I’ve been wanting to get back to this blog for weeks. Months even.
I have stuff to say and stories to tell and super-clever views on the
world that I know you would all benefit by reading. Seriously, they’d probably change your
life. And I want to change your life. I want to write those life-changers and other
stuff here, but I’ve been stuck.
Stuck behind THIS post.
Because before I can share all the new things I have to update you guys on all the stuff that’s
happened since the last post. And that’s
a lot of stuff. Also large amounts of
that stuff sucked, so I really haven’t wanted to re-hash it. Also it’s not a very interesting post – just
exposition without the swanky flashback scenes that we’d do if this blog was on
television.
But still, it has to be done, so here we go:
Last you heard T.E. and I were “on a break.” That lasted for those 2 weeks but at the end,
despite about a million reasons from T.E. why he worried about staying
together, we stayed together. In
hindsight I know now that was a mistake.
In fact I realize now that T.E. and I should have said a sweet, loving
and genuine “good bye” at the airport before he flew home from his time here
for the holidays. Since that visit things
were never right between us and they just got worse and worse. But one of the things I know about myself,
for better or worse, is I’m a fighter.
So I fought for us.
Oh crap, I’m totally jumping ahead. Let me get back to the chronology.
We stayed together, but with all sorts of plans for how to
make it better or more solid or less oval or more turquoise or whatever. Those plans lasted for about a week and then
it started to unravel again. The last
few weeks were awful, and some of the only things I could possibly categorize
as a ‘regret’ in our time together. But
again, we fought to the bitter end and I give us credit for that, so I can’t
really call it a regret. It was painful
and confusing and frustrating and completely, tremendously heartbreaking. I knew that it was over for about 2 weeks
before T.E. finally said the words.
And still, with all the foreshadowing and pain and heartache
the first four weeks after it ended were some of the darkest days I’ve ever
had.
I won’t go into details – I was depressed. In all the ways that a person could be. Daily tears and lack of sleep and crappy,
crappy eating and things like that. I
decided to just let myself wallow in all the sorrow I needed to get through for
those first four weeks. If I felt like
sleeping all day, even if the sun was shining and kids were playing in my front
yard and birds were singing then I was gonna sleep all day. Take that, stupid birds.
After that first month I decided I was tired of being
sad. I was tired of sleeping all day and
flinching when I heard someone say his name and being completely exhausted with
overwhelming misery all. The. Time. So the second month, I decided, would be
“take a month off from getting over your great and lost love.” I cleaned up my house (many thanks to my Mom
for helping me do that) and started caring about how I looked and found safe
books to read and music to listen to and things to watch on tv. And above all else: distraction.
Don’t think of the relationship.
Don’t think of the break-up.
Don’t think of T.E. or heartbreak or any of the stuff that paralyzed
me.
I’m heading into the last week or so of the second month and
I haven’t decided, yet, what to do with the third month yet. I read somewhere that it takes a month of
recovery for every year you were together – it was on the interwebs, so it must be true – and so I have just over a month to go before I can be “over
it.”
I can’t wait.
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