Driving
I've been told that I'm strong for making the decision that I did, in ending a fairytale-like, 2.5 year long relationship. I try to remember that every day, because invariably, I end up being the poster child for the exact opposite - I flood over with helpless tears until I fall asleep from emotional exhaustion, and then wake up several hours later and stumble around the quiet room to brush my teeth, wash the dry, salty trails off my face, and turn off the lights.
I don't feel strong at all.
I feel wretched, pitiful, and the one conscious thought overriding all else is my wish that I could crawl back to the warmth of his arms and heart.
Even though I was the one to end it, this separation period has been enormously difficult.
Mostly, it's because we've spent every weekend of the past 2.5 years together, and we lived together for 1 year. We know each other inside and out, and it was more than just comfortable, it was everything that meant reassurance and safety and belonging. To rip that away has left me with this gigantic absence of self. He was so much of me and my life, I honestly don't know how to define myself anymore.
And then there's the fear. The fear of that biological clock ticking, and knowing that there isn't an unlimited selection of choices out there, much less someone who is the best match for me, and I for him. I'm an romantic idealist teetering on the brink of cynical realist.
I'm trying to cling to the reasons why I initiated this break-up, but up against the overwhelming wall of sadness and self-loss, they only flutter briefly at the edge of my mind and then disappear, forgotten.
Yesterday, I didn't have contact with a single human being until I called my mom for my nightly phone call at 11 PM. The depression that self-perpetuated from this experience was incredible. I had no idea what it would be like. I was totally ready to break down and call the one person who would understand me. But by the rules, he's the one person I'm most not allowed to lean on.
Now I know why older, single females meander on for so long when they capture you in conversation. They're so desperately thankful for the human contact, they want to prolong it as long as possible. I'm so scared of becoming that.
I'm now 119 lbs. Here I thought that I was going to have problems getting down to 118. Oops. Maybe I should re-set my goal for 115.
During a drive on Saturday, back down from the city, I was taking in the geometric, multi-hued boxes of the architectural landscape and taking mental pictures in my mind. This may seem cheesy, but when I was with him, I never really saw any of it even though we drove past it countless times. I was always focusing on him, with the background blending into an extraneous entity. Without that focal point, now I'm forced to really see again. Blinking, focusing, taking in, taking away.
And not only do I have to see, but I have to drive myself, because no one else is there to carry me along.
I need to learn how to drive again.
I don't feel strong at all.
I feel wretched, pitiful, and the one conscious thought overriding all else is my wish that I could crawl back to the warmth of his arms and heart.
Even though I was the one to end it, this separation period has been enormously difficult.
Mostly, it's because we've spent every weekend of the past 2.5 years together, and we lived together for 1 year. We know each other inside and out, and it was more than just comfortable, it was everything that meant reassurance and safety and belonging. To rip that away has left me with this gigantic absence of self. He was so much of me and my life, I honestly don't know how to define myself anymore.
And then there's the fear. The fear of that biological clock ticking, and knowing that there isn't an unlimited selection of choices out there, much less someone who is the best match for me, and I for him. I'm an romantic idealist teetering on the brink of cynical realist.
I'm trying to cling to the reasons why I initiated this break-up, but up against the overwhelming wall of sadness and self-loss, they only flutter briefly at the edge of my mind and then disappear, forgotten.
Yesterday, I didn't have contact with a single human being until I called my mom for my nightly phone call at 11 PM. The depression that self-perpetuated from this experience was incredible. I had no idea what it would be like. I was totally ready to break down and call the one person who would understand me. But by the rules, he's the one person I'm most not allowed to lean on.
Now I know why older, single females meander on for so long when they capture you in conversation. They're so desperately thankful for the human contact, they want to prolong it as long as possible. I'm so scared of becoming that.
I'm now 119 lbs. Here I thought that I was going to have problems getting down to 118. Oops. Maybe I should re-set my goal for 115.
During a drive on Saturday, back down from the city, I was taking in the geometric, multi-hued boxes of the architectural landscape and taking mental pictures in my mind. This may seem cheesy, but when I was with him, I never really saw any of it even though we drove past it countless times. I was always focusing on him, with the background blending into an extraneous entity. Without that focal point, now I'm forced to really see again. Blinking, focusing, taking in, taking away.
And not only do I have to see, but I have to drive myself, because no one else is there to carry me along.
I need to learn how to drive again.