So, I'm alone now...sort of. Sent into exile, unsure who I really want to include or how exactly to explain what it is that's happened. To say that things have ended would be lying. Nothing is ended. That may, in fact, be a large part of my current problem.
I've always been proudly anti-label. The thing here is, a good, finite label like "ex" would be a blessing, because as it stands, all I have is my long, drawn-out, emotionally complex explanation that really raises more questions than it answers.
What am I left with? Puffy eyes, a runny nose, grief, self-hatred, a broken heart I don't have the first idea how to mend, shame, two suitcases, and a mattress on my parents' bedroom floor in a house that's thousands of miles from the place and the person I've been calling home.
There isn't a single part of this that I don't hate with every fiber of my being. I feel smothered or ignored, loved too much or not enough. All of the conflicting advice makes me physically ill. Go out, meet new people. No, spend time alone. Be with your family. Get your own place. The only thing I feel is resentment, and that makes me hate myself for being ungrateful. Counterproductive? Probably. Do I give a fuck? Probably not.
As for him, Home (now seemingly my former residence), I just worry; is he okay? Will he follow through on what we're both setting out to do? Will he decide that the time he chose to spend with me was wasted? Will we ever really be together again or was that something we used to fool ourselves into letting this happen? Not goodbye, just see you later.
Were I a lesser woman, maybe I'd fake a pregnancy, a suicide, an accident; some sort of trauma to send him racing out here to save me. If I'm honest, I don't need saving. What would that solve? Nothing. He'd still be him, with a head full of neuroses and neglected talents and self-loathing, and I'd still be me, poised on the brink of independence with no clue how to move forward. Just this weird, dopey kid defying labels and confounding convention, but never really brave enough to let go all the way.
So instead, I'll go to therapy and make preserves, take art classes and go running, make plans to move to LA or Toronto or Pittsburgh. And every minute of every day, I'll pray for our pain to ease, I'll pray for a way forward, even if it doesn't involve a reunion. Because if I love him as much as I say I do, I'll have it within me to let him go.
I've always been proudly anti-label. The thing here is, a good, finite label like "ex" would be a blessing, because as it stands, all I have is my long, drawn-out, emotionally complex explanation that really raises more questions than it answers.
What am I left with? Puffy eyes, a runny nose, grief, self-hatred, a broken heart I don't have the first idea how to mend, shame, two suitcases, and a mattress on my parents' bedroom floor in a house that's thousands of miles from the place and the person I've been calling home.
There isn't a single part of this that I don't hate with every fiber of my being. I feel smothered or ignored, loved too much or not enough. All of the conflicting advice makes me physically ill. Go out, meet new people. No, spend time alone. Be with your family. Get your own place. The only thing I feel is resentment, and that makes me hate myself for being ungrateful. Counterproductive? Probably. Do I give a fuck? Probably not.
As for him, Home (now seemingly my former residence), I just worry; is he okay? Will he follow through on what we're both setting out to do? Will he decide that the time he chose to spend with me was wasted? Will we ever really be together again or was that something we used to fool ourselves into letting this happen? Not goodbye, just see you later.
Were I a lesser woman, maybe I'd fake a pregnancy, a suicide, an accident; some sort of trauma to send him racing out here to save me. If I'm honest, I don't need saving. What would that solve? Nothing. He'd still be him, with a head full of neuroses and neglected talents and self-loathing, and I'd still be me, poised on the brink of independence with no clue how to move forward. Just this weird, dopey kid defying labels and confounding convention, but never really brave enough to let go all the way.
So instead, I'll go to therapy and make preserves, take art classes and go running, make plans to move to LA or Toronto or Pittsburgh. And every minute of every day, I'll pray for our pain to ease, I'll pray for a way forward, even if it doesn't involve a reunion. Because if I love him as much as I say I do, I'll have it within me to let him go.
