This summer has been the hardest 3 months of my life. I’m not sad to see it go.
My boyfriend (let’s call him “C”) of 3.5 years broke up with me. I wish I could say it was a mutual break-up, but that’s not entirely true. Although it was amicable, it was his decision to end it. If it were up to me, it wouldn’t have happened now – maybe not ever. With so much of my life being uncertain right now, I wasn’t ready for my love life to fall apart much like my career and mental well-being has.
But, I think he did the right thing.
I don’t blame him for ending it. I’ve known on some level that things weren’t right for a while now. I just kept holding onto the notion that it’s my life that’s so fucked right now, and once I get back on track so will this relationship. But it’s been well over a year. The crippling migraines that started last July were quickly joined by numerous stress-induced physical and mental problems that I blame on being over-worked, underpaid, and under-appreciated in a toxic work environment. But I’ve hated my job for over 2 years and only started looking for a new job 9 months ago. Why did I wait? Why did sacrifice so much (if not all) of myself for such a shitty job, and shitty pay check?
I wish I could push the rewind button on my life and start looking after myself much, much sooner than I did.
I haven’t been happy in at least a year. Sure there are good days, but overall, I’ve been miserable all this time. I don’t blame him at all for wanting out. I know how hard it is to have friends that are dealing with depression – especially those that don’t do anything to get better. I can’t imagine what it’s like for your partner to be that person.
I am, surprisingly, handling this a lot better than I thought I would have – but it’s still incredibly hard. (Maybe I’m stronger than I thought?)
He’s been my person for so long, and now he’s just… not. Although we didn’t really talk a lot about our future, I still had plans for us. Now I’m left with an ever-growing list of things we never got to do together, and things we’ll never do together again.
I’m grateful that C’s not big on social media, but my cell phone has since been attached to my hip. I’ve never had to deal with the incessant need to text someone during a break-up before. We didn’t text each other much as a couple, but now that’s all I want to do. Instead, I’ve been keeping a notepad with me and have been writing all 92 things I want to say to him in the last 12 days – from “fuck you” to “thank you”.
But I’m not mad at him – and FYI calling him an asshole doesn’t help me. I start defending him and thus remember all the wonderful things about him and miss him when I should be focusing on the reality that it just wasn’t right, somehow.
He’s actually been really good at helping me deal with this. He came over for about an hour a few days after we broke-up, and has responded to the very few texts that I have sent. I really hope that that’s a sign that we will be able to be friends… I can handle not being his girlfriend, but I can’t handle not having him in my life at all.
Similarly, I can handle being single, but the being alone part is overwhelming.
I truly appreciate all the texts, Tweets, messages, Skype dates, emails and genuine concern from everyone. But it’s just not the same – I’m still sitting alone in my apartment. I needed that at first, but now I’m constantly longing for the days where I had 5 roommates and someone was always around to watch movies or America’s Next Top Model with. But the only friends here that I have, that aren’t “his friends”, are people I work(ed) at the theatre with (two of them have kids my age). My “work mom” has dragged me out of the house a few times and arranged a little dinner get-together for a few of us, which was an immense help. And then two of us ended up at the strip club on Friday night. (For real.) But that’s about the extent of what’s left of my social life.
It’s true what they say – the only thing that really helps is time. And Netflix. I’m already sleeping a bit better (after moving my bed and getting new bedding), eating again, and occasionally leaving the house on my own. It’s still lonely, and scary, and incredibly sad to think about it though. I miss him. I miss being his person.
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