I’m learning that this grief comes in cycles. Mid-week, when I’m busy, it’s no more than a subtle malaise that covers everything, like a fine dust that remains after the West wind blows through my neighborhood. The weekends are the worst, as they should be. These were the times we spent together the most and I feel like a prisoner within my loneliness.
But, to my surprise, Mondays are difficult as well. Mondays, with the dashed hope of a new week, like waking from a bad dream but realizing it’s not a dream. I’m here, he is not, and the week stretches out before me. There will be no email waiting in my in-box, no text on my phone, no Wednesday night dinner date.
I wonder if he thinks about me. While I am consumed with thoughts of him, I wonder if he ever pauses, just for a moment, and remembers us. This weekend, there was at least three times when I wanted to tell him about something I saw or heard or read. And he is not there – not as a boyfriend, as a friend or as an ex-lover. He has wiped himself clean from my life – and it hurts.
It’s been just over three months (3 months and 3 days) since he left and, at this moment, I’m feeling as fucked up as the day it happened. Some days are good days, and some are bad. Today is a bad day.
Days since I’ve contacted my ex: 54
Days since I’ve searched for my ex: 6
What I am grateful for: my appointment with my therapist tonight and Kleenex