I did a bad thing recently.
It’s something that I had a hard time sharing even with my closest friends, and even my therapist.
To say it fills me with so much dread and shame and disappointment that I can barely push the words out of my mouth or type them on this page.
But through practicing self-love, healing and understanding, I’m beginning to realize that accepting something is better than pushing it down and pretending it didn’t happen.
So here goes…
Our apartment doesn’t look like our apartment anymore. In a few weeks, it won’t be.
Cardboard boxes are stacked in the corner so that our his blind dog doesn’t run into them. All our my art is packed away or wrapped in towels or stowed away in plastic tubs and the walls of our the apartment are bare, with little holes reminding us of where the homeyness used to be. The storage area outside is labeled—this is his box, this is my box, his trunk, my table. Utilities are scheduled to cancel on May 1, the anniversary of the day we first moved in together.
I leave in two days, and he stays another two weeks. We don’t really talk about it, because what’s there to say?
It’s actually happening.
The end is actually here, and our separate lives begin very, very soon.
The breaking up happened months ago, but the splitting up and severing of this particular tie is happening now.
Life is a constant stream of adjusting to changes just in time for everything to change again.
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Originally published on 2/14/2018.
We broke up. Happy Valentine’s Day!
No, but seriously.
This post seemed appropriately inappropriate for the week of Valentine’s, especially when we might not all be spending it with that special someone. I wanted to write this post because I have a lot to say about my boyfriend and I breaking up, but none of it involves bashing him or divulging the secrets of our relationship that resulted in our ultimate demise.
The truth is, it was a good breakup.
