Your best friend reaches out to me every day. I don’t know if it’s because of the stuff with you and me – hell, I don’t even know if you’ve talked to him about it – or if it’s because I’m helping him with some of the IT modernization tasks for the back office now that I sit there. Really, it could be either, given that the day I moved there was the day we had that marathon gchat that has all but wrecked my life. But I choose to believe it’s because he’s a good friend to me and because he cares about me. Neither of us have spoken your name in each other’s presence in over five weeks, and I’m grateful that our friendship can still exist outside the bounds of yours. He asks me every day how I’m doing – and to be fair, I don’t know if he’s asking on a serious, I’m-concerned-about-you-level, or if he’s just being nice, but I always answer as though it were the former.

“good morning, what say you?”

“it’s an angry morning”

He joked about me having woken up on the wrong side of the bed, then apologized sympathetically for my angry morning. I replied that lately my days are either angry, cripplingly sad, or ambivalent. Today: angry.

After crying myself to sleep last night I woke up full of nothing but memories where your actions were careless and hurt me, or your behavior was embarrassing, or I just looked like a jackass. I was so angry all morning, it took twice as long to do my makeup because my eyes kept welling with angry tears. This afternoon my boss mentioned your name, in conjunction with an effort you had worked about four years back, and I missed the following 10 seconds of his point because I was frantically trying to keep my shit together. My workday was less than productive, to put it delicately.

Since I knew I was a lost cause anyway, I left work a little early, hoping that if I caught the 4 o’clock yoga class at the gym I could find some peace of mind and get centered. Thirty minutes in, and a few flow combos later, I successfully cleared my head and was concentrating only on my breathing and the poses. Our instructor asked us to find our way to a meditation pose of our choosing so we could bring our heart rates down and re-focus our breath. I sat there in butterfly pose, trying to control my breathing, listening to the instructor talking about contentedness, and accepting ourselves in our current state and learning to love ourselves. At one point she said something along the lines of: “During that flow you may have had some thoughts or sensations surface that you’ve been avoiding. That’s good, that’s natural. These are things that your body is telling you to notice, to deal with, so that you can let them go and move on. When life hits us hard, we tend to rely on what we know, to crawl back into our shells and seek comfort in what we know – ”

…and that’s the last part I heard because I burst into tears. It resonated so strongly with me because that’s exactly how you described the last 3-4 years of your life. That you had been hit so hard by multiple things in a short period of time – and yes, babe, you certainly had – that you then spent all your time restructuring your life around the things that you know, not taking any chances, not letting anyone get too close, not allowing yourself to deal, and heal, and move on. (That last part I added myself. But it’s my thought process, my blog, and I’m taking creative liberties.) You said, in so many words, that because you knew what you were getting from me as a friend (albeit, with benefits) that you wouldn’t let it go any further than that because beyond that was Unknown. You even shared with me a major blocker for you, that in your words “was one of the biggest reasons that’s kept me from dating you”…and I’ll save that for another near-future writing session. But there in the dark yoga studio, my tears blended with the sweat on my face, my sobs with the room’s heavy breathing, and in that moment I ached for you. I ached for me. And I ached for the “us” that should have been, but never was.

This evening, after yoga and more cardio, I went to my brother’s house for a visit. Every hug I get from my nephews is like a shot of morphine, and I don’t see them nearly as often as I should or would like. Regardless, while I rattled off the things on my “what I’ve been up to” list, I casually mentioned that you and I were officially not speaking to each other. I was more than a little dismayed by how positive and supportive my brother and sister-in-law were about that. My brother, who has been a rock in my life the last 7 years, said “This will be good for you. If you can give it enough time so that the emotions fade or are gone altogether you’ll more clearly see all the reasons why he isn’t right for you.” All I could say was “I hope you’re right”, because I was getting pretty close to tears again. I think it was obvious, too, since at that moment my 7-year-old nephew stopped in the middle of the game he was playing with his brother and climbed up on the couch and hugged me. A dose much needed.

I drove home thinking about how much my brother’s words stung, and why. I simultaneously want to believe that I’ll be able to get over you, and that I won’t have to because you’ll figure your shit out and realize that you love me and we’ll spend the rest of our lives together. The reality is that the pain of loss is intertwined with the hurt and bitterness and if there’s any chance of a happily ever after with you, then we have to start over. I have to come without the hurt, without the bitterness, and without the old love. And to do that, I need to heal without you.

I suppose what I told your best friend this morning wasn’t entirely accurate. Turns out that the anger and sadness and ambivalence don’t take turns ruling my days; rather they are all together inside me, probably holding hands in a line and bouncing on their toes with the anticipation and eagerness of their next stint in the spotlight.

…was so hard. You were everywhere, on my mind from the moment I woke up. In every song lyric I heard, every sentence I typed at work, every word I read. You were in the dinner I cooked. At the gym as I tried to push you away. On my couch, in my bed, on my mind, everywhere and always.

I love you. I miss you.

I was supposed to be going with you to see Waitress today. Even though you hadn’t mentioned it recently, it’s been on my calendar for several months. Even before our chat Monday, when you (initially) decided for me that we shouldn’t be in contact, I had been worried about our plans to see the musical. I have very much been wanting to see it for some time now – I’ve always been a fan of the movie – but like I told you previously, these date-like activities are difficult and confusing, knowing that they don’t mean the same thing to you as they do to me. Should I consider myself fortunate that because we’re purposefully not speaking, the choice to go or not was made for me? Honestly, it’s not even about the musical. This was the last of all the future plans we had made together. You’ll easily find someone else to take, and I’ll sit around all day feeling sorry for myself, and lonely, and sad. But this is what I wanted, isn’t it?

It’s not even noon, and I’ve already punished myself by watching Love Actually. It’ll be all I can do to stop myself from listening to the Waitress Broadway Cast Recording at 2pm, the same time as the curtain downtown. I’ll try not to think of you, in your balcony seats, without me. I’ll try not to think that it was just five weeks ago that we were last there together, although it feels like a lifetime ago. Instead, I’ll attempt to keep my mind occupied, my hands busy. It’s the only way I’ll make it through the day, creating my own distractions. How is this what I thought I wanted?

I haven’t cried uncontrollably for two days. I have felt overwhelming loss, I have gotten choked up, and I have shed several tears – just not the crumpled-on-my-kitchen-floor kind of tears. I don’t mean in any way to suggest that I’m over it. I’m not, not even a little bit.

My girlfriends started planning a weekend away for Labor Day in August, and my initial thought was “maybe by then this will be something that he will want to do with me.” My second thought was not as optimistic. I received an invitation to my cousin’s wedding in October: “maybe I won’t have to go alone”. But even when things were “good” between us, you wouldn’t take me to my own brother’s wedding. (I know that’s not fair, I know you had a prior obligation that weekend. But it didn’t make being there alone any easier. Plus, I’m wallowing.)

I can say, despite you being ever-presently on my mind, I seem to have successfully pushed you out of the spotlight, at least for many hours of the day. In my effort to get back to me, I am focusing more on my health. You always encouraged this, knowing it was important to me, and you were right – it is important to me, but it wasn’t as important to me as you were. But now that I’m not spending hours each day texting/chatting/on the phone with you – or even physically with you – I am out of excuses. I literally have nothing else to do in my free time. So I’m working out, cooking, planning. I had been wanting to do another Whole30, and this felt like the perfect opportunity; it seems fitting to be depriving myself of things that I love and am addicted to, even though I know they are not good for me (such as sugar and alcohol) while I am already willing and consciously depriving myself of a person that fits those same descriptions. (Yeah, ok, that’s dramatic, but the similarity is there.)

I don’t expect that I’ll feel this…cavalier…for the next few weeks, but I’m grateful to have had a reprieve. Even if only for two days.

I knew listening to The Smiths would make me think of you.

But it’s not like I was doing so well anyway. While I was still in bed this morning, I wondered if today was one of your 0430 mornings where you have to work downtown. I thought of you when I saw a co-worker eating sushi from a grocery store deli. I thought of you when I saw the ‘Charcuterie’ sign at Wegmans. You’ve been everywhere all day, and I can’t stop thinking about you now.

Every time I look up from my couch I see the Firefly DVDs that we’ve tried to watch to completion – twice – unsuccessfully. I can’t help but to think that you’ll never find out if Mal and Inara get together in the end. Tomorrow will be three weeks since I’ve last seen you, and three days since we’ve had any communication at all, but it feels desperately longer than that. I check my email at least twice an hour, hoping to have something from you that I don’t actually expect to find. My breath catches in my throat when my phone pings, because I’ve been conditioned to anticipate your texts and calls. I had to consciously stop myself from bringing you up on conversation today. Though really, I needn’t have bothered because someone else did it for me.

I met a friend for drinks after work this evening: my new thing is to make sure I have plans with another human at least once a week. He, having only met you once, started the conversation like this: “so that guy friend of yours that I met…” It knocked the wind right out of me.

“Look, I think he’s a nice guy. And I don’t know what the score is with you two, but I just want to say that I hope you’re not letting him hold you back. I hope you’re not waiting around for him.”

I told him he didn’t have to worry about me, that we’re not speaking at the moment. I didn’t go into details, but I did ask him why he said what he said. “I know the type. And you could do better.”

In my head a gazillion rebuttals popped up. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know us. He saw the show you put on in a crowd – and if I’m frank, it’s not a show I generally enjoy. But sitting in the bar I wasn’t about to get into any of that, so I just sat there while he backed up his statement with examples and observations. I cried a little inside, as I realized that in less than one week, two adult males (neither single, mind you) who don’t know me on a personal level have sat in front of me and told me that I deserve better than this. Two, in one week. Is that just a thing that attached men feel like they can freely say to their unattached female friends? Have I suddenly become a charity case? The Poor, Wretched, Single Woman?

Or is there something there?

I look at my disheveled apartment and notice how, ironically, it reflects my disheveled thirty-something bachelorette life. I feel like a shell of the person I was 10, 15 years ago, who’s surrounded herself with nothing of real value. I wouldn’t be jumping at the chance to date me, either. I do, though, have this idea that I can take the next month+ and start to define myself again. To get back to the things I love to do and spend time with the people that I’ve neglected while pouring myself into this lopsided relationship. The rub is that doing so would feel like giving up. As though all the “maybe someday” scenarios that we talked about, and the thousands more that we hadn’t yet discussed, will float away without a genuine shot of becoming real boys. I’m afraid that if I let them go…then I’ll have nothing left.

And I don’t want to have nothing left. I just want to have you.

When the email came announcing the BBVD show, I immediately thought of you. We’ve seen them play twice together, and I can still remember the feel of the energy in the air the first time, almost three years ago. I remember us both dancing in our seats. Watching the bass player with giddy awe. Playing our air horns. Laughing and smiling at each other.

You told me afterwards that it was one of the Top Five shows you’d ever seen, and I was pretty proud of myself for dragging you along to see a band I loved in High School. Before we left, you grabbed a set list which had been left on stage and gave it to me. I still have it. I keep it because whenever I find it among my mementos, it reminds me of the way you kissed me when you dropped me off that night…

You had come inside the apartment, but didn’t stay long. It was late, we both had to be up for work in the morning, and we were exhausted, the evening’s high wearing off. You hugged me close and long, as you often do, but as we pulled away you put your hands on either side of my face and you kissed me like you had never done before (or since). It was sweet and passionate and though we had kissed several times before, it was the first time you really kissed me.

And…then you left.

I stood there in my apartment thinking “Holy shit he’s never kissed me like that before… What does this mean?? I can’t let him leave!”. So I opened my front door, called you back from the elevator, and all but threw myself at you. I don’t even remember the sex.

To this day you still reference me calling you back from the elevator for sex as a way to share the blame for this mess we’re in. I can only recall ever doing it that one time…but it doesn’t make your point any less valid. I’ve asked myself a million times since then why I couldn’t just have left well enough alone. Why I couldn’t have let you leave, with the memory of that one amazing kiss fresh on my mind. If I could edit the memory to end with me watching you walking away towards the elevator – well, that would be something. Instead, it runs just a few minutes longer, and becomes tainted by my selfish and greedy behavior, and all that has plagued me since.

But that’s not enough for me to stop hoping that, maybe someday, you’ll kiss me like that again. It’s not enough for me to pass up the chance to have two tickets in hand, almost in the same seats as that first show, even if I didn’t really have the $126 to spend. It isn’t until the end of May, and I don’t know what we’ll be then. I don’t know if we’ll be speaking again. I don’t know if I’ll have had enough time to sort myself out. I don’t know where you’ll be, mentally, emotionally. I don’t know if you’ll be interested in going. I don’t know if you’ll be interested in going with me.

I hope we will. I hope you will. I miss you.

This decision to have zero contact with you will either be the best thing that we’ve ever survived, or the decision I’ll look back on with earnest sorrow 40 years from now. It’s been less than eight hours, but I miss you more than I’ve missed you all month – and despite my behavior or what you may think, I’ve been missing you intensely. Every day.

I wish I saw another way. More than that – I wish I could skip this part altogether. I thought I was past the days of crying silently at my desk, brushing away my tears hoping that my co-workers have the couth to ignore it instead of drawing attention to it. But honestly…that thing my therapist said to me years ago has been in the back of my mind ever since. And now more than ever it’s screaming at the top of its lungs for me to fucking listen up already and do what I need to do: “You two need to start over.”

That, unfortunately, I don’t know how to do. I don’t know how to fall out of love with you. I don’t know how to not think of you, or not worry about you, or not daydream about a life that we’re not yet living…I don’t know how to not do those things 24/7/365. I’ve been doing them for so long that I’ve forgotten how not to – which is ironic, because not doing something is literally the default option. But even worse than that has been the constant companion of self-doubt, insecurity, jealousy, and passive-aggressive thoughts and behaviors that has been riding on my back. And for this reason, my love, am I finally willing to give Sarah’s comment a serious shot: all of that internal shit has turned me into the ugliest version of myself I could have ever imagined. And I can’t be this person anymore. I won’t be. So I will attempt to start over, but with myself.

Bear with me, as my month of silence may well turn into the six that you offered me. I’ll do my best to stay strong, to make progress, and to tell you everything that’s going on with me…even if only in a written form that you may never read. Regardless – know that I love you. I’m thinking about you. I’m missing you.

…And I’m praying for us.

I’ve been up since 3am, and despite the betrayal and anger and devastation of the past two days, all I want is to reach out to you…but I absolutely cannot do that. I can’t stop thinking about the coffee “non-date” you’ll have tomorrow. I know that you’ll charm her like you do. She’ll walk away feeling that she’s special and pretty and funny. That’s how you always makes us all feel. Except when you don’t.

The hardest part will be when I walk away…and you let me go. I know you will. You’ll let me walk right out of your life and you’ll say that you’re respecting my wishes by letting me leave. By never again dialing my number. By never again sending a text. By never seeing me again. I’ll walk away and struggle to get through the days, struggle to get through the nights, and you won’t know any of that. You won’t see me on social media. Won’t hear my name from your friends’ lips. And you sure as hell won’t try to find me. Won’t ask me to come back. Won’t ever recognize how deeply this hurt. But you’ll call it abandonment and build the wall around your heart a little higher.

You told me you won’t allow yourself to be in a situation again where something suddenly can jolt your life. There is nothing I could do that would make you feel the way I’m feeling now. And the reality that four years of emotional and physical intimacy amounts to so little is what I might never overcome. Because you are my life.

…this isn’t Heartbroken, it’s just plain Broken.