This past week I was left alone at the house because it’s spring break and my roommates were traveling. I figured that would be terrifying and toxic, that I’d wallow in pity and over think my life until I finally snapped. Turns out, I got sick instead, so I did wallow, but I wasn’t thinking about him all that much.
For the past two nights the dreams have come back, along with a nagging feeling that something else was going to happen. I toss and turn all night, dreaming of him and in the morning I can’t remember the details, I just know that he was in them. This week I also knew that there was another girl in them.
Today his facebook photo is him and another girl at a baseball game. These tickets were purchased with half my money. They were purchased because my grandma wanted the bobble head that they would be giving out game day. And he went with some other girl.
Half of me feels disrespected and angry and sad and half of me honestly doesn’t give a shit.
He’s not worth anything.
It makes me sad to say that because for so long he was worth everything to me. But now, now I have no idea who he is. He has honestly become a stranger to me. The person and the relationship that I knew and loved has died. And now…
Well, there’s no point really, in thinking about him now, because he’s gone.
But what’s surreal is the fact that he’s not. His body is out there, walking around, going to bars and baseball games. But it’s not mine anymore.
I don’t know how to settle this thought in my head. In fact, I feel quite unsettled by it.
It makes me appreciate death in a way. At least in death, there is no confusion. The person is gone, there’s a finality to it. That’s it.
But with a breakup, it’s not a death although it feels like one. It’s complicated because all it involves is the past and present of two people not adding up right. There’s a discrepancy.
It’s easier for me to think that he’s dead. But then every time something like this happens it’s like a slap in the face. I suddenly remember, and am surprised by the fact that he’s still alive.
The longer this all goes on like this the more I believe that he and I will never speak again. That we won’t be friends one day.
This past week the truth seemed pretty simple. I made decisions, he made decisions, we aren’t going to be together, so why get upset about it? It’s obviously been done and it’s not going to change.
And then something like this happens and I’m back where I started. Emotionally invested.
I don’t want to care about him. I don’t want this stuff to affect me. I don’t want it to feel spiteful. But it does.
Sometimes when I need a silly comfort, one that isn’t very rational but nonetheless true I think of the following…
Since this all happened, he has done absolutely everything humanly possible to ignore and avoid speaking to me because that’s too hard for him to do. It makes him feel guilty I’m sure. He can’t actually look me in the eye.
And because those things are true. This is true: It was real. And he feels it too.
He may not feel or go through what I am, in fact, I doubt he is. But his inability to acknowledge my presence in his life is my only reminder that it really happened, that I didn’t make it all up. And sometimes, that’s all I have to cling to.
And in a bizarre way, it’s comforting.
But it also teaches me that I deserve better.
breakupandbreakthrough 