spinning away any piece that remains

Not to sound too much like Sylvia Plath, but I’ve spent a lot of my life being sad.  I had a tough childhood that led into a tough adolescence and a few rather hellish years at college before a disappointing start to adulthood.  It’s only been in the past year (actually less) that I’ve felt like I’ve finally gotten a hold of this whole Life thing and have started making some real headway in being an actually happy person.  I’ve had some bad days and some rough times the past year, but I find myself going to bed thinking that I’m an okay kind of gal.  Honestly, it’s a really remarkable thing.  But the balance between being happy with myself and my life and the cavern of crushing depression can still teeter-totter and there are days where I feel myself on the brink of falling into that chasm.

The past week has definitely been some of those days.

I think the hardest part about losing someone you’re close to is the fact that it disrupts parts of your life that you didn’t think they were a part of.  For me, people I love and care about permeate almost every aspect of my life in ways I don’t even notice when they’re happening.  Nutella takes me back to my 8th Grade trip to Austria.  I occasionally quote Strong Bad because I picked up a lot of my ex-girlfriend’s habits while we were dating.  Striped socks = Paiga.  Armani di Gio cologne = Erik.  They’re little things that you never think about until they show up and bury you in nostalgia.  The people we love(d) never really leave us.  It’s wonderful and sad, all at the same time.

I go to Trader Joe’s because he took me there.  I can’t play Settler’s anymore because it’s his favourite game.

I woke up this morning in a weird mood.  I had a good dream — a dream without him in it — for the first time in a week, probably more.  I had a nice dream.  I went to the fair.  I had an adventure.  I was with someone else.  I woke up happy.  I got to work early and found myself buying fancy coffee and I thought, ‘I’m okay.  I feel really okay.  Today is going to be a nice day.’

And it is a nice day.  Even with the screaming Cubs fans in the background.

I’m eating again.  I’m joking again.  I don’t feel bitter.  It’s alarming somehow. 

And of course I miss him.  I miss everything about him.  But he’s not giving me the time of day.  He takes days to respond to any communication I send him.  He hasn’t told his family.  He hasn’t told any of our friends.  At this juncture — so far as I can tell — he doesn’t care about me in any sense of the word.  But that’s okay.  I don’t need him to.  And that realisation is terrifying and beyond wonderful.

it’s my world/it’s not ours anymore