Single Draft Disorder
All I want for Christmas is a summer without drama. Instead, I am submerged in it, in the sense that today is the last day of a long series of drama pieces onstage but also because it is when I decided to give up on my relationship.
There is plenty more to say about it but I’m not going to. I ended it because I was tired of the blame game and I don’t feel like continuing it now. Suffice to say that at the moment, I’m pretty pissed with the world.
The actors are rehearsing their lines for our last performance on this festival. We’re leaving tomorrow and let ourselves be thrown back into everyday life. I for one, am not looking forward to it. As is custom after relationships of this length, the city is filled with memories of us 2 and her name comes up in every conversation, if only in my head. Already I’ve been getting the “help” of random people boasting their sex lives while single, idiots trying to boost my morale 24 hours in.
I’m happy to leave here, but I don’t want to go home. My good buddy is in the hospital and there’s little else more waiting for me but a black hole. I’m having trouble enough dragging my ass out of bed here, where I at least have good reason to. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
What is there to do? My sister claims to be “happy single” but for some reason I’m not wired that way, probably because as an attractive young female, she can decide which night to get laid on. I don’t have that luxury, and for some stupid reason my ego is tied directly to that.
I’d be perfectly happy by myself if I just wouldn’t let it get to me. In fact, I love being by myself. I love being with friends too, but I often need a moment alone, knowing they will still be there when I return. And that’s where she will no longer be. And that’s exactly why I will hate every second that I’m single, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
When I’m with someone, I want to be alone. When I’m alone, I get lonely and complain like it’s the end of the world. Very attractive, chicks love it.
It gets better, I suppose. I hope. I’m more confident than I used to be, so perhaps I’ll be able to carry myself a little better. At least I came to this place by choice. Let’s see if I can choose to walk away from it.
It is now a week later and I am home. I was very unsure about this period because I’d be confronted with all the memories but to be honest, Ostend was way worse. It doesn’t really feel good being by myself necessarily, but spending some time with my thoughts has a salving effect, I feel like it’s something I needed to do for a long time.
Ever since my first relationship and the depression that followed it, I have been terrified to relapse into that. Which is ironic, because that fear is a major issue blocking me from being comfortable alone for extended periods of time.
So that vicious circle aside, I am doing well, all things considered and not taking the crippling moments of regret into consideration. Because they’re definitely there, when my shoulders hurt and in a flash, I remember her expert hands on them, or when her voice rings in my ears, so vividly, saying those funny things she often did.
But then I remember the fights, the awkward mornings, the feeling of being trapped, centered and targeted by every bit of baggage we carried. It was too much, too heavy. I hoped it might melt away under different circumstances, but in the end realized that the problem wasn’t external.
You can’t just shut off your love for someone though, and the idea that I hurt her and still am, fucks me up. It damn well should.
I miss the shit out of her, and we’ll both be going through tough times- separately. But in the end, in the very end, I believe we’ll be able to look back and even if we don’t think it was the right decision, we can at least accept that no sane person could have believed otherwise.