I
was supposed to get married yesterday. I
had the dress, the caterers, the guest list – most importantly I had the
man, whom I loved with a certainty I’d long thought impossible.
But
I didn’t. Get married, or have the man,
as it turned out. I was cut brutally
loose, with little warning, and spent the summer floundering and desperately
trying to weave together some semblance of a life for myself from the shreds of
who I was before things imploded.
The good news: I’m getting there. I’m in therapy, which is helping me
strengthen my emotional core; I’m dating new people, which is a constant
reminder that I’m not totally worthless to every male member of the human race;
I’m actively looking for a full-time job (and the health insurance that comes
along with it); and I’m reconnecting with my amazing, wonderful girlfriends, a
gang of whom spent the weekend with me at a vacation cabin in Healdsburg,
distracting me from my sorrows with booze and laughter and genuine, trustworthy
love.
The bad news: I’m still really sad a lot of the time. Even though the life I’ve lost seems far away
now, almost as if it were a dream and this new single life is reality (which it
is, but the situation felt reversed a couple of months ago), it still hurts to
remember it. And I’m reminded all the
time. I see clothes he’d want to try on
and go to restaurants he’d want to make regular spots and lie in patches of sun
he’d complain were too hot but not want to move because it’d mean being farther
from me. I do things we once did together,
and try to imagine doing things we loved, like travel, that I’m afraid would
break me without him. I miss him all the
time, even when I’m angry with him for what he’s done or feeling withdrawn from
who he is now, someone I’m not sure I even know.
One thing I will say: I’m stronger than I was. And I think that will be true for the future,
always. My heart is so covered in scar
tissue that it’s gone inflexible and toughened – hopefully I can keep it from
getting too hard, but in the meantime it’s good to know it can’t be broken
again in this current state. Even when I
stand on my parents’ deck and look out at the tree we planned to marry under,
or give friends a tour of the barn we were going to decorate for the reception,
or buy a special bottle of wine and feel a pang at the realization that we won’t
be sharing it on our wedding night.
Sure, it twists and turns and sears, and maybe it even rips
in places where the tissue hasn’t fully scarred over, but it doesn’t break over
and over again like it did all summer. And
for that, I’m grateful.
Comments
I have been where you are. I get it. I am still there at the moment. And I really, really admire how you can be so honest and real in such an open, exposed space.
Thank you for sharing.
All best xx
I hope the same for you.
xx