"You only provided me money."
"Money isn't everything."
These were the last words from my Ex of 8 years.
After financing her IT boot camp, training her in my off-time, and paying her living expenses for multiple consecutive years.
It's been a bit over a year now since she cheated on me and abruptly left.
But sometimes when I'm tired, my defenses go down long enough for this memory to bubble up time and again.
Meditations on trauma
Ruminations on past trauma can become a detrimental entrained habit. And old habits die hard.
Past trauma leaves a scar on the mind that can limit your perspective as a self-defense mechanism.
It also limits your growth by limiting your perspective.
Healing the scar and sustaining forward movement takes imagination that things will get better. It never heals at a constant rate, so you should have self-compassion when relapsing into a fugue.
While these may seem like meaningless platitudes, I hope someone finds meaning in these words:
Do your best.
Be kind to yourself.
Don't forget to dream.
Unfortunate Last Words
Within hour 3 of a night of ruminative insomnia, I shared some choice words with my ex over text. I was packing up the apartment’s furniture and belongings we designed together three years ago.
That was regrettable.
If she is out there, I do want to say that I am happy with the time we spent together, even within the challenging moments.
I am still struggling.
I hope things get better in 2021.
Good luck with your new life and career, and even apart, I still care.
/*End of TheProse*/
Covid-19 isolation starts,
Long hours at work,
My ex of 8 years cheats on me,
Couple’s counseling starts,
Longer hours at work,
My ex finishes her job training,
My ex breaks up with me two days later,
to live with the person she cheated with,
Ridicule from my family and friends for being naive,
Couple’s counseling is terminated,
Quarantine protocols continue,
Major depressive episodes,
My ex tells me to never contact her again,
Ridicule from my family for being weak,
Pressured into family group gatherings for the holidays,
Continuous family in-fighting.
I found a box of letters while cleaning up the apartment.
It was from my Ex. Sent from 5 years back, when we were still in a long distance relationship.
She was finishing her social work license and graduate schooling in another state.
The letters showed a level of kindness and commitment I couldn’t recognize in her today. She was excited to move in with me and build a life together.
Her last words to me were that I was a mental health detriment, and I should never speak to her again.
It still hurts, even now.
A friend of mine wisely reminded me:
It takes two people to form a relationship. One person cannot will it into existence.
Missing someone isn’t about how long it’s been since you’ve seen them or the amount of time since you’ve talked.
It’s about that very moment when you’re doing something and wishing they were right there with you.
I started back-sliding into nostalgia.
With social distancing in full force, I’m left wondering when I could put these thoughts to rest. I still find myself imagining she’s just on a long weekend out with a friend.
Even though she did acknowledge and wonder aloud during the final hours of the traumatic pandemic breakup:
“I wonder if I’m a piece of shit (for leaving you after cheating on you after you supported/tutored me for years).”
Nothing I could say at that point mattered.
Her mind was made up.
And she decided to put me down for good.
But even so, I wish we could speak once again.
Day 44: Erasure and Re-Write
Erasures and redactions across my posts on Prose today.
I am a bit attached to my ramblings, so they're now archived off-site.
It finally does feel like I've finally freed up some capacity.
As if I have metaphorically rewritten over my chronically stressful mental fixations regarding the breakup, and can finally move forward.