Toothpaste
Frozen dinners
Diet Coke
Ice cream
Cheez-Its
Oatmeal cookies
I haven’t thought of buying Cheez-Its or oatmeal cookies since the day I moved out of your house. This list was pre-breakup.
A year ago, finding this list would have been devastating. Alongside this list would have come tears, regret and hurt. This slip of paper would have been a painful window into a world where I was part of a “we” who were planning to get married and live happily ever after.
Today, this list is simply a reminder of my past. I feel nostalgic, but not sad. Pensive, but not overwhelmed. And I throw the list away.
I’m (almost) over you.
I’ve created this timeline of my life. There’s pre you – the years until I was 18. There’s you – 18-25. And then there’s post-you, my life after canceling our wedding.
I’m realizing that post-you are some of the best times of my life. I like who I am post-you more than I’ve ever liked myself before.
I’m (almost) over you.
I don’t think of you as often as I used to. In fact, this is probably the least in my adult life I’ve thought about you. Since we started dating when I was 18, it was all you, you, you. I liked you. I loved you. I worried about you. I cared for you. I thought about you. With you, I had some of the most romantic moments of my life. You, you, you.
And then it all came crashing down. You hurt me. You lied to me. You caused me pain. I was angry with you. I couldn’t bring myself to forgive you. I missed you. I yearned for you. I wanted you back. But I didn’t want you back. I wanted my old life with you back. You, you, you.
I don’t think of you every morning. I don’t dwell on the pain. It still hurts sometimes, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t allow myself to be swallowed up in the sadness. I no longer go swimming in the memories, hoping for an escape from my new life. I no longer close my eyes and conjure your eyes, your lips, the way I felt in your arms. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I cried over you. I can’t promise I won’t shed another tear over you, or our relationship, but it’s nice to know that my tears are my own again.
I’m (almost) over you.
When I think about a relationship with another man, I don’t think about whether or not I am ready. I do not consider if I’ve moved on too fast or if I’m on the rebound. I think about whether this person is right for me – regardless of what happened with you and me. I try not to compare him to you. I mostly succeed.
I’m (almost) over you.
Sometimes I still wonder how you are doing. I wonder if you are happy. I wonder what you think about me, and I can almost imagine you reading this, shaking your head. You always told me that I care too much what people think of me.
I wonder if you’re proud, or what you think of my new car, and I know that you hate my blog, but what about my writing? Do you think I have potential? What do you think of who I’ve become?
If I close my eyes tight, I can still feel myself dancing with you in the pool in Jamaica. The cool water splashes around us as you dip me. I watch the people gazing at us as the moon rises in the sky. I’d never been more in love. I’ve never experienced such romance.
I listen to the sounds of the lake, and I can faintly hear us talking. “Let’s buy a cabin,” you say excitedly as I float lazily in the water. Maybe we can buy a cabin after all; we had been looking at rings …
I glance at the hallway in my apartment, and I can see us kissing. You had just helped me move out of your house, into my new apartment. My sister and Dawn left us to be alone, to say goodbye, and I kissed you for the last time. I can see myself hugging you, watching you get in the U-Haul, and then I see you driving away. I saw you a few times after that, but I will never forget watching you drive that truck away. Suddenly, you were gone. It was really over.
I’ve thought for months that these memories are unhealthy, signs that I am not over you. I’ve worried that if these thoughts haunt me forever, I will never be able to move on.
But then I close my eyes and I can remember exactly how I felt the day I was offered my job at the agency. My heart beats faster when I imagine the day my blog was featured in the local newspaper. I can summon the pain of losing my uncle. All those experiences feel like they were yesterday, as well.
They are memories. They are part of me. The culmination of these memories, experiences, feelings and thoughts are all part of me. Good and bad. Pre-you, you and post-you.
I’m (almost) over you.
This post was originally published on the Simply Solo blog by Catherine Gryp.