One Day At A Time

Yes, I am once again in post-breakup mode. And even though it’s hard, I think I have to admit that this breakup has actually been going on for the past six months. Anyway…

Although I was extremely tempted (after a heartbreaking phone conversation) to just stay home alone and wallow in my misery Friday night, I allowed Tracy and Eric to drag me out on the town. Trying not to let the tears constantly welling up in my eyes smear my makeup, I smiled through the pain and headed to the Capitol Hill Block Party, a.k.a. FREAK SHOW. It never ceases to amaze me what people are willing to strut around wearing in public. I’m not going to bother going into detail, because everyone can probably imagine what I saw… Let’s just title it “Drunk Emos on Parade.”

As for me, after paying a $12 cover charge, I followed Tracy and Eric through the crowd of black hair, piercings and skin-tight pants toward the Wild Rose. Tracy and I indulged ourselves in a couple Lemon Drops, and I tried desperately to keep my trembling hands from spilling the entire sticky thing all over myself. (I tend to shake when I’m really upset). I followed up the martini with an extremely strong vodka/diet, and found that the alcohol was beginning to calm me down. Another beer and I began to feel numb and forget how miserable I was, and the person who caused it. Almost, anyway.

We watched a pretty rad band perform near the beer garden, which inspired me and Tracy to start plans of our own all-girl band – she will be the lead singer, I will play keyboard. Auditions for a guitarist, bassist and drummer coming soon… Stay tuned for details. At this point I was feeling too tipsy to really care about much of anything, so I followed Tracy and Eric back to the car and we headed to a club in So-Do where PowerMan 5000 was playing. I ordered another well drink and stood in the upstairs balcony making a complete fool of myself dancing and attempting to sing along with the band. Whatever, I had a great time, and the lead singer was adorably cute.

After hanging out in the VIP lounge for a while, I began to come down from my beer-induced haze. I looked at the blank screen of my cell phone, which stared mockingly back at me: No Missed Calls. It suddenly became vividly clear that I would be going home alone. And that he wouldn't be calling me to say goodnight. As I stumbled to the car, it was hard to stop my lower lip from trembling. Trizzle and Bubba Poo tried to keep my spirits up, and although there was really nothing they could say to make things better, I was still reminded how lucky I am to have such amazing friends.

I woke up Saturday morning feeling incredibly sick, and I wasn’t sure how much of it was due to my hangover, and how much to the fact that he hadn’t called. I tend to react to emotional trauma very physically, so the rolling of my stomach could in fact be a symptom of my broken heart, and not the sampler platter of alcohol I had consumed the night before. As the reality of my loss continued to become more vivid, I gave up and allowed myself to sink into depression. I mean a girl has a right to grieve. I am effectively in the process of losing my best friend in the world, and it hurts. I might as well admit it and let the pain just consume me for a while…

Lucky for me, my mom arrived on Sunday afternoon and will be staying with me for the next two weeks. She’s a teacher and is taking a class in Seattle. Hopefully she will be able to distract me and help me get through this somehow. That’s what Mommies are for, right? To kiss it and make it better when you fall down. Let’s hope so…

This morning I woke up to day three of no contact. Each day I wake up and realize he didn’t call the night before is more painful than the last. I am torn in two. One half of me wants him to call, because I so desperately want to know that he misses me, that he is as miserable as I am. But my more rational half knows that I need to move on, and that if he calls I run the risk of being pulling back into the pattern where I was unhappy for so long. But I miss him – I miss my friend. I feel empty and lonely. But the truth of the situation is that I felt this way before. I always missed him, and I always felt alone, even when we were in constant contact. He was able to keep me interested – keep me hoping – with his constant phone calls, emails and text messages. With his promises that soon things would be different. But even still, I missed him. I longed for his kisses, to be held and cuddled. I wanted him to miss me too, for him to want to be with me.

Rejection is something I know all too well. And it’s hard for me not to blame myself, to wonder what I could have done differently, why I wasn’t enough. I know it’s not my fault, but it still hurts, and I still can’t help constantly analyzing the situation, wondering if I had only said this, or done that, if I could have made him love me. As I’m typing this I realize how sad and pathetic it sounds.

Anyway, at this point I’m just trying to get through one day at a time with as much grace and dignity as possible. My heart is shattered into a million little pieces, and as each day passes, I try to glue them back together again. The great thing about time is that it can heal anything. The hardest part is waiting for it to pass. The minutes feel like hours, the hours feel like days. I wish I could fast-forward to tomorrow, next week, next year.

Ouch.