It’s been a week and three days. The first seven days were rough. Like, I thought my body was going to give out when I had to move all of my belongings out of the apartment we’d shared for almost a year and all I’d had for the week was water. Surprisingly, it was as amicable as I think the parting of two sets of belongings could be…but it still hurt me immensely to acknowledge this was the beginning of the end.
Once our apartment’s squared away, trips are cancelled, and Costco membership is divided…that’s it. We won’t have anything else in common to discuss except the memories from the last five years.
Post-breakup, I instantly lost my appetite and literally ate nothing. Any drop of food was instantly puked up (sorry friends who witnessed that). I was depressed and laid in bed for hours with my dog. I couldn’t find motivation to do anything. I’m honestly amazed at the resiliency of the human body, because even without a drop of food, I was still able to get to and from school, semi-focus on my work, and cry a profuse amount. So much so, I thought for sure I would run out of tears.
Then day seven rolled around and suddenly I felt devoid of emotion. The night before I’d had this major cry sesh in front of my parents. Literally broke down and was inconsolable for hours. Then I woke up, from a nightmare of course, and went through the day as if I was 100% over it. (The truth is I’m not over it yet, but it was nice to get a glimpse that I could have a day without ferociously crying).
Fast-forward to dinner with a friend who knew us both, and he told me my ex was stupid for letting such a good thing (me) go. I know he didn’t just say this because he was my friend first. He said it because I can’t remember one pitfall my ex went through in the last five years that I wasn’t there to help lessen the blow or completely protect him from it.
The time his car got t-boned by a firetruck late at night, I was the one who got insurance information and fought with the insurance representatives to do an investigation nearly a year later when his car’s steering gave out because the mechanics never fixed it properly after the first accident. At the time, he was still on his parents’ insurance, but they literally didn’t help with anything and told him to figure it out.
We were hours away from having the one car part we needed inspected to justify the claim and get reimbursement from being destroyed, but I called the agent every 15 minutes until someone went out there and looked at it (and confirmed the part was in fact not fixed after the accident, hence almost cause for a second accident). He got a check shortly after and didn’t have to absorb the cost of an accident that wasn’t his fault (and wasn’t something his parents were going to help him with if it wasn’t covered).
There were countless other moments like this (like the time I followed up on a medical procedure he had to fix a surfing injury, got billed a ton of money, and I had the whole thing waived. Again, his parents said “that sucks, better find the money to pay for it,” and I took their apathy as fuel to prove to them I had their son’s back).
Maybe this was my pitfall, being too helpful and not letting him figure out things on his own? I was petrified that he’d flounder like he had been before I met him, so I took charge and gave him direction when things got tough. Well, now they’re tough and he doesn’t have anyone (that I know of) telling him to fight for me.
It took sitting down with a friend to be reminded that I would’ve done anything for a guy I thought was my forever. Nothing was an inconvenience and I loved him despite his short comings, lack of aspirations and follow through, whatever you want to call it. I had hope that one day he’d love me the same way (if he didn’t already).
Our breakup was just that, a moment of pressure that made him let me go. Everyone in my life has told me this isn’t the end all, be all of my life’s romances, but it sure feels like a bottomless pit of self-pity and would’a could’a shoulda’s.
Maybe one day he’ll realize how deeply I loved him and that I would’ve done anything to make this work. I’m not holding out hope that he does, because that would mean putting my life on pause for the uncertainty that he does or doesn’t come around to realize that finding a relationship where your partner puts your interests ahead of their own isn’t as readily available as rotisserie chickens at Costco.
This week has pushed me to grow up over night and realize that I can’t hold out to love someone that doesn’t want to hold onto me. I can’t wish the relationship back together if it’s not something he’s equally and as fiercely fighting for.
I want to be with a man that never lets me go, no matter how abrasive and sharp-tongued I may get. I want to be with a man that knows what he has and never wants to let it go.
I hope to love again, so much so that my heart jumps out of my chest and it’s like the first time over and over again. I hope to find solace in someone’s heart and know they’ve got my back, whatever hardship may come our way, individually or together as a couple.
I have hope (and that’s really all I can grasp to these days) that a love found and lost is better than to have never loved at all. I’ve been enveloped in so many kind thoughts and warm regards over the last week that it’s been nothing short of overwhelming and probably the saving grace to all of this.
I’ve connected with friends I haven’t been close to in years. I’ve grown closer to friends I already knew (but really know now) would 100% have my back, in whatever situation I may find myself in the future. I am setting up plans with new friends that were once strangers, both from the internet and elsewhere in my life.
It’s funny (that’s not the right word, but you know what I mean), how tragedy can bring about the best comedic relief. I know breakups are regular life experiences for many – hell, that’s probably why divorces are so prolific, because people change, aren’t ready for xyz commitment, lose interest and don’t want to work on it, etc. There are a million reasons why relationships have shelf lives (and they all do, the lucky ones just get a bit longer to share and experience more life together).
I’m not bitter or angry that it’s over. I know if it’s meant to be, he’ll cross paths with me in the future and make the first move, because I’ve been moving mountains for him these last five years. If it’s not meant to be, I hope the universe has great plans for me, because as soon as I’m done with law school and the bar exam, I’m going to open myself back up to the possibility of love and life after all of this.
I also hope the same for him – that he finds happiness, in whatever capacity that satisfies him. It’s really hard, having been so close to picturing a life together, to suddenly have that ripped away and having to start over. I’ve unfollowed all of the wedding vendors I was excited to share with him over the course of this next year. I’m trying to refocus my attention to school and friends and family so I stay busy and don’t wallow (too much).
I’ve spent so many hours wondering what I could’ve done differently so he would’ve fought for me, but at the end of the day, you can’t make a person love you more than they already do (or don’t). This week, I’ve been told countless times that time is the best healer, so I’m impatiently waiting for this all to quell so I can finally stop waking up every few hours during the night from a nightmare.
I still haven’t mastered the food thing again, but I kept one meal down yesterday, and that’s one more than I did a week ago.
Again, the love and support expressed on my pages has meant the world and I hope my words are at least something thoughtful you can scroll through while on a break at work or doing something else in your life that you might need a distraction from.
Spoonie Adventures in Books, Beauty, & Bullshit
I'm a twenty-something year old recent law and business school grad living with a chronic health condition. Follow along on my shenanigans.