A couple months ago I mentioned to a friend that I thought I might be ready to start dating again before the end of the year, but that I worried it would be impossible to even find good people to date. At this age, everyone is either married, seriously involved or completely undateable by my standards. She concurred and added, “When you get to be our age, you kind of just have to put it out there. Tell everyone you know that you’re interested and looking. It’s either that or online dating.”

I tried putting it out there, letting everyone know that they should inventory the single males in their lives and let me know if any might be of interest to me. Well, that was an utter failure. The most common responses were, “I honestly don’t know any single guys. They’re all married.” and “I know single guys, but nobody I’d set you up with.” I’m pretty sure that second one was a diss on the guys, not me. I hope.

One friend finally approached me and suggested a double date with her, her husband and one of their friends. I agreed. Then I heard nothing from her. I waited for about a week before saying Screw It! Finding decent single men in this town is impossible, how can I make it easier for myself? And these words rang through my head… “It’s either that or online dating.”

Online dating? Why the hell not? My goal right now is to enjoy being single, and I think a fun part of being single is dating. I’m not out to find the love of my life (though no complaints if that happens!), but I’m also not out to find another long-term relationship that dissolves into nothing. I either want to fall in love or I want to date around and enjoy myself. I’ve never really done the dating thing before. In high school I just had boyfriends, no dates. Through most of college, it was all just hanging out. I went on one date with Brian before it turned into a relationship, and I hung out with Brad “as friends” before that turned into a relationship. I’ve never done the “let’s meet for drinks and see how it goes” thing. And now is the time, now I really want to.

So I signed up on match a couple weeks ago. I don’t think I’ll be discussing my dating life on this site very much, unless something gets serious. Or if I have a horror story I can’t not share with you. I know some people write about their dating lives online, and I love reading about them, but at the moment it doesn’t feel like something I want to write too much about.

But for now let me just say this: I am having so much fun.

I hope it continues.

I spent a lot of time with my sisters this weekend. I can’t say it enough, I love having sisters and I love living so close to them all. Friday night I went to Andrea’s for dinner. We played MarioKart, did homework and hung out with the dogs.

Saturday Kelli and I drove up to see Emily. Em made us dinner and we all watched Sex and the City while I worked on some homework. We spent the night and hung out for awhile Sunday before leaving.

One bad thing about this weekend: I slept on Em’s couch and effed up my back. I can barely move. Everytime I tried to roll over last night I whimpered in pain. It better fix itself soon because I have crap going on this week.

One good thing about this weekend (among many): I laughed a lot. I laugh more with my sisters than with anyone else. Brad used to be tied in this category, and I really hope I find someone else someday who will make me laugh that much. It’s something I consider essential. Anyway, my sisters and I share the same sense of humor so we spend a lot of time cracking each other up. For instance, on the drive home I said something quite on accident (it won’t be funny in the retelling so I’ll skip that detail) that had Kelli and I in tears. Most people probably wouldn’t have laughed; a few might have chuckled and moved on. But Kelli and I were laughing so hard it was silent. You know that silent laughter? It’s a really good feeling to laugh that hard over something so silly. And to have someone to do it with.

I went to my last counseling appointment yesterday evening. I was last there only a few weeks ago, and even then I was still wondering how I was going to get out of the mire. I felt better for sure, but I also felt like I had to work really hard at it. I worked every day to feel good, but I could remember a time when I was just happy without all the effort. I felt good without thinking about it and trying at it all the time. A few weeks ago I wondered if I would ever feel that way again.

Something happened since then. Maybe the Celexa took full effect, maybe the counseling helped, maybe enough time has passed, maybe all my “trying at it” paid off, or maybe it’s a combination of all those things. But I actually feel good. Happy even.

I’m in a good place with Brad too. We have emailed a few times and I think one day we might even be able to form some sort of friendship. I think we both feel good finally, and hopefully with enough time we’ll be able to figure out what it means to be friends after a break up. I still stand by my statement that Brad is too good a guy to not have in my life at all. Eventually I think we can figure it out.

After my appointment last night, I still had one more free session available to me. The counselor asked if I would like to schedule something and amazingly I said, “No I actually think I’m doing pretty well now.” Long-term counseling would definitely not hurt, but since that’s not an option right now, I didn’t feel like the last session was necessary. I think I can do this on my own now.

(Except not really on my own. I still need the support of all of you – friends, family, readers – so don’t abandon me okay? You guys got me this far, for which I’m incredibly grateful, and I’m not done with you yet.)

Here’s one thing I miss about having a boyfriend: having a bug-killer around. I’ve been fine with taking over most of the things Brad used to do. Like getting my oil changed, taking the trash out, cleaning the toilet. But I miss having someone to rescue me from the bugs. I do not do well with insects and spiders. In fact, I’m a downright crybaby when it comes to the creepy crawlies.

My biggest bug battle right now is the spider who has taken up residence outside my garage door. One day I noticed a small web gracing one corner of the door frame. I didn’t pay it much attention until later when I noticed it had grown and now held a smattering of insect carcasses – a spider’s dinner. When my sister Emily was down visiting last month, she bravely (well not bravely really since she’s not a wimp like me and isn’t bothered much by this stuff) pulled the web down with her bare hands.

Well, by the next morning the resilient spider had not only rebuilt its web, but it built ANOTHER web too just to piss me off. So for the last few weeks I have had to walk beneath two giant spider webs every day to get to and from my car. One morning the damn spider was dangling, yes dangling!, from the web right where I needed to walk. I ducked, squealed and ran beneath it as fast as I could.

All I really want is for someone to kill the spider (or transport it if they’re the humane type) and remove the webs. But Robin’s just as frightened as me, Emily lives two hours away, my other sisters are no fans of spiders either, and my dad and brother both live too far to make a trip just to save me from a little (HUGE!) spider. I asked Robin’s boyfriend to help me out, but he lives out of town and is only here a couple times a month. Last time he left before we got around to Project: Spider Removal, so the the nasty bastard remains outside my garage.

This is when I really miss having a boyfriend. I know not all boys are fearless spider-killers, but most of them would be willing to help me out if I explained how not cool I am with the whole spider thing. I know Brad, at least, would have been out there long ago taking care of this matter for me. I should probably just buck up, grab some bug spray and a broom and get rid of this problem myself, but it’s one thing I haven’t been able to bring myself to do. Getting my own oil changed? Fine. Wrangling scary spiders? Just can’t do it.

Robin suggested I start dating and hook a guy at least long enough to come over and kill Mr. Spider. I’m thinking it’s not a bad idea. Do spiders die in the winter though? Maybe I can survive until the weather does the deed for me.

Okay no fucking joke you guys. As I’m writing this, a little spider just crawled down the windowsill near my desk. I’m not really sure what to do, so I’m going to stop writing and run away.

When I moved back to GR last year, for some reason I put on weight. About twenty pounds of weight actually. One day this past spring I was shopping some serious discounts and found four pairs of dress pants for four bucks each. But I had to buy them all in a size larger than I had worn since the infamous freshman fifteen. I was actually okay with that, I don’t have serious body issues. But I did try a few times to eat better or exercise more, hoping to eventually get back down to a weight I was more comfortable with. All attempts failed.

Enter the heartbreaking end to a three and a half year relationship in July. Turns out depression is the key to weight loss. For about a month I ate little more than frozen blueberries and hot tea. For a month after that I could still only eat about a third of what I had eaten daily before the breakup. In two months I lost twenty pounds. I was back down to what I weighed before moving back here.

I thought my September cruise would be the end of it. I ate a lot that week and assumed my stomach would stretch back out and I’d get my appetite back, along with a few pounds. But it’s now nearing the end of October and I haven’t gained any of it back. My appetite has returned, though I’ve noticed that I still eat less than I did before.

Lest you think I am at all advocating for this kind of weight loss plan, believe me, I am not. Though I will probably make an effort from now on to eat less and better than I did previously, I know that my dramatic drop in pounds was not healthy. And most likely I will start to gain some of it back unless I make a serious attempt to keep it off. With winter coming, I don’t see that happening.

It’s kind of humorous though. The other day I put on a pair of dress pants that I used to wear all the time. I buttoned and zipped them up, and then just laughed. They were huge! I could literally pull them off, fully fastened, over my hips. And I’ve got some hefty hips even when I do lose weight. So now, because I refuse to go shopping, I have to wear everything with belts. I look sort of ridiculous because the pants are cinched around the waist but clearly too big in the thighs and booty. I’m a fashion disaster right now. Oh and those “size big” clearance pants I bought last spring? I hadn’t worn them yet because they are kind of thick and more of a wintery material, and now I can’t even make use of them

The other thing that amuses me is that I don’t think you can even really tell (other than the baggy clothes). When I wear clothes that fit (like jeans I haven’t been able to wear in over a year!), nobody says, Dang girl! You lost weight! If you’ve been reading for awhile, you’ll recall that I kind of hate when people comment on my weight, so I don’t mind the lack of attention. But in the past, when I would lose even five pounds (to be quickly gained back later that week), people would notice and comment. Now I’ve lost twenty and probably only four people have said anything. This could be because they know I dislike the comments, but my theory is that you just can’t tell. I’ve looked at pictures of me from earlier this year, at the height of my weight gain, and I really don’t see a drastic difference. A difference yes, but I always see those ads for diet supplements and they’re all “LOST 22 POUNDS!” and the before picture shows a rather rotund woman, while the after picture shows her, now seriously skinny, wearing her old pants and holding the waistline out about twelve inches. With me it’s more like, yeah I guess her gut isn’t sticking out quite as much. And maybe her thighs aren’t quite as chunky. If it weren’t for my bathroom scale and my baggy clothes, I’m not sure I’d even know I was lighter than three months ago.

Okay. In looking for pictures to use for demonstration, I found very few full-body shots of me. I had to go back to April to find a comparison photo. The most recent full-body shot I have is from September. April is on the left, September on the right:

I think side by side like this, it’s noticeable. But when I gained the weight, I didn’t really feel that much bigger. And now that it’s gone, I don’t feel much smaller. Regardless, the point is that it took two and a half months of depression and anxiety to drop my excess poundage. I think it will take little more than a few unnecessary bowls of ice cream to gain it back. Both sides of that coin seem so unfair.

Don’t leave. You’ve found the same doahleigh you always enjoy reading. It just looks a little different.

Brad custom designed this new look for me earlier this year, but under the circumstances I haven’t made the switch until now. At first I just didn’t care about a pretty new site design because my heart was broken and the man who broke it is the same one who made the pretty new site design for me. Then I just kind of forgot about it with everything else I had going on.

But now my broken heart is on the mend, and the recent broken widget reminded me that I had this design just waiting to be launched. So here it is!

I asked for something clean with three columns, and Brad basically came up with the rest. He even came up with the idea for the rotating banner at the top. I selected some of my photos, cropped them to the right dimensions, and he used some kind of html magic to make it so a different banner pops up every time you visit or load a new page. Fun!

Not everything is complete yet, but take a look around and please let me know if you come across any problems. Isn’t it pretty?

Yesterday was two months. I’ve been single for two months. Feels like ten months and feels like ten minutes at the same time. Many of you have been really awesome about keeping in touch with me even when I don’t know what to write here anymore. So let’s start with that. Thank you. You guys seriously rock.

As far as everything else… well, it’s getting better. I’ve been on Celexa for a week, but I’m not sure how to know if it’s working. My aunt – a pharmacist – says even though full effects won’t happen for awhile, I should be able to tell if it’s going to work within a week. So I’m not really sure what to think because I feel about the same as I did a week ago. Not great, but tolerable.

It’s still a day-by-day thing. I woke up yesterday and for no reason felt great. I woke up today, after finally sleeping more than five hours, and felt crappy. Who knows, I don’t get it.

I’ve talked to Brad a little bit recently, and in some ways that’s really been helpful, and in other ways it makes it worse. I’m just kind of all over the place right now. I have no idea what I want, no idea what I’m doing, no idea what makes me feel good and what makes me feel bad, no idea what to think about anything. I’m confident this will pass, that eventually I’ll be a little more clear-headed. I just don’t know how long that will take. Anyone have a good guess? Please? Anyone?

In the meantime, here is my temporary fix to the extremely shitty past two months: I’m going on a cruise. This week. I leave Tuesday.

Yeah.

My friend Erica is a travel agent, and she called me a couple weeks ago to say that she had a great deal on a three-night cruise, she already reserved her spot, did I want to go with her. You should know that I have always wanted to go on a cruise. And you should also know that I didn’t have any money left in the travel budget this year. But it was such a good deal, and I need to get the hell out of here, and like Erica said to finally convince me… I deserve it. So I said yes.

I’m using vacation days that I wanted to save, and I’m putting the whole thing on my credit card that I otherwise never use, and I’m missing a week of classes so I’ve been killing myself the last two weeks trying to work ahead. But I’m recovering from a broken heart and a broken relationship, and I’m going to the Bahamas with a good friend, so screw everything else right? Right.

I’m actually really excited. So any tips from those of you who have cruised before on how to get the most out of my time?

Making dinner tonight, I cut my finger, and it reminded me of Mrs. Twink‘s recent gash-while-cooking story. In hers, she called to her husband who helped her get band-aids, clean and inspect the injury, and bandage it up. I’m home alone tonight, so when I cut myself, I bled all over my fingers while I fumbled to rinse the cut, grab a band-aid and put it on. I’m sure her injury was much worse than mine, and it really wasn’t a big deal to tend to my own wound, but it reminded me of yet another thing I’m missing. I’m a big girl and can deal with my self-inflicted cuts, but mostly I just wanted someone there to hear me scream, then laugh with me at my stupidity. I miss that.

I had my appointment with the young hot male doctor today, and it was a good day to have it. Today has been kind of a hard day. I haven’t figured out what causes a good day and what causes a bad day, but today I was really sad and I felt the pressure on my chest again. Based on everything I told him, the doctor called in a prescription for Lexapro. After a really down day, I felt good about starting the meds, but when I drove to the pharmacy – no prescription. I guess they need prior authorization from the insurance company or something, but it was just not the blow I needed. Not because I thought I’d feel better as soon as I started them, but because now I have to wait, figure out when the prescription will be available, and make another trip to the pharmacy. And I think the fact that something as minor as that made my day and my week and my life feel so impossible is a good indication that there’s something going on here.

Also, disappointingly, I forgot to ask for a referral to a therapist. Last night I even made a list of everything I wanted to ask or discuss and put it in my purse. But then I sat on the exam table for 45 minutes and not only did I never think to ask about the referral, but I completely forgot about the damn list! So I’m still not sure what I’m doing about that situation. Honestly, I don’t feel like dealing with it. I want someone to deal with it for me. Which reminds me of something I realized recently:

Right now, when I’m hurting so much, is when I need a boyfriend the most – a confidant, a comfort, a partner. And the reason I need all that is because I no longer have it. I need a boyfriend because I’m hurting so much, and I’m hurting so much because my boyfriend left me. I need someone to help take care of life right now, but the reason I feel so helpless is because I’m sad, and the reason I’m sad is because the person who used to help me take care of life is gone. I need someone to love me because I’m lonely, but the reason I’m lonely is because the person who loved me is gone. I need someone to hold me while I cry, but the reason I’m crying is because my holder is gone.

Have I mentioned lately that you guys are awesome? I keep falling down, and you guys just keep lifting me up. You had so much good advice yesterday that I was inspired to do something about my predicament. I called my doctor’s office and said I needed to get in this week, I didn’t care who I saw. Originally I was going to see the same PA who saw me about anxiety awhile ago, but I figured I’d meet with anyone if only it was sooner. So I have an appointment this week with a doctor I have never met. I called my mom, who goes to the same office, to ask her opinion and she says, “Oh yeah, he’s young. And hot!” So great. He’s a he. He’s young. He’s hot. And I get to tell him that I’m considering anti-depressants to deal with the anxiety and depression caused by my boyfriend breaking up with me. I’m sure that will only be a little bit uncomfortable seeing as he’s a male (in my adult life I’ve intentionally only ever seen women doctors), he’s young, and he’s hot. I know I should just think of him as a doctor, not a young hot guy. But in any other circumstance, I might be interested in a young hot male doctor, so how come I only get to meet one when I need to talk about depression and anxiety brought on by heartbreak?

Anyway, someone suggested I could ask my doctor for a referral to a therapist, therefore bypassing the whole employee assistance program (which a lot of you suggested). So I think I’ll ask the young hot male doctor about that as well, and maybe that will get me on the road to really coping with this major change in my life, with or without the meds (depending on what I decide to do). The counselor I saw last week told me that on average, people can only stay in crisis mode for about six weeks, then you can actually start to figure out how to cope. If I count from when I first hit rock bottom – about a week after the break up, when Brad sent that painfully honest email – it’s been just over six weeks. And I can tell. I can tell that I’m out of crisis mode and moving into healing mode.

I still cry. I still feel sad. I still have no idea what the hell happened or why. I still have a million questions. I still get hit with attacks of anxiety. And I still feel an incredible loneliness and emptiness that not even the best of friends and family, the sweetest blog readers, and countless keep-busy activities can fill. But I’m trying to figure out how to get better and move on, and I think that’s a good step.

I took your advice, I started counseling. Sort of. My employer offers an employee assistance program so I could get a few sessions free, then be referred if necessary. Since I didn’t know where else to go, I tried that. So far the whole thing has been more stressful and frustrating than helpful.

As expected, the whole first session was intake stuff, and all that really came out of it was that I tested at moderate depression and extreme anxiety. And I need to get on anti-depressants. And I need to read this one book she suggested. We didn’t get to talk about anything regarding what is causing all this, and we definitely didn’t start working through how to get better. Except to get medicated.

I’m fine with the anti-depressants, but I also want to talk through all this and figure out how to make myself better. Except, I couldn’t even get another appointment until the end of the month. So now I have to wait over three weeks before I can even meet with her again. Not to mention the fact that she’s not even really my counselor. She’s an MSW, which is fine, but her role is basically to figure out what the issue is and determine the next steps. As in, does she need medication, does she need further counseling, does she need to be checked into a hospital, etc. So in three weeks when I meet with her again, I still don’t really get to start working on this stuff. At best I can find out if I’ll be referred to another counselor. And then of course wait until I can get in with that person.

Also, another draw back to the MSW thing is that she can’t prescribe anything for me, which means I had to call my doctor and make an appointment to talk about medication. Not surprisingly, I can’t get in there for two weeks. So not only do I have to wait a month for my next counseling appointment, but I have to wait two weeks to even get started on any medication. Which, by the way, takes awhile to start working. So here’s my time line:

In two weeks: start anti-depressants
Week and a half later: meet with (not) my (real) counselor again
Couple weeks later: hopefully be able to get in with another counselor
Couple weeks later: maybe start noticing affects of anti-depressant

So what, that puts me at about November? That’s over three months after the break up. According to some theories I would be fine then anyway. Is it even worth it? Should I just call the whole thing off?

See, this is supposed to be making me feel better, and all I feel is stressed and frustrated (and kind of hopeless) when I think about it. Am I doing something wrong or is this just how it goes?

It was four years ago today when I met Brad. It was at 3:00pm. We used to remember the circumstances together sometimes, going over what the other was thinking the very first time we spoke. We also used to say that we should get married on September 1 at 3:00 so we’d be getting married the exact same day and time we met, only years later.

It feels weird to think back to that meeting. Neither of us had any idea what it would lead to. We had no idea that we would end up spending over three years being the most important person in each others’ lives. We had no idea that we would eventually live together or that we would plan to get married or that we would eventually break up. He had no idea that someday he would break my heart.

I wonder now if, knowing how much he was capable of hurting me, he would still come up and say hi on that day. If he could have flashed forward four years and seen how much I would be hurting because of him, would he have spared me that? Would he have sacrificed all the good times we had, all the love we shared, to prevent this from happening?

And I wonder what I would have done. Is all this hurt, even six weeks later, worth it? Would I have ignored him that day? Dismissed him? Would I have given up the last few years to be spared what I’m feeling right now?

Maybe someday I will look back and know it was worth it. But today I’m just not sure.

Six years ago I was an undergraduate student. I met Brian at the store where we both worked. After a couple months, we started hanging out and together we had a really fun summer. Six years ago I was sitting in a summer class – Logic – completely distracted because I was thinking about this exciting new relationship I was starting. I couldn’t concentrate because I was so happy.

Today I am a graduate student. Today I sat in class – Management Seminar – completely distracted because I was thinking about a relationship that is ending. I couldn’t concentrate because I was so sad.

In six short years I went from being incredibly happy about beginning a relationship with one guy to breaking up with him and quickly getting back together, to breaking up again and breaking his heart, to meeting another guy and feeling even more elated and excited than before about starting a new relationship, to moving in with this guy, to becoming best friends, to becoming partners, to realizing we wanted to spend our lives together, to struggling to make it work despite all the love, to deciding to not live together but remaining committed to each other, to suddenly having my heart broken by him because it wasn’t enough anymore.

In six years. I was 21 when I met Brian. I was 24 when I met Brad. I’m now 27, six years older, and so much has changed. Where will I be in another six years? Will two more relationships have come and gone? Will my heart be broken again? Will I ever love again?

I’ll be 33, six years older, but what else will have changed?

Last night I was feeling kind of okay. I actually went a whole 20 minutes at one point without thinking about Brad, the breakup or anything related. I wasn’t feeling amazing, but I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up either. I wasn’t happy or chipper or light-hearted by any means, but I felt like I might actually survive.

Before going to bed last night, I repeated to myself, “Hold onto this feeling. If you can just hold on to this feeling, don’t backslide, just stay right here for awhile, you’ll be okay. And soon you might actually feel good. Just don’t go back. Hold on.”

But this morning I woke up with the usual knot in my stomach. It’s like I’m nervous and anxious and sad and overwhelmed all at once. Mornings are the worst, I’ve already said that. But it’s also the worst time to feel the worst because I have to sit at my desk, in plain view of everyone, and try to hold it together.

I decided to make some tea, hoping it would have some sort of calming affect on me. And while I was heating the water, I suddenly couldn’t hold it in anymore. I bent over, leaning against the counter, right there in the middle of the break room, because I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. After a few deep breaths, I rushed into the bathroom and fell against the wall. Crying.

Why is this still happening? How can I feel okay last night, then fall completely apart less than 24 hours later? Nothing happened to provoke it. It’s just there. Always. And always so strong the first half of the day. I expected that I might still feel a little sad at this point, but I didn’t it expect it to still overwhelm me. To still feel so deep and unmanageable. Why am I so weak? Why can’t I handle heartbreak with dignity like everyone else seems to? Why can’t my head start talking to my heart and tell it to get a hold of itself already!

I’m looking into counseling. I thought if I got through the first few weeks without it, I should be able to do the rest without it too. But if I’m still feeling so weak and still so helpless to make myself feel better, I might need some professional help. I’m not sure how to go about this, but I’m trying.

Breathe. Sometimes I have to remind myself to exhale. Sometimes I have to take a deep breath to steady myself. Sometimes I stop in the middle of what I’m doing so I can close my eyes, breathe and stop the spinning.

Sleep is becoming a problem. I haven’t gotten any real sleep in a week. The last two nights I had two Excederin PM pills in me, and I still laid awake for hours. I’m tired and I’m weary. It’s making it harder to stave off the sadness. I’m tired and weary and sad, and I keep forgetting to breathe.

Today I start classes. I woke up at 6:50am and I won’t be home until after 9pm. I need a nap, but instead I have to be “on” for 14 straight hours. I’m not ready for this semester. It should be a distraction for me, but instead it feels like a big heavy burden that I’m not strong enough to carry.

I’m so tired of feeling bad. Everyone keeps saying it will get better, and I know I won’t feel like this my whole life, but I can’t believe I still wake up most days and feel the heaviness on my heart. I still have the knot in my stomach, I still have the lump in my throat from holding back tears. It’s been just over five weeks, and I have felt every single second of those weeks. Not a second has gone by that I wasn’t aware of. Time flies when you’re having fun, but time is endless when you feel the weight of every passing minute. I wish I could wake up tomorrow and feel better so this could all be behind me. It’s so hard to imagine that in another five weeks I might still be carrying some of this with me. Five weeks? That’s like an eternity in my mind. I can’t possible get through another five weeks of this. I’m not even sure how I’m going to get through today.

I’m so angry and hurt that he made me feel this way. He’s the one who admitted he just couldn’t get himself to do the work he knew was necessary. He’s the one who was unwilling to commit. He’s the one who couldn’t give his all and who probably took me for granted. So why am I the one hurting? Shouldn’t it be me who says, I deserve better, so I’m done with you. Look what you’re missing, look what you’re giving up! Shouldn’t he be the one who regrets not doing enough for me and for us? Shouldn’t he be hurting? How did this all get so backwards?

I’ve tried to convince my heart that in fact it was me who broke up with him because I know I deserve better than him. All those times that I got frustrated and questioned our future and he asked me not to give up on him – well it finally was too much and I walked away for my own good. That’s what I tell my heart. But my heart doesn’t really care because no matter what, it’s broken. Even if I had been the one to leave, it would have been because this man who I had invested my whole self in decided he couldn’t do the same. Because the one person I wanted to love me forever couldn’t do that. Because all my hard work was rejected. Because all my faith in him was wasted. It would have been because I wasn’t loved by the person I loved, and that causes a broken heart no matter who does the leaving.

Still, he should be the one hurting, not me. But it is me.

And it’s still not going away.

I’ve learned that I don’t handle grief well. Or at least I don’t handle it quietly. I can’t push it away and I can’t ignore it. It’s always right there. I make lists of the things that I can be thankful for, I seek out the things that make me happy, I try to distract myself, I try to force myself to be happy. But after five and a half weeks I’m just so tired. And weary. And sad.

[Thank you to everyone for continuing to be there for me with your comments and emails. I know nothing I write really reflects it, but reading your support has truly helped. The last five weeks would have been even worse if I couldn't write about it all, and in return learn from all of you.]

Me. Sitting on the steps outside my sister’s house. Alone. Sobbing, shaking, rocking, choking for breath. Wishing someone would come find me and wrap me in their arms.

That was yesterday. I haven’t felt that bad in weeks, and it was a major step back for me. I’m still recovering. It was my fear – that as soon as I wrote about starting to feel better, as soon as I put it out into the universe, I would relapse. I didn’t expect it to be that bad though. I was a shameful mess.

It was a bad weekend. I’ve slept horribly the last three nights, so I’m trying to blame the intense emotions on sleep deprivation and PMS. Unfortunately I think the truth is that it’s all still there, just under the surface.

At this point, I am starting to regret the majority of that relationship. It doesn’t seem worth all this crying, all the anxiety and the constant knot in my stomach. If it was going to end anyway, why not much sooner? Why did he drag it out so long if he was going to eventually give up? Why did he love me for over three years and then just stop?

I gave him too much of myself, I see that now. With my last boyfriend, I held back a lot. I didn’t let him get inside my heart, I didn’t let our relationship hurt me because I didn’t open myself up. Brad knew this and he told me repeatedly that he couldn’t be with me if I was going to shut him out. So I let him in. I let him in and I trusted that it was worth it, that we would work together to make this thing last forever. He let me do that, and then he left me. Why? Because he had a huge transformation over one weekend? Because he couldn’t bring himself to do the work anymore? Well that’s fine, that’s what he needed to do I guess. I didn’t get a say in it, but I have to accept his decision.

But I wonder now if it was worth it, if it was a mistake to give him so much of myself. And I fear that I may be too scared to ever do that again.