I'm watching Dead Poet's Society. Eating carmel popcorn. Before that, I was eating ramen noodles. Before that, I was eating Easy Mac. And before that, I was eating the rest of the contents of my apartment.
I hope he won't mind me talking about it on the interwebs. I know that I tend to be pretty candid when writing, but I'll do my best to keep things as discreet as possible. Although I know that on my end, breaking up was necessary, it still hurts like a son of a bitch. I still love him. I love him so much. But it had to end. I won't go into graphic detail about every trifle and dying feeling but it needs to be stated that one can love someone and still need to end things. One of those silly, cliche quotes, 'sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same' idioms.
Our love story was unbridled to anything else in my life. It was beautiful and purposeful and extremely right. But it was right then. Not now. Now it is right for me to be alone. I crave autonomy. And I didn't realize this overnight. It took months before I put the realization into action.
I want to be clear and say that he is a person that is too good, if that makes any sense. Because when I cowardly broke up with him, he took my words as the end all, be all. He didn't get angry or place blame. He listened carefully to my horribly stated, inarticulate drunken mumblings and sobbings. And he responded with understanding. It goes without saying that (1) we shouldn't have been drunk when we broke up. And (2) it shouldn't have been done on Christmas Eve. I don't care what people say, but breaking up is harder on Christmas. It was the loneliest couple of days I've ever experienced. And I'm sure it was even harder for him.
The last couple of days have been a blur. When you're encapsulated with replaying the love story with your boyfriend and then, subsequently, the break-up...minutes, hours, days run together. Everything else seems silly. People and their mundane problems seem silly. Everyone seems horribly inane and retarded and I can't say that I didn't feel intense sorrow for my myself. I guess that's normal. But then there's the guilt. I thought again and again that I don't deserve to feel bad because I'm the one who broke up with him. But it's not true. Yes, I put the ball in motion, so to speak but I'm grieving him as much and he is grieving me. I'm sitting in this apartment that we shared together while he's out there doing whatever he wants to do. It is no longer any of my business. And that's really hard. I already miss texting him to ask him what he is up to. Calling him 'boy' and him calling me 'girl'. It's the littlest things that I never expected to miss, that I do miss. Those little, tiny memories that sneak up and bite you in the ass right when you think you've kicked the rest of them in the trash. I mean, I don't want to forget him, but it seems easiest to just try and forget for right now. Afterall, I have to go back to work tomorrow. I can't mope around, crying at the drop of a hat. I have to move on. I'm already getting sick of being so sad. I know that I'm going to continue to feel sad and hurt and guilty but I really need to get the crying under control. I mean, I'll be showering, washing my face, trying to avert my thoughts to something completely off topic and then this huge wail comes out of me. It's like a mix between a giant sob/weep and a yell. It's like my body and mind are so torn up that these barbaric sounds just come oozing out of me. It will probably be pretty funny in retrospect.
It also doesn't help that we haven't talked about the living arrangements, yet. He was supposed to come over (again) tonight. But he didn't. It's okay. I can't blame him. I would try and get a handle on my life before I came back, too. And I would absolutely avoid seeing me at all costs. Because that's what break-ups are: not seeing one another. It's just bizarre as fuck, going from seeing each other every day, essentially all day, to not seeing each other at all. And me, trying to initiate conversations about meeting up to speak about our future living plans and then getting delayed responses or empty promises about coming over. Again, I can't blame him but it still sucks ass. I mean, come on. I'm stuck here reliving all of these memories via your things while you're doing whatever you do.
They say that after a break-up, you go through stages. The first is grief, which I'm clearly still in since we broke up 4 days ago.
The second is anger...which funny enough I'm beginning to experience this emotion, as well. But mostly just because he won't come over to talk about things. I'm not asking for much, just a brief 5 minute chat. Frustration.
I'm sure I will go through this 'anger' stage more fully. I think everyone does. I think that you must in order to fully get over someone. You must remember why you broke up and most of the time, it's a disappointing thought. I know that my ex-boyfriends from the past definitely harbored intense anger from me. Huh, I never realized that before. Good to know.
Anyways, there's other stages but I can't remember them now. They don't really matter because more than likely, I'll feel them fully and ruthlessly. I am a women of emotion, after all. But I've been adamant about expressing the pain and emotion on paper. I've tried to talking to friends but it's hard for them to react right now. I don't even know where I'm at, so how should they? Plus, it's been Christmas. They've been trying, though. And it means a lot to me. :)
I've written a lot. I wrote out our love story on paper and ended it with our break-up. I signed it and I sealed it in an envelope. Kind of a physical means of ending it. It sort of helped.
I've been writing in my journal. I'm writing this right now. I've been talking to myself a little. I've been feeling a little more stable as things proceed.
One thing I found out is that my mother is not especially the best person to talk to about these things. Yes, I'm being a bit of a crabby bitch and yes, I'm on edge. She took one of my quips as a personal attack and verbally assaulted me in front of the the Orange Julius restaurant in the mall today. It was embarrassing. There were lots of people. That looks really cute, yeah? Getting berated by your own mother in line to get an Orange Julius? Not my most beautiful moment. And not hers either. She apologized in the car. I had her drop me off at home. It's just so overwhelming. I don't need her yelling at me when I'm getting an Orange Julius for Christ's sakes. Throw me a bone. My 21st Christmas sucked ass, ok? Yes, I'm the one who essentially brought all of this on myself. But it happened. There's nothing I can do about it. I can't take it back. I can just learn from it. I'm a wreck. But I'm still breathing. I'm a fucking cliche.
I'll attempt to report back soon on the the Life and Times of Erin C. Markey.
