Too. Real?

Ask Polly: How Do I Move on From The One

Now, when my friend sent this to me, I knew it struck a chord with me for many reasons, but I also know that my ex was never quite as cruel as the man in the story. He never SAID that he didn't need me, he just acted that way. And we loved each other deeply, or so I thought. But the not putting me as a priority, the interference of his always-a-priority job in our lives, it seemed there was far too often an excuse not to put me first. And I'm not saying always, but even sometimes--like important dates. He often did take me out when we agreed upon it on the weekends, or when I demanded so. Example: for birthdays and holidays he felt were mass marketing by the public, and I agreed, but I still wanted to be celebrated for fuck's sake.

I completely realize I regret never having thanked him for working the long hours to support us the way he did. I should have been more grateful. It's an excuse, but I felt like because he didn't celebrate me I wasn't outwardly thankful of him. Excuses hurled back and forth but never an actual fucking conversation between us....

But the main thing that gets me about this article is the way that the woman naturally loves and how foreign this was to her partner, and how similar this felt like my situation. For a good long while we were in love. And he said so. And I deepened my love for him. I started putting more eggs in this basket marked "forever." Then, I started forgetting about any other person I've ever loved until there was just Him and One Basket of Forever. But somewhere along the way, me and the relationship became a burden to him. 

The responsibility of everything about Us weighed on him like a lead jacket. I see relationships completely differently--as evidence proving my worth as a reliable, lovable person. So this and other relationships he has stress him out, create a sense of Always Needing. I feel a bit like my award for remaining loyal and committed and for trying to envision a future for us was a burden to him, and I just and still don't understand. The future excites me. Making plans, fulfilling dreams. Thinking about where I want to go and who I want to be, and breaking down the steps of how to get there. It always scared him.

So we broke up. He walked away. And now I'm moving across the country because being in the same city as him without being with him kills me. Every. Single. Day. I'm afraid I'm going to run into him on a date or with a new girlfriend and the last bit of me will be crushed. 

So....Seattle it is. March 27 I set sail across the Great Plains and mountains. I've never been to the states I'll drive through, so it IS pretty exciting.

But not speaking for nearly a month and thinking that my last words to him were harsh, is torture. I would still be willing to work through things. I still want him to move to Seattle with me. I still want him. I can't look at other people sexually. I can't even imagine being physical with someone. Or flirting. I flirted once with a guy at a bar and felt ashamed and grossed out by it as soon as I got home. Like I was cheating. Because in my mind, it IS cheating because my goddamn mind hasn't accepted that he and I aren't together anymore.

Hence the dream last night where I went postal that he was on Tinder.
Hence the dream the night before where I caught him on a date with this girl I knew in high school.
Hence the dream the night two nights before where I was in his house with his new wife and needed to just leave but was trapped somehow.

So I resist writing, "Come with me to Seattle" and hitting send.

Fucking break-ups. AMIRITE?!?!

Some days I've gone as long as 6 hours without imagining the life we'll never lead together. So I try to put my energy into things I have control over. (My therapist tells me this is good.) I put my energy into finding and applying to jobs in Seattle. I put my energy into getting rid of everything that won't fit into a teeny studio. I call my landlord to cancel my lease. I donate all the stupid things I bought to make me feel okay and loved and worthy. Because I'm American. Because I'm my mother's daughter. because I need to re-define myself. Because I need to re-design my future. Because so much of it has walked away.

Still

There are still two divots in the bed

And I almost always wake up on the wrong side.

And he is in my dreams. Every. Fucking. Night.

Still.

Two days shy of three months.

I just want to move to Seattle and hurry up and start over.

Press restart.

So I can make my new home somewhere where no one knows anything about me except for a few people. So I can leave the walls of a failed home.

I find things to fill the time. Distraction. Mending. Healing, I guess.

TV. Cooking. New friends. Old friends. Long-distance phone calls. "Checking in with people" so I don't have to say "good god this house is so still without his breath."

I just want to get to sleep before 2AM some fucking night.

Without having to down a bottle of red wine to myself.

Faulty reparations against my bones.

My body hurts because I quit working out and sit long hours at work without wanting to interact with people.

Days are getting better. I'm feeling "lighter." Not always so melancholy.

I once didn't think about him all day. But not at night.

At night the ghosts dance in the hallways and trip over the clutter on the ground.

I still leer at couples. I still cringe when people mention their partners, husbands, wives, etc. But the pictures of babies bother me less these days.

The happiness of others no longer feels like a red-hot syringe climbing up my veins.

Now it's just a tickle in the back of my eyes, a wince, a shrug.

I scour the internet for ideas for old-made-new items.

For the new life on the west coast that is waiting waiting waiting for me.

I simultaneously loathe and am saddened I don't own the uplifting Pinterest crafts that encourage me to "believe" and "love."

When did these messages become lame?  After college?

Between the career change and turning 30?

After my second "crushing" breakup?

After my twelfth friend or family member died?

Now I look at the crafts on Pinterest and assume that they're made by a housewife in Texas

who has 3 kids,

a 5-bedroom house in the country,

and oodles of time to make every meal from scratch

AND work out 2-hours a day.

She says "y'all" a lot.

Goes to church every week.

No jeans.

And goddamnit it makes me a little jealous.

Why yes, I am acting like a 16-year-old right now. And I need to fucking grow up already.

It's been nearly three months since The Breakup. Last night was the first Saturday night that I went out (aside from visiting friends in Indy after Christmas). Just to a divey sports bar in Forest Park with a friend, but it still felt...weird. Like I shouldn't be doing that. Or smiling at other guys. As soon as I did, a part of me felt guilty. 

I can barely go a whole hour, let alone a whole day without thinking of Him. Night time is the worst. Which is why I drink. Because drinking + TV = numb. I've barely been able to do more than shower, work, couch, drink lately. But I need to get it together. I doubt he's wasting time thinking of me. And I need to put my energy into some good.

Thank god I have Tori, Ani, PJ, and Alanis to help me through this.  And the Cure. And Dashboard Confessional. And every other terrible album that helps me loathe everything. I mean, fuck I listened to Sheryl Crow. TWO ENTIRE SHERYL CROW ALBUMS.

It's gotten bad. I've been listening to pop. FUCKING POP. 
Ed Sheehan. That ginger fuck.
Sam Smith. ALL OF HIM.
Tove Lo. Lots of her shit.
And a bunch of really depressing emo shit.
Baths.
Banks.

I've been branching out and looking at new groups. Mostly because entire swaths of music I once enjoyed has been tainted by shows we went to together. Joy Formidable, MS MR, Phantogram, Amon Tobin, Deadmau5. Then all the music he introduced to me. Ulrich Schnauss. The Radio Department. Tycho. Goddamn Boards of Canada.

But for fuck's sake. I need to go to the gym. Stop treating my body like a goddamn garbage can. Cut back on the drinking. Focus on applying to jobs and less about purging everything I own. If it comes down to it, I'll just throw everything I don't want to move out in the alley. 

I've felt pretty dejected lately. I keep getting rejection e-mails. I also got an interview and a compliment at work, but it's hard for me to focus on the good right now. I just need to put my head down and focus. I just wish there was a way to cut out the part of me that has emotions. 

Until I can do that, I'll just have to focus on accepting that I need to work on myself. Alone. Myself. What I want to do. Alone. 

I've scraped my shit together before. I've made it through other break-ups. I'll make it through this one too. Again. 

*sigh*

Time to work on job apps. Put some good into today so it's not all a waste. So I don't waste what time I have left on a Sunday. And so I don't feel like such a waste myself.

Happy Fucking New Year. *sigh*

Yesterday, I cut off all communication with my ex. I can't handle him flirting with me and then saying that he was "afraid this would happen." As if I instigated that.... ugh. I digress. I will try not to air our dirty laundry to the public, but let me just say Fuck That Noise. 

I also de-friended all of his family and friends, which was hard, but made me feel like now I won't be tempted to go visit his page and go through our pictures and whatever. 

After spending a better part of the previous night and morning crying, I waffled on going to a friend's for NYE. I knew there was 0% chance I'd be going to a bar. No one wants to be around the emo dumped girl with a broken heart who's been drinking and is about 99.9% sure to cry in the corner by the end of the night. Especially if everyone is doing that "I'm so happy it's a new year! Let's kiss, my dearest lover!" bullshit. ESPECIALLY SO.

Note: I am back to hating all couples. Wishing ill upon them. Thinking, "Well, that'll probably fall apart." Which is so vindictive of me and not at all who I really feel I am as a person, but FUCK. MY DUDES. THIS BREAK UP IS TORTURE.

During the day I ran some errands (totally forgetting lightbulbs for the third day in a row now) and headed to my friend Nick's house around 8:30 for some bites and bottles. I spoke to my friend in Cali while I made mint chocolate chip cookies.

Side note: On the el to my friend's, I passed no fewer than 2 gaggles of 6 girls each wearing 5" platform heels, minidresses, and even booty shorts paired with thin blazers. BLAZERS. I was wearing tall boots, skinny jeans, a sparkly top, a sweater, and the thickest, warmest, ugliest Columbia coat, gloves, and hat I own, and I still was fucking cold. To sit inside a warm apartment. And I would have felt bad for the girls if they hadn't nearly run me over coming out of the elevator and the train, as if I was a cretin because I didn't have long flowing hair and a swatch of fabric to cover my ass with coordinating toothpick shoes. They probably got frostbite. It was 14 degrees out. PUT SOME DAMN CLOTHES ON. YES, I HAVE BECOME THAT FRUMPY CURMUDGEON.

So Nurse Nick and I rang in the new year together, watching Netflix and then 10 minutes of terrible Chicago news TV. It was our Hermit New Year's, and it was just right for us both.

Of course I spent the majority of my night silently and openly comparing this new year to the year before with my ex, wondering where he was, if he was making out with someone else, who he'd be fucking or kissing or sleeping with or waking up to, and then reminding myself, "fuck that" and being able to hold the "I don't need him" mentality for about 30 seconds before returning to being a sad fuck.

I have zero interest in other people. I don't want to flirt, date, fuck....NOTHING. I'd prefer to stay in my house and go to work, come home, hit the gym, cook, and be a hermit forever. Which is very probable considering my financial situation right now. (Side note: I should have shown more gratitude toward my ex for helping to support my life while we were together. But, moving on....)

Around midnight on NYE, I started getting a migraine, and by the time I got home around 2, it was full-on not-able-to-function pain. I finally got up in the night and swallowed a handful of Advil (I know! I know! It's terrible but I couldn't see straight or even open my left eye!) and finally got some quality sleep around 7AM. Which is why I woke up at 1PM.

That was my NYE. Completely forgettable, aside from the fantastic company I kept, and uninteresting. I, of course, looked at FB to see all my friends with their babies celebrating and talking about staying in on the couch and also watching Netflix, so I didn't feel so alone. 

I kind of wished I would have gone dancing. Maybe not necessarily last night, but in general I've wanted to go to smartbar lately for some house music. I miss that part of who I used to be. Not the scantily clad "fucks everything that moves and drinks everything that doesn't" Kerry, but the part that wasn't so overwhelmed by sadness all the time. The part that could function. The part whose house didn't look like the cabinets threw up everything into piles on the floor. The part who repressed and overcame with the springback and naivete of youth. Not the 34-year-old who was so depressed she can't even sit in front of a computer to apply to jobs to move cross country. WHICH IS WHY MY HOUSE LOOKS SO CRAZY.

I just need to get some garbage bags and start throwing things out instead of trying to sell and donate shit. I just want to wipe my hands clean of this year and move on...leave all this behind....all the past three years I spent off/on with a man I thought I would spend the rest of forever with.

Anyway, these job applications aren't going to write themselves. 

Third side note: I got rejected from a job yesterday that I don't even remember applying to. 

HAPPY FUCKING NEW YEAR.

*sigh*