I feel a need to write this post, because six weeks on, I don't want heartbreak to be at the top of the page anymore. And it's also about time I thanked everyone for all your comments and support on my last entry. Your comments, as always, really meant a lot to me and brought light in to a dark place.
I've spent the last six weeks in that strange post-relationship landscape that anyone who's ever had a relationship end will surely always remember. I've certainly walked this street before. Looking back and sorting through tangled emotions whilst getting on with day-to-day life and trying to think about moving forward. But what starts out bleak, tough and upsetting eventually ends up something close to liberating.
I've cried a lot. Especially in the beginning, using countless tissues and finding myself unable to stop even though I've been aware it wasn't making me feel any better. Taking the train to Liverpool one last time to retrieve my belongings was particularly hard, despite that fact that I didn't even see Rob. The only thing that seemed different when I arrived was the absence of my cards and notes that he used to keep beside his bed.
I've gone through the helpless soul-searching 'what's wrong with me?' moments. I've felt lost and lonely, watching the 'Liverpool life' of which I'd been a part for so many months, continuing - through the photos appearing on Facebook - and dealing with the fact that it wasn't part of my reality anymore. And I've dealt with the loss of more than just my relationship with Rob, realising that certain people I'd thought were friends no longer see me that way now that I'm no longer half of a couple. It's good to find out what people are really like, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. In some ways the loss of friendships - and I include in that my friendship with Rob - and the lifestyle we had together have been the hardest parts of the whole split. The distance magnifies things. I don't go to Liverpool so I don't "bump-into" these people. I miss people.
But there is a positive slant. Last week I finally felt ready to pick up the phone, if only to try and cement some closure. Rob and I talked for three quarters of an hour and I came away knowing that the man I had loved was still inside there somewhere, that I hadn't imagined it all. Neither of us wants to exclude the other entirely from our lives, and I'm feeling positive that we've managed to break up without hating each other.
And the very distance between us has perhaps made it easier to move on.
I'm not simply living the same life minus a partner. I'm living a new,
different life. I've done a lot of things in the last six weeks. I've spent more nights at the pub than I should. I've gone
out with friends and stayed up all all night to watch the sun rise in
the morning. I've stayed out in the rain until I was soaked through to
the skin, but had a good time anyway. I've had lunch with two amazing women, one in her eighties and the other in her nineties, both of whom were friends with my grandmother when they were younger than I am now. I've drunk more alcohol than I probably should on
more than one occasion. I've aggressively pursued my rock climbing, pushing the grades I can climb, free of fear of not measuring up. I've made several new friends, one of whom in particular has rapidly become very close to me.
I'm making plans for the future too. I'm planning for trips abroad, I've made decisions about my professional future. Next week I'll be ditching my skis to try snowboarding for the first time.
I feel strangely free, with an incredible amount more time on my hands to rediscover my beloved city, instead of jumping on a train out of it every other weekend.
With distance, with the support and perspective of others, I can also see that there is nothing wrong with me. It was the right thing for this to end. In fact, some of the anxiety that had begun to plague me prior to the split has actually been lifted and in several ways I'm a happier person. In a way I can't quite condense into words, though, I still love Rob. Being in love is what held me with him and made the end so painful, but inside I think knew it wasn't going to be forever.
Most importantly though, I don't regret a single moment of our time together. How can I, when it was utterly right at the time and enriched so many of my days beyond measure?
