Last night I had to go through ‘our stuff’ and find a way to stop it being ‘our’ stuff and somehow make it mine. It’s shit… I hate it…and I hate him for doing this to me.
Even now, a year on, there is a MASSIVE part of me that just doesn’t want to. I want to stamp my feet and have it all go away. The pain… the heartache… the tears… all of it. I want him to turn up on my doorstep admit to the world that letting me go was the biggest mistake of my life and beg me to forgive him and take him back.
I don’t want to have to be the bigger person. I don’t want to pick up the pieces and move on. I want to go to bed, pull the covers over my head and just have it all go away.
I’m sick of having to behave like an adult. It’s not fair. IT’S NOT FAIR! I didn’t do anything wrong. I gave myself, my heart unconditionally. I trusted him with it. I trusted him with me. I pinned my hopes, plans and dreams for a future on him and he just walked away. He walked away without properly fighting for me. He was selfish, decided he had had enough and he went.
Moving on is… shit. It’s scary and unpredictable. One day I am fine, the next… I thought a year on I would be fine. Turns out I’m not. I thought I had done the hard part. I had found someone; they had fallen in love with me. That was supposed to be complicated bit, finding someone who could be ‘the one’. Love was supposed to conker all. I was supposed to be planning weddings, babies and grandchildren. Turns out love doesn’t conker all, turns out love may not last forever, turns out love matters very little– I still don’t know what to do with that news.
I pity the person who comes next. I know I can’t let the next person suffer for his errors, but I know that I have changed and they will. The idea of finding someone new both excites and terrifies me. I’m scared to stop loving the ex. I’m scared to start loving someone new. I wonder how I will find the strength to risk it all again. Don’t worry, I will. But every fibre of me wishes that I didn’t have to.
But I do have to. So last night I finally sat on my kitchen floor and started to slowly unpack the boxes of ‘our’ stuff. With each item I unwrapped a memory, a feeling, a thought that I couldn’t hold back. One by one I lovingly unwrapped the tulip shaped wine glasses which my parents had bought me. I had first spotted them just after he had asked me to live with him, and they were the first things that we chose as a ‘we’. I uncovered the champagne glasses that had been bought for us by my aunty, our first ‘couple’ Christmas present from her. I found my half of the matching mug set we bought to commemorate our first skiing trip together. I don’t know how I’m going to use it, but I know I can’t bear to part with it. Picture frames, some filled some not, ornaments, vases, jugs. All things that I can still see sat in my home with him that don’t yet look at home in my new place. I won’t give them up. I’m stubborn like that. The items I have are dear to me, and just because he broke me doesn’t mean I can take it out on them. I am not going to box up and throw away anything that he touched. I am going to heal; these things are going to help me heal…
I did two boxes last night. I wasn’t alone. I don’t know if I could have done it alone. My parents were there; I think that’s why there were no tears. I don’t want them to see me crying again. They know I am still hurting, they know I still love him.
I have considered telling him. Taking the leap, telling him I still want to try again. But I know I can’t. The trust is gone and you can’t have a relationship without trust.
So I continue to unpack boxes, hoping somehow I will unpack something that finally heals me.