I am neither a good writer nor a storyteller. But today, allow me to conduct a post-mortem on our love.
Four months ago, I was so messed up I felt the pain brought by my first major heartbreak permeate in every aspect of my life. I talked to all my friends about him, everyday for three consecutive weeks until they were about ready to execute me.
When he left, the love of my life totally peaced out leaving me a shitload of emotions I didn’t want to deal with. I was so wrecked. I barely eat and I was crying myself to sleep. I didn’t know where to start as I didn’t see it coming. It actually came as a surprise. Not a great one though.
Naturally, my first instinct was to escape. The getaway vehicle? Travels. I made sure I had an activity to look forward to weekly. I even booked a flight to the province where I forgot about him and the pain temporarily as I was surrounded by people I love and who loves me in return.
When I came back five days later, I realized one thing. We work in the same building and we live on the same street. Therefore, I cannot avoid everything forever. There will come a time that I will be faced with a stimuli and I won’t have my bedroom handy for me to hide and cry in.
They say there are only two ways to move on fast: to leave or to have someone new.
Thing is, I am not ready for any of it. I love my work and my place and I am not giving it up just because of a stupid break up.
And for the latter? Well, there have been cravings for reassurance but not enough to compel me to search for immediate fixes of attention and intimacy.
I reassessed myself and eventually learned a casual approach to moving on which I think suits my personality best. I don’t know how to call it but the method was painful. In fact, it was kind of voluntary torment.
I started by surrounding myself with things/objects that reminded me of him. I took out the gifts he gave me and decided to use it again. Every night I clutched at the pillow he gave me, listened to our songs and stared at our photographs while feeling a twinge in my chest. My face was contorted already as I began to sob. I continued doing this until I reached a point where a song is just a song and nothing more. I felt triumphant as majority of the pop songs is related to the subject of love.
Today when people ask me about him, I give them a nonchalant shrug and a smile. I’ve moved on. And I couldn’t be any happier than I am now. Thank you, God.