Submitted by megan on Thu, 03/13/2008 - 20:57
I've been single for just shy of three months. The relentless misery of late December and early January is closer and closer to feeling like someone else's relentless misery. I don't really talk - to my friends, to the internet - about Eric or the breakup any more. But there are scraps of sadness, of resentment, of love, of dashed hope, shards of unmitigated anger, all mixed up in a soupy brew of inedible nostalgia simmering under my day-to-day life.
It will be a long time before I forget how much it hurts to have your heart broken.
The simmer has become comfortable enough that most often I don't notice it's going on, hence the general silence. Occasionally, something will turn the heat up under the pot, and I'll boil over a little, maybe, but the heat is lower and lower each time, the occurrences fewer and further between.
I'm moving into the phase where I'm sad that I'm no longer viscerally sad. Where I wonder a bit about the truthfulness of my heart, my propensity for drama. If three months later I can feel this okay, did I really love him as much as I thought I did? If I had really loved him, wouldn't I still be puffy-faced and pulling my lips and tearing out my hair in despair?
Propensity for drama, right.
Poking around in my brainpan dredges this up: I did love him, as well as I could; when in top form, I am able to love people very much, and that is a gift; I could have loved him more and for longer than I was given the chance.
And this: he loved me, as well as he could; he made the right call; I am sometimes still upset he was right, but more often just distantly sad for us both; my life before dating Eric was a generally happy and satisfying place; my life after dating Eric is the same.
And three months is three months.