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.