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.
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