And......It's All Over Folks

How can one grainy picture undo me? Leave me siting on the cold, stone bathroom floor, crying uncontrollably, mindlessly petting the warm cat purring in my lap.

I don't know what he was doing with that girl in the picture. Does it matter? It's no longer my business. But it was my business for 9 years. That's a hard emotion (instinct?) to turn off.

He is supposed to be the one crying on the bathroom floor, not me. I had been fine for 6 weeks. Positive, optimistic, goal-oriented, well-adjusted, and downright happy at times. But now, its all gone. And again, I feel like such a cliche.

It's ridiculous really. Why would it bother me for him to be with someone? I think it's a good indicator of how hard this is and how much further I have to go. It's not easy.

So I sat and combed Scrambels, my cat, for maybe an hour until I calmed down. Awesome.

the bathroom floor

The End of March

He has lived in our apartment all alone from the day he came home from his tour. That’s 1 whole month living there without me. I can’t believe he’s walked up the stairs to our door, slept there, walked the halls, peered into our empty bedroom (I took the bed), rattled around in the empty kitchen (nothing was his there), and basically inhabited a space that was the battleground of our break-up. That seems so depressing and daunting. I couldn't wait to get out of there when I had to go back for the last of my things. I practically ran out.

Just think. I could still be there. It baffles my mind. BAFFLES. I honestly considered staying there for the month of March. I can’t even believe I almost did that. I’m so grateful that I didn't. Well… I can believe I almost did that. I was so distraught and confused and wanted desperately to make things easier for us, not thinking of how it was going to affect me. Staying there for one more month seemed like the right thing to do. Thank god I didn't. I couldn't stay there for one more minute. It was tearing me up and making me crazy. That all seems so long ago somehow and yet, it’s only been 6 weeks.

When I think about all the things I've done this month and all the progress I've made, I can’t imagine not doing those things. Moving back in with my parents (a hugely supportive and surprisingly sanity saving move), starting this blog, finding peace and accomplishment in various unexpected places, reading, journaling, and generally trying to get my life back. If I had stayed there in March, I would be moving out this weekend. It was so horrendous 6 weeks ago and now I’m in such a better place.

Yes, I do I think of him. Those feelings aren't gone. That love isn't gone. I do, however, see a change in me. I'm not feeling anxious, confused, depressed, lost or out of control. I feel at peace, and while peace isn't always a happy place, it is calm and grounded. I think this is a place that I can ultimately draw from to find happiness.

LOST is my Binky

LOST has been so damn comforting…oddly enough. Back in December (a mere 1 month before the break-up) I was watching tv and stumbled upon an episode of LOST and was immediately sucked in. This must have been some 4th season repeat and I had no idea what was going on, having never seen it before, but that didn’t matter. It was so involved and consuming. Ahh…consuming. It focused my mind on something other than my unhappiness at that time. I searched for it online and started watching from the very beginning, Season 1 Episode 1.

After many a tearful confrontation, I would immediately grab my laptop, lie in bed and watch episode after episode. It took me out of my soul crushing agony and fixated my concentration. And now it pacifies me when I’m feeling down or distraught or can’t stop thinking unpleasant things.

LOST is my binky.

My Obession.... My Hair

I sent my hair advice request into Hair Thursday yesterday. Sadly, the writer is now on vacation so she may not review my email in time.

But if she doesn't choose me, that's quite alright. I've absorbed quite a bit of knowledge on hair and hair products as a result of throwing myself into the Hair Thursday site for a ridiculously long time. I watched this tutorial on curling your hair with a curling iron...of all things! I'm running out and buying one today. I also bought two new products she recommended from that very same tutorial.

At a time like this, I need a change and I really need to feel pretty. Now it's hard to believe that anyone could find me as pretty, interesting, smart and funny as he did. It's too strange to imagine that anyone but him could see me as he did.

So this has led to a new obsession with my hair which has also coincided with a newfound love for cosmetics. Playing with and researching hair products and make-up right now is a lovely distraction and helps me to focus on myself... a focus I had certainly lost.

Next up: Trying lip gloss again, preferably a non-sparkly, peachy pink shade.

Wish me luck.

Fuck You, Don Henley

Why the fuck did "Boys of Summer" bring to me to full on tears on the way home tonight?

....goddamnit....

I am additionally pissed that I thought it was Brian Adams and proceeded to look up the proper spelling of "Bryan Adams" so I could write about it, only to find that it was actually Don Henley.

Fucking Don Henley.

Boys of Summer? 8o's, adult contemporary, soft rock = tears?

How the hell did that happen?!

The Infamous Candy Drawer

in all of its glory....

one of the advantages of living with my parents... or is it a disadvantage? i'm not sure, but it's very comforting.

My Magical Best Friend

Four days after I left my ex, I flew to San Diego to be with my best friend. I knew that I had to be with her, well before I even knew when I was leaving him. I knew in my gut that the one thing I truly needed was to be sitting on her couch and talking to her. When I arrived in San Diego from the horrible, snowy and desolate Chicago, I stepped outside and felt the warm air, looked up at the palm trees and felt like I finally arrived home. Knowing of my affinity for theme candies, especially of the Easter variety, she greeted me with flowers and Peeps.

I say she is magical because when she tells me I can do something, something that seems totally impossible, I follow her instruction, and then all of sudden, like magic, I am able to do it. She is convinced I can achieve the seemingly impossible. And with her convictions, I do the things I am scared of doing and find out that I actually can do them and not only that, I’m good at them.

I remember very early in our friendship I was in a relationship that I wanted very much to end but didn’t know how to end. She was about to leave for a 4 month stay in Israel, and I was in crisis. I accompanied her to the airport and saw her off as she left for Israel. We waited together at the gate, saying our tearful good-byes and right before she got on the plane, she pulled herself together, hugged me, grabbed my shoulders, looked into my eyes with a startling intensity, and said, “You have break up with him. It's going to be okay.” Then she got on the plane and waved good-bye. Very shortly after that, with the courage of her conviction, I finally did just that. When it was over, I was relived and not only that, I was okay.

Years later, I realized where my true passion lied, in interiors. Again, she had always encouraged this, but I nervously laughed it off and kept it in the back of my mind. Then finally, I applied to a BFA program in Interior Design and I was so scared. I was convinced I wouldn’t be any good. I didn’t really know how to draw, I wasn’t an artist. Yes, I had taken art classes for many years but never seriously. I signed up and got my first semester class list. Drawing. Drafting 101. Freshman Seminar.

Drawing? Drafting? I can’t do any of those things! I will fail; I have no idea how to be any good at that sort of thing.

But as I went on and on about how I was about to make a big mistake, that I couldn’t possibly be any good at this, she said to me in that same unshaken, undeniable way, “They’ll teach how to do all those things. You’ll learn and then you’ll be great.” So I went to school and little by little, I did learn. It was incredible. I was not only able to do it, but I was really good at it. Just like she said.

And when I arrived in San Diego I was served a dose of those same convictions, just like I knew I would. She told me she was so proud of me, that I did the right thing, that I was not only going to be okay, but I was going to be great.

And I believe her. She is magical after all.

30 days later

March 16, 2009 is my 1 month anniversary of starting over. I am very proud of it and also a little frightened by it.

I anticipated this day a few days before it happened and realized it was a milestone; a very significant point in my life. I pictured buying flowers for myself and treating it like an anniversary, something to be celebrated. Then once it got closer, I felt sadder. Yes it’s been a month and I’m proud of that, but it’s also been….a whole month. That’s so long, and it’s only going to get longer.

On the other hand, I could still be there in the middle of all that pain and confusion. I could be wishing something would change. But I’m not, because something certainly did finally change.

About a month before I started this break-up in motion, my graduation day came. I finally got my BFA and my diploma arrived in the mail; it was official. I casually told him about it and he said something to the effect of, “Oh…. wow….. that’s great.” Did he say “great?” I’m not sure. I asked, “Are we going to celebrate?” He replied enthusiastically with something along the lines of, “Yes, of course we should. We should have dinner with friends.” But nothing happened and then I tested him. If I don’t bring this up again, how long will it take for him to bring it up, if at all? Well it never came up again. I didn’t get flowers, or a card, or some acknowledgement of how proud he was of me. No appreciation for my efforts of the past 4 years of hard work, of the accomplishment. Nothing at all. This happened many times in the past, milestones or accomplishments were rarely given attention.

So when this anniversary of mine came, I did buy myself beautiful, sunny, yellow flowers. I celebrated my anniversary. My milestone. I didn’t share it with him, although I wanted to.

I realized that sharing it with him would have taken something away from me. By telling him I was doing well, that would have taken him off the hook to initiate checking in on me. By bringing it to his awareness, it would have been like shoving it in his face and saying, “Here! React to this! Get out of your self-centered head and think about me!” But I don’t have to do that anymore. I don’t have to force him to react to anything. I don’t have to jolt him back into reality. That’s one thing I never have to do again. By initiating a communication with him over this, I would have been stuck waiting to see what kind response I was going to get. I would have sat, waiting, analyzing every word of the text or email that would arrive. Maybe he wouldn’t respond at all and I would be crushed.

No, that’s not going to happen to me today. I am too proud of my accomplishment to allow it to come crashing down. I wont be held at the mercy of someone else's reaction. Today is my victory. I don’t need it sullied.

Happy Anniversary to me.

Celebrating a minor accomplishment

Doing yoga again was difficult and a little awkward at first. But as I walked out of class, I felt this wave of feeling relaxed and also very proud of myself for what I had accomplished. I set out to do something for myself and I did it. It's a small accomplishment, but right now it's a big deal.

It's invigorated me and I can't stop feeling warm and smiley. It's a surprise. I haven't felt so smiley lately. It's lifted my spirits and made things so much lighter.

For a moment as I walked down the street I felt good, free, and comfortable in my own skin again. And at that moment, I caught a glimpse of what it might feel like to be on the other side of all this.

Nine

Day 1 was February 16th, 2009. After nine years, I started over.

Ever since I can remember, I've been drawn to the number nine. When I was young and all throughout my teens, I drew nine's. I drew them on books, papers, notebooks. I drew faces in the nines and created a whole legion of "nine people." I drew them over and over again. I was born in September, the ninth month. I always considered the number nine to be my lucky number. It has always been my favorite. For some reason, I knew it belonged to me.

So in the year 2009, after nine years living the only adult life I have ever known, I walked away and began a new life. I didn't plan to do this after nine years, only after it happened did I realize the connection to the number. Maybe there was a reason it took nine years and ended in 2009. It could have ended many other times in the past. But it took nine years. And now I begin a new life.

For the first time, I only have myself to think about. For years I had thought about another person far more than I had ever thought about myself and because of that, I was lost for a long time. My needs, wants, likes, dislikes were secondary. They weren't important enough and because of that I began to forget about myself, my interests, what makes me who I am.

Now, I have to relearn. I have to start over and listen to myself. For a long time, I didn't.

So I start over and I begin with a very early memory of a time when I knew, without a doubt, that I was drawn to one thing, feeling like something was truly all mine, connecting to it and feeling as though it was creating my identity, my uniqueness.

I'm starting with nine, that's where I begin.