Buddies.
Apologies for not writing for a few days. I’ve been terribly busy lying on the beach, walking on the beach, reading on the beach, drinking Sam Adams and frozen cocktails, eating lobster, and generally having such a nice time.
This is so different from my trip in November. I’m so much happier. So much calmer. So much more connected to the world. When I look back, geeez, in November we’d only been broken up three months. I don’t know how I was still breathing, to be perfectly honest.
Well, Saturday (as I was flying across The Atlantic) was nine months since the pizza of doom. Nine. Fricking. Months. How the hell did that happen?
He’s further from me than he’s ever been. And, yes, that makes me sad. But it also makes me breathe a sigh of relief and get excited about the future.
I’ve been reading a book about a woman grieving her husband’s death. I won’t tell you the name of the book because I’d already have ruined the story for you. But I am so surprised by how similar her feelings and symptoms are to mine. The physical side, too. The pain which comes from nowhere. The crying that starts when you least expect it. And the kidding herself that he’ll come back.
In those first two months after the pizza of doom I used to seriously think he would be there when I got home at night. That he’d realise it was a mistake and let himself in and surprise me when I got back from another day crying at work. And every day I cried for hours when I was so disappointed that it didn’t happen.
Grief is a funny thing. And nine months isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. But I’m getting there.
And sunshine definitely helps.
Pizza of Doom 
I could have written that . . .
I so feel you. . .
Almost a year for me and I am finally getting “there”, aka not crying daily.
I’ve actually stopped waiting for his car to pull in the driveway, wishing he was spooning me and rubbing my back in bed every nite like he always did, and I’ve stopped looking for his favorite items in the market.
I think a part of me will always love him and I have to make peace with the fact that it’s OK to feel that way but realize that he did me VERY wrong and never looked back. He stopped loving me LONG before I stopped loving him.
He cheated and lied and manipulated me. I should hate him.
I should . . .
Thanks. It is so good to know it’s not just me. Grief is weird. And somehow break up grief feels a bit less real than grief over a death. But it’s just as real, if a little different. When I was reading this book about the woman who’s husband died I was so shocked by the similarities, but also kind of comforted.
Likewise, my ex stopped loving me first. I still love him, and he told me he was never in love with me. That’s hard. Like you I feel manipulated.
I’m not religious but I do believe in karma. And you and I are both due good things. We’re wiser and stronger from these experiences.
And the grief sucks, but it’s proof that we truly loved.
I agree on all counts, and of course, have found myself thinking the exact same thoughts.
I think that death of a loved one and betrayal by someone you love(d) are two of the worst experiences to get through.
I struggle(d) with the fact that he is NOT dead, so he had the choice to make things right/better, and he chose not to.
Extremely crushing, to say the very least.