When it was over, I didn’t have an impeccable story to tell except that he got tired of being in a long distance relationship. There was no Aha! moment, no signs of cheating (that I know of), or a Why We Broke Up narrative to back up my sorry ass. He wasn’t feeling it anymore, period.
When it was over, the first thing I did was recite a mantra: I need to learn to be okay with this.
When it was over, I had a lot of time in my hands so I did everything I can to make sure I don’t backslide. I reread the Great Gatsby, boxed the presents I received from him, caught up with Breaking Bad, and ugly cried while listening to The National. All these to completely wipe out the history of him and me.
A few weeks along the way, I was looking for an epiphany. Some kind of Hallmark cliché – like The sun will come out tomorrow! or Love is pain! – that will serve as my battle cry for when some motherfucker breaks my heart again. I didn’t get any. Maybe I misread the signs. Maybe I didn’t get the memo. Or maybe those do not exist in real life.
The truth is when it was over, I remained as is, only this time I was hurting. Sure, there were empty bottles of vodka under my bed and I have romanticized heartache several times in my blog (dark times) and I’ve read enough Thought Catalog articles (super dark times) but I did not change one bit. I went through the stages of grief just like the Kubler-Ross model said.
I was unhappy until I learned to be okay with it.
Written for Truth Thursdays.