When I fall in love, I tend to do it fully, just as I do most things – properly or not at all. This leaves me with a bit of an issue now that my relationship has ended. I have all this love and no place to put it.
The last relationship I had prior to my last one was sweet and short and ended as quickly as it had started. It took me around 6 months to recover, double the length of the relationship. This one lasted much longer, become serious very quickly and had me believing that at last, I had found someone who delighted in my presence, drew strength from me, who I could make happy and him, me. To have it end so abruptly, left me truly gasping in shock and in pain. Also anger. I had spent a year believing in a lie and I knew it would take me at least as long to recover.
This has been exacerbated by the fact that last weekend, he sustained a very serious injury at work requiring a stay in hospital and my anger turned to pity and back to love in a heartbeat.
When he was injured I didn’t think twice about making sure he was okay and had the support he needed.
I have just spent a very scary four days and whilst I have not made the reasons for that public on facebook, it is evident from my postings that I have had at the very least my house broken into.
He has not bothered to contact me once to check that I am okay. That speaks volumes to me.
And you know what? I refuse.
I refuse to spend the next year or even two yearning and upset and missing someone who clearly doesn’t give a shit about me, for someone who doesn’t even think to check that I am okay.
At 41, I am so very aware of the limits of time. So here is my 5 step plan:
(i)I am going to have to accept that I am going to love him for a while yet and I am going to have days when I feel strong and days when I feel like shit. I am not going to brave it out like I have done in the past. I am simply going to acknowledge that I am a wreck and get on with it regardless or sit in a corner and cry, whichever I need to at the time.
(ii) As soon as I can, I am going to replace him in my bed. I can’t stand the memory of the nights I spent longing for him, with him so far away and I am haunted now by the memory of his body next to mine when we were together. I have got to get those images out of my head. Once I am over that hurdle, the memory of him is not going to be quite as defined and I will eventually forget the way he made love with me. I just need to ensure that whoever I take to my bed understands that I have no intention of anything further and ensure I don’t hurt anyone.
(iii) I have deleted every photo I have, apart from the facebook ones. Every single photo of him in my house, in my bed and in my life has gone. It hurt like hell doing it but I do not want to spend any time mooning over them and crying. The happy memories that creep up on me unawares and the sudden, blinding realisation that I am never going to walk with him, talk with him, shop with him or hold his hand again are bad enough without the physical evidence of them before me.
(iv) I have deleted every single text from him on my phone. They are lies and, like the photos, I do not want to sit and moon over them. I have yet to throw away the birthday card he wrote to me two weeks before he told me he no longer loved me. My initial response was to return the card and the vouchers but my ex-husband (bless his cotton socks) said bugger it, spend the voucher, at least you get a nice bath or seven out of this mess. So I shall.
(v) When I am strong enough, he’s coming off my facebook. I don’t want to see the day he acknowledges a new relationship (and I suspect it won’t be long before that happens) – that will hurt like hell and why should I put myself through that? I know damn well it is going to happen, I really should not be expected to applaud and be pleased for him when it does. I doubt he will even notice when I am gone.
I simply cannot waste a single more moment on this man. I cannot help loving him and I cannot help thinking of him, but I can very much affect the way I move forward. Here’s to the day when I no longer wake up and think of him, or go to sleep thinking of him.
Here’s to the day when I can go about my day unassailed by the memory of the hope I carried inside of me of a life together in London, or in York or in whatever place we ended up. Here’s to the day when I no longer hurt.