The funny thing about the seven stages of grief is that they don't always happen in order.
Well, at first I did experience shock. When he decided that he did not want to try and move on together, I literally said, "What?"
After that, I begged him to stay so we can talk more, but he was anxious to leave. There was nothing I could do or say to make him confront what was going on with us. Was this bargaining? I'm not so sure.
The next morning, I woke up alone, but with a genuine sense of acceptance and hope. I realized that I no longer had to worry about my future with him because it was over. I had done what I could do for us. I was a good girlfriend. Though I am not perfect, I was loving, and I tried so hard to keep us alive.
And in the subsequent weeks, I felt fine. I was doing well in my new job (I still am), and making new friends. Then on Monday morning, August 26th, I crumbled. It was his birthday, and just one year earlier, I planned a surprise birthday party for him at one of his favorite breweries. It took a month to plan, and suss out the details because they normally do not take reservations for large parties. I pulled together his family and friends, we had an amazing day.
When I realized that I would have no part in his day this year, silent streams of tears flowed down my face as I rode the train into the city. What a difference a year makes. And for most of the day, I wept at my desk. After work, I asked a friend to meet me at a bar I know #9 wouldn't be at, because I knew he would be in the city. And he was. His friends checked in at some places I knew to avoid, and his life moved on without me.
When I went home that night,I bought a pack of cigarettes, and downed a 750mL, 14.25% bottle of beer all by myself. And I cried. I hadn't cried so hard since the night he left me. I wallowed. I was pathetic. He came home at 1am-ish, and I was drunk. "Happy birthday!" I exclaimed jovially. And he made the stupid silly face he always makes, and put two thumbs up. I asked how his day went, and he said he had fun. Then he excused himself to the bathroom. I said that I'd like to catch up with him when he was done.
Fifteen minutes later, after taking his massive shit, he said he was tired and wanted to go to sleep. And once again, I was alone. I was discarded. He does not need me anymore.
Ever since that night, my mood has shifted into depression, back into acceptance. A week ago, I had asked him if he was dating someone- too far, I know, and none of my business- but I had to know. He got angry at me, raised his voice, didn't answer the question and stormed off. Every since then, I've been back and forth between depression and anger.
I can't even look at him. I can't stand that he doesn't love me or want me. I was literally living in denial-thinking that we could still live together, but now I know that's not the case. It's tense, and I know I never belonged here. Now I'm stuck. My parents asked me to move in with them until my friend's roommate moves out. I will take them up on their offer.
I feel guilt when I think about all the trust I gave to him. I knew deep down in my gut that he was never the person I wanted him to be- fully capable of expressing intimacy and emotion. I know he loved me at some point. I think he gave up because he knew he couldn't be that man for me. I'm guilty because I am afraid of intimacy.
Once I move out, it will be over. My longest relationship will come to an end. Right now, I'm in some sort of purgatory. I'm in limbo.
In the meantime, I am meeting a lot of really cute men who I know I am not ready for. I need to heal. I need to truly accept who I am and what I need and understand that I need to be patient with myself.
I hope one day I can trust again.
