thing that normalizes a guy’s self-esteem and makes him feel like a man.

Language games are so slippery indeed that if a man has the intention to take advantage of a woman, let’s say a woman of a lower class (easy prey let’s say), he can also project his own selfish guilt onto her, despite the fact that she likely had no intention to become the quarry of a man’s ego. She could actually be herself culpabilized for the guy’s selfishness in a number of ways. He could continue to use her for sex and discourage a relationship by means of degrading her and emotionally abusing her, acting as if she is not worthy of respect.

Dating books instruct men that the surest way to conquest is by treating a woman like shit.

Some men hunt for the kill.

Presidential candidate Donald Trump has been known to express this mainstream idea publicly and I have to say I feel sorry for his wife, because she must suffer a lot of abuse.

Anyway though, the phenomena of men deceiving and exploiting women as an expression of masculinity is just one source of heartbreak.

David Wild. Ezra Riemer. Romain Guyot. Karim Ainaoui. Guillaume Harry Françoise. La Barbe groupe d’action féministe. Raphaël Rautureau Dentone. André LaMotte. Swan Graine. Just a few heartbreakers.

I am heartbroken because a woman who claimed to want to help me, and said that she didn’t need the money for rent — when I arrived in France in September with no money but with plenty of work lined up — lied to me and then wrote a novelesque volume of attacks on my character and threatened me for weeks because I informed her that no I could not pay rent weeks in advance for an empty apartment, that I could not afford to buy sheets and kitchen things and everything else. But she took all my money and wanted more.

Caroline Anne, the Gestionnaire administrative et financière des assistants de langue étrangère (the administrative and financial overseer of the TAPIF program), after I explained my difficulties with teachers bullying me, banks committing fraud and playing me for a fool, social workers treating me the worst of all, and every single organization I sought therapy and help from passing me off responded point blank: je ne peux pas vous aider.

“I can’t help you,” wrote Caroline Anne, which is not true.

She actually wrote that should could not help me which is the biggest bold faced lie any French person has told this year. And the thing is, it’s the same sort of back-breaking indifference I experienced at the hands of French bureaucrats the entire year. Cruel, calculated lies. For shame, France.

And you know what, I did contact every single person or office that I was advised to and no one helped me. In November I had asked to be put in touch with the Centres d’Écoute offered by my employer, but my email wasn’t responded to. Then I contacted Femmes Solidaires, Ni Putes Ni Soumises, Voix de Femmes, and CIDFF, and other organizations that supposedly provide therapy, but was either not responded to, gravely mistreated, or put off by wait times so long that they were an abomination.

My heart is broken because I have worked in care (as a babysitter, nounou, and au pair) and know personally that those who give care do not receive it.

Fuck you Caroline Anne, for being a horrible person.

I am also heartbroken by how much I have put into France and how the French government pushed me into destitution. I put my heart and soul into teaching and got my heart broken by teachers who bullied me and put their responsibilities on me.

I am heartbroken because I do not ever feel comfortable in my neighborhood: any time I walk around I am bombarded by men feeling entitled to impose themselves on me, whether verbally or physically. Some physically try to corner me or obstruct my path, others grab my arm or wrist and try to force me to do what they want, but perhaps what irks me the most is men looking at me so licentiously. During the final block to the dorm, men in cars will follow me and badger me to get in the car. Apart from getting violated by the secularly vaunted regard masculin, any time I go out of doors my own eyes are bombarded by the existence of prostitution and other forms of crime in this neighborhood.

Seeing teenage girls pushed into sexual slavery violently breaks my heart. Seeing any woman with so few choices eviscerates me. Passing them any time I go outside after dusk and when they are not there wondering if they are being abused is also very painful. They are at risk and something could happen to them. It is almost more heartbreaking when they are not there, because I am not sure if they are okay.

Maybe the single most heartbreaking thing is how vulnerable populations, those that already suffer the most prejudice and discrimination are those that suffer the most abuse, historically and currently. Those that face the most discrimination are actually in danger of being pushed into sexual slavery and other forms of exploitation, abuse, and their vulnerability is exploited ad infinitum by the economy because it is so profitable; not to mention impoverished communities always already suffer the most violent forms of criminal activity.

As a poor foreign women who has been abused by so many individuals in France, whether social workers and other government employees, past employers when I worked as an au pair and nounou, men, women, and so on, I have been extremely sensibilized to just how vulnerable non-French nationals are to manifold forms of mistreatment, exploitation, and abuse.

I am heartbroken at being eaten alive by so many selfish, unkind, and cruel people while in France.

If there is one thing that is most heartbreaking, it is that just one person has actually been “there” when it has been most tough, without reneging, and she is a struggling artist too. I wrote to her yesterday that she is the only person on earth who I can say is not an asshole. No one else has listened, or acted when it was needed.

As the great Albert Einstein stated, “The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.”

I am heartbroken because I have gotten fucked over in the most insidious ways over and over and just about everyone I know and trust has done NOTHING.

That’s really, really heartbreaking, to live in a world in which people ignore your suffering and pain, and it is thus invisible. The worst part is that they feel superior and actively denying my pain is a cathartic form of self-aggrandization. Feeling entitled to higher status, quality of life and so on is a source of pride. This is what success is for some. Feeling great about having better stuff than other people. And thinking they are inferior because they do not fit your brand of success.