It’s funny; no matter how well I think I’m coping there’s always a billion little things that could sucker punch me at any moment. I got an apartment on Saturday and I was pretty excited; I really felt as if I’d conquered a big step. I’ve been looking online for furniture, thinking of color schemes, figuring out how I might want to decorate. And yesterday I felt fine, I really did. Until he called me right after I’d eaten dinner and told me that friends of ours were moving and that their going away party was that night. So, armed with all my good intentions of saying goodbye, I went. I drove to my old apartment so that we could ride together and I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. For all intents and purposes it wasn’t. But while we were on our way downtown he starts telling me about how he’d called the jewelry store to see if they would take back my engagement ring. Bam! Sucker punched right in the stomach.

It triggered a little flood gate that let out just enough emotion to make me feel sad. I haven’t let myself get to that point, except at night when I’m trying to fall asleep and feeling alone. I’ve been operating under the guise of being ‘fine’ and moving on and getting things done. I don’t want to dwell, I really don’t. But, as usual, I took the idea of not dwelling to the extreme and haven’t really allowed myself to grieve the ending of a five year relationship. Because somehow, after all this therapy and thinking and reflecting, I still think grieving and sadness and emotions are weak. Deep down that’s what I believe and I don’t know how to short circuit that thought process. I guess I keep thinking that my therapist is supposed to know. But telling me something and getting me to believe you are entirely different skill sets.

And today I thought if I just kept going, kept moving, and not thinking that I’d be ‘fine’ again. Mostly, I was. At work, that’s easy; there’s phone calls and emails and a plethora of other distractions. I went to Target, figuring that I could keep my excitement going by buying dishes and cups and towels. Except that’s not how it went at all. I wandered around fairly aimlessly for awhile until I realized that the entire process of replacing all the things we’d shared for the past year and a half was freaking depressing. I couldn’t get myself to focus or care enough about the color of plates or towels or curtains. So I figured it’d be easier to just buy some household essentials. I had toilet paper and laundry detergent and even that made me feel like I was going to have a panic attack. Bam! Left hook to my jaw. I could not breathe thinking about it, thinking that I didn’t want to buy new stuff, I didn’t want to do any of this. But it’s not about what I want right now – his decision has drawn a line in the sand telling me to back off, telling me that he’s not worried about what I want anymore because him breaking up with me is about what he needs.

I keep repeating to myself that it’s just not all about me, that it’s extremely likely that this time alone will do me good too. And I can’t help but wonder if that’s common sense or my favorite coping mechanism of avoidance and compartmentalization rearing its ugly head. Probably a little bit of both, though I’m hoping it’s more of the former than the latter.