It’s been a week and a day since it ended, a week since I left him.
I have looked for emails or text from him every day, even though I know its fruitless. Good thing too, because I already know I am weaker than he is. I feel like every man I have ever met is stronger than I am, they all have more self worth than I do.
I have friends who check on me, but I know better than to keep talking about it which is why the word vomit here is so abundant. I know journaling gets it all out of my head and on to paper. I know, after Mexico in particular, that I must write and write and write, until the pain is less tangible in my body. It does flow out through my fingers on to the page. The tears often come out too.
Between the vaccine and getting my period after almost 11 months without a period and this breakup, my emotions are running rampant and are very hard to keep in check. I haven’t worked out in a month (since he left me at the hotel in February I lost all the will to exercise), I’m not eating well, and I have little to no focus on anything. After sitting in bed for 2 days in delirium, I gave myself today to skip one more workout and focus on just getting my act together at work (because we don’t also want to lose a job now do we?). Tomorrow I can focus on a little exercise and map out a plan to get a routine back together.
I am unsure if I ever told this story, but back when Tony and I split and he went to work for Peloton, I thought buying the bike would make me feel closer to him. It didn’t. The bike became a coat hanger for 7 months or so. Then, one day, I realized it was silly to own such an expensive piece of equipment and not use it, and my love of exercise (or some version of love) was born. In the back of my head I also thought, if my xbf was going to be taking care of himself, how dumb was I to not take care of myself? Revenge body anyone? I don’t think my thoughts were that literal at the time, but something like that. Scott is a lifetime athlete, he inspired me to do well, and to work with him. Maybe I am depressed I am going to miss my partner because he was the first man that I was able to share my new found love of running and Peloton (and he embraced it with me). His blocking me on Peloton is a real slap in the face, there is no actual interaction with one another, you can just see each other workouts. He knew this would hurt me, yet it is no cost to him. At the moment, I need to unwind my exercise from Scott or I am afraid I will lose the love of something that has become critical to my sanity. AS I am writing this, I didn’t realize how I was correlating the two, but this seems to be the only answer for why I have lost my passion right now.
I do miss him. And each time I miss him I say (out loud) “cancel, cancel” (thank you @miaknipst). Sometimes it works. I know ultimately nothing works but time and I just have to get through it. I don’t understand how someone so very smart (and he is very smart, two impressive MBA’s) doesn’t have any desire to work on themselves. I just don’t get it. I believed we could have helped one another in so many ways. I know that I can only help myself, do my own work, and continue to grow and cultivate my own self-worth.
The one image I try to keep in mind is this: each time I cried he would look at me and he would be dead, just dead, behind his eyes. No emotion. Not pity, sympathy, empathy or concern. Maybe not even disgust. Just an absolute look of blank deadness. To me, the look was cruel and I couldn’t meet his eyes. I suppose in the moment I thought there was anger, but he didn’t especially demonstrate overt anger (and I think this was especially contrived, he tried hard not to display anger). The words in his letter do not align with the image on his face, or the anger that spewed from his mouth about how he really felt when I exhibited emotions he didn’t understand (they were always “outbursts”). I need this image to haunt me when I am weak because it was horrifying to see someone who claims they love you, that claims you are the one they “feel in their soul” are their lifetime partner, reflects back at you.
This cannot be what love looks like. Love cannot harbor this much disdain, even at the end as things fall apart. Perhaps he loved me as best he knew how. He certainly loved a thought of me, an ideal.