I would be lying if I said that last night was easy.
It started out okay, with me sitting and reading in the living room and then moving to my room when everyone went to bed. I crawled into bed like always, plugged my headphones in, and started my music. Normally, there’s someone to talk to me, but no one was on, so I did what any normal person would do; Facebook stalking. I stalked and stalked and stalked (for those who don’t know what that is, you basically just look at everything on someone’s profile; comments, pictures, what they wrote on other people’s walls, etc. You really learn a lot about people by doing it). When I got to the point of being bored, I started stalking myself (I’m not sure if this is normal).
That was the tipping point. I found photos on Facebook, and I’m not smart enough to stop there. I headed to my collection (HUGE COLLECTION) of photos, and before I knew it, I was in February 13 and 14, 2011. Valentine’s Day. Our three year anniversary. (The crushing feeling is back just thinking about it.) My throat closed up and I got an unbelievably painful ache in the top of my mouth. It felt like there was someone sitting on my chest, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t dislodge the feeling. Taking a breath was painful, and I was getting a little dizzy. But I didn’t stop in my perusal of pictures, and found more and more of us. The feeling intensified and I couldn’t see past the glaze of tears. I rubbed my eyes like crazy, but that glaze was there to stay.
I felt like I was suffocating and there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. It felt like I had ingested a lethal amount of cement and it was only a matter of minutes before I would be completely solid. I laid there, begging my body to just be right again. My arms and legs were leaden; lifting them was a feat.
At that point, I headed to the kitchen. I dragged myself from the tangle of sheets, and stumbled from the room. I can’t even remember what I gathered up, but I ate so much that this morning, I’m regretting it. I stuffed myself full and then continued to eat. I felt sick but kept eating. I don’t know what I was trying to do, but I was shoveling food into my mouth like I was a machine. I told myself many times to stop, but my legs kept taking me to the kitchen, my arms kept gathering more food for me to consume, and my hands transferred it to my mouth.
I finally tried to sleep (after many people told me to), and although I had a hard time, I dropped off in the end. My dreams still haunt me. They were full of insults and rejections; sharp jabs that make me sick to my stomach still.
I didn’t know it would be this hard. I thought I hit the point where everything was as low as it could get, but I’ve never felt so low in my life. I’ve never felt so sick about myself. I’m in the most beautiful state in the U.S., but all I want to do is curl up in bed and stay in my room all day. I don’t want to go back to Naperville because I’m afraid that everything I see will remind me of us.
Now I understand why, when people hear about the breakup, they ask “Are you staying in Naperville?”. I never got why they would ask me something like that, when it was obvious that I loved the school that I’m attending. Now I get it.
But I am staying in Naperville. I’m staying at the college (even though he’s housed in the same building as me next year) that I’ve fallen in love with. I’m happy there; even through this pain, I know that much.
And, before you offer, I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to console me. I didn’t write this so people would think, “Oh, that poor girl, she’s having a really hard time.” I know I’m having a hard time, if I expected any different, I would be an idiot. I dedicated so many years to him; there was no other way a breakup could have ended. I wrote this for myself. A step that I could look back on and wonder how someone could get so low. I wrote this so I could get a handle on my emotions.
I apologize if it’s too messy for you; it’s messy for me too, but that’s the way it goes.