I faced my first challenge as a newly single person the other day: how to drain the standing AC unit in my bedroom. I had relied so heavily on M to do things like that for me – and failed to ask my dad when he was in town. Sweat poured off me and frustration abounded as I tried to tilt it off my balcony – and I think I was mostly able to remedy the situation, as it’s no longer leaking – but it was one of those moments where my brain just couldn’t handle the fact that we actually have to do things on our own now. We are no longer in a relationship – and we are all alone here once again. And it will get much harder than draining an AC unit.
The past almost two months have been the most difficult time of my life. Yes, I do really mean that: more challenging than initially getting sober and any subsequent relapses – and in some ways, more devastating than 2016, when I lost my paternal grandfather (“Gpa G”) and college best friend in the span of less than three months. I say that because neither of them meant to break my heart; as hard as it was to lose them, this sort of heartbreak is far worse. The kind of devastation where you have to try to continue living without the person you thought would be around forever, while he goes about his existence with nary a care that he destroyed your life and all hope you previously had for the future. I realized the other night that the word I have yet to use to describe this situation is lovesick. I am very much lovesick these days. There are some moments where I don’t know how I am going to get through the next few tasks in the day, let alone the rest of my life, without him. And there are so many layers to this loss: he was more than just my boyfriend and my future husband, or so I thought; he represented far more than just a romantic relationship. He was everything I had been yearning for – the person who could always cheer me up, who matched my sense of humor, who was always there for me. I had no doubts at all – why would I have? I blindly and faithfully put all of my eggs into his basket, thinking that he was the person I had been waiting my whole life to meet, that he would complete me, make my life easier, and enhance my existence. And he did: until he didn’t. In the aftermath of our break-up, he has shown his true colors and I wish that was enough for me to move on – but it simply isn’t.
Having placed so much emphasis on getting a fresh start when I left Northern Virginia, I really wanted just that: a chance to have a clean slate, somewhere devoid of any memories from my 20s and my active addiction. A chance to be all that I could be, to forge new friendships, get involved in the community, and yes, I suppose find love at some point. I wanted a change of scenery and a chance to start all over again. I wasn’t looking for M when I met him – and now I wish more than anything that we hadn’t met, because he has forever changed the trajectory of my life. And not in a good way. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined what a mistake it would be to move, that ultimately I would be in a situation far more painful than any I had back “home”. Now I am faced with what to do next: do I move back to Northern Virginia, where at least I have friends and neighbors, and potentially a better chance of re-building a future for myself, or do I stay here and hold out false hope, for however long, that my ex will want to get back together? Neither are particularly great options, but the former is a much safer bet (and better for my mental health) than wasting away while I wait for someone that once loved me to figure out what he really wants in life. I shouldn’t have to be someone’s option or “I guesssss so” – I should be their first choice.
When we were sitting in our final couples counseling session, the worst “therapist” (who licenses these people?) in the state of Pennsylvania had the audacity to bring up M’s family. I of course cried: I never had that kind of relationship with anyone’s family before (other than my own) and it was yet another reason I thought he was “The One”. With a close-knit family and all of the other boxes he checked, I was so sure about him, literally as of our first date. I think about his family often, as they are one of the layers of loss: without any relatives or family of my own in the state or even on this coast, it was such a comfort – truly surreal – to be brought into the fold in the way that they welcomed me. I still have remnants and reminders of them all over: a hand sanitizer spray in my car from the Christmas stocking they gifted me last year; a stuffed kitty that also doubles as a heating pad; an enormous stir-fry pan; the list goes on. They were always thinking of us and were so happy that we had found each other. How could that not have been enough for him? Everyone was rooting for us – couldn’t he see that? The kitty (whose name is Lancie) sleeps with me at night and oddly enough, she doesn’t make me sad – her presence just makes me hope that he was in fact raised right and will realize the error of his ways.
It has been a real challenge not to beat myself up over the mistakes I made or the baggage I brought to the relationship. I frequently think, “If only I hadn’t been so depressed!”, now realizing what it really means to be at absolute rock bottom with my depression and not being able to see the way forward without him. But that’s not fair – because the right person would be willing to see it through and wouldn’t give up on me in my darkest hour. We all know the famous Marilyn Monroe quote: “If you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” While it is a struggle to remind myself of that, it has to be true: I am worthy of someone who will ride out the hard times because they believe in me and because they love me despite my demons.
As I continue to process the extreme loneliness that has set in, coupled with the fact that we are headed into Satan’s living quarters these next few months (the worst time of year for me under any scenario), I have to accept that I’m not okay: there are more layers to this loss than I initially realized and it’s going to be a very, very long time before I feel remotely normal again. I am doing all that I can to survive and to give myself grace that this isn’t going to be a “thriving” situation for quite some time. There are still so many unanswered questions since I last wrote about this loss here – and I don’t know if I will ever get those answers from someone that turned out to be completely different than the person I fell in love with.
I will admit that I have nothing figured out at this point: the only thing I do know is that I have multiple layers of loss to work through as I attempt to navigate my way forward. I am still haunted by memories of our beautiful relationship on a daily basis; my dreams are frequently interrupted by cameo appearances from him; and some days, I wake up and the harsh reality of the heartbreak and loss hits me all over again, as though it just happened yesterday. I would never wish this on anyone, truly: no one deserves to fall in love, be deliriously happy with so much certainty that they finally found their person, and plan an entire future together, only for it to all be ripped away, one promise at a time. But the thing with layers is that you have to work through each of them separately. And because there are so many and there was so much at stake, I don’t know how long it will take or when (if) I will ever be okay again. This will always be the worst thing that could have happened as a result of moving here.
It’s difficult to end a post like this on a positive note – in fact, you’re probably thinking that yourself. I’ve had people (including my ex – eye roll, please) tell me that I’m the strongest person they know. However, I don’t know if I can handle too much more, thank you – I’d like to tap out my “strength” right here. But we all know that’s not how life works. And maybe this was a lesson in values, another reminder that I was probably meant to be born in a different, much earlier era, when people kept their promises and in a time when relationships weren’t so disposable. To quote my dad (one of the only men, besides Basil, who has never broken my heart), “You two are not the same”. Does that make me feel better, knowing that I would (and could) never do this to someone I truly love? Not really. Will this make me more guarded and make me entirely reevaluate my priorities going forward, despite the fact that I still really want to find unconditional and lasting love? Yes, absolutely. It’s still too early to try and glean any real lessons from this – but for as many layers of loss as there are, there is maybe also just a sliver of hope slightly seeping through one of those layers, that I might one day feel like myself again.