Day 5 Back Home

I had dinner with one of my childhood friends tonight.  Over our Thai iced teas and peanut satay skewered beef, I told her about my heartache, not with B., but with my obsession now towards Robert.  Because my friend Jenny has seen me in and out of this relationship, she knows that this topic is not something I casually or even frequently bring up.  She understands that unless I'm in extreme pain, I usually don't ever bring him up.

I remember when Robert and I first broke up.  No one really made a big deal out of it other than, well, me. For all intents and purposes, I appeared normal and decent to those outside of my home by plastering a fake smile on my face and numbing my heart whenever I was in the presence of others.  Home was a different story.  In the privacy of my own house, or my parents' house, I cried hysterically and did not want to go out-- ever.  One night, Jenny came over to check-in on me after hearing my voice crack on the phone. I remember letting her in the front door and promptly turning back toward her because my tears were uncontrollable. She watched me curl up into a ball on the couch and bawl.  She tried to hear me talk but I'm sure I made no sense. I was crying too much and too hard, and soon after, so did she. She cried with me because she was heartbroken seeing me cry.  She had never seen me in such pain, and it broke her heart to see that I could be so devastated.

So, you see, Jenny "gets it" and she has always gotten it.  Unlike my other friends, who I also adore but for different reasons, Jenny listens to me whereas others have casually brushed off this topic to say "oh, good riddance! We never thought he was that great, anyways."  I distinctly remember wishing I could talk on and on and on about Robert after the breakup, but not being able to because no one seemed to care.  It was so casual for everyone. So nonchalant.  Oh, a breakup.  It's all good, just move on, see more people, date more guys.  For me, it felt like the world was over.  But no one seemed to get that.

And so, about a decade later, over our dinner together, Jenny once again lets me talk. In fact, this time around, she tells me to let it all out.  She offered me such good advice.  She said that I should just feel what I feel and not stop myself anymore.  It hurts, so let it hurt.  Cry about it.  Mourn about it.  And when I feel like I'm done one day, then I'll stop doing it.  Jenny's simple response surprised me because in all these years, I never thought to allow myself to just... grieve about it.  Instead, I've avoided it, used to work to compensate for it, and I have fantasized different alternate stories to make sense of it rather than sit with the throbbing pain lodged between my heart and stomach.

So, when I got home after dinner and drinks together, I climbed into bed and allowed myself to think about Robert.  I cried a lot and I told myself it was OK to cry.  I missed him and told myself it was OK to miss him.  I looked out the window where he used to park the car and come to pick me up, and I gave myself permission to want him in that spot again.  I let myself fantasize, cry, hate, and miss him.  I let myself feel pathetic and desperate, and I considered it to be healthy this time, rather than "stuck in the past". 


I didn't feel better telling myself any of this stuff, but I did feel.