Tuesday, 31 July 2012
Post-break up rock bottom. Everyday feels like that. Everyday that goes by without a phone call or a romantic knock on the door stings a little more. Going through the dreary, mundane day-to-day wears on your body and spirit, and your life becomes very hazy and darkly introspective. After weeks of this, rock bottom plays the role of salvation; it can only get better from there.
My SO and I had been dating for nearly three years, from my Junior year of High School to shortly after Thanksgiving during my Sophomore year of college. In short, we broke up over religious differences and we stayed broken up because we had each become very different people in the last few months of our relationship and were no longer good for each other...and another girl had become involved.
The day I hit rock bottom I woke up as I did every other morning: on the couch with the TV still on from the night before and likely Shmirnoff Ice as well on the coffee table (How. Pathetic). That morning I also woke up with the strongest desire to make a very dramatic last gesture in an attempt to get my boyfriend back! I semi-put myself together and drove over to his apartment with no warning or idea if he was even home.
Everything small thing that happened during the entire lead up to his front door went just as I needed it to and everything was quickly falling into place. The rush was unmatchable. His roommate opened the door and I found my ex in his bathroom shaving. I immediately yammered off the entire speech I had composed on the drive over there verbatim. The climax of the event had arrived and the seconds were years waiting for his reaction. Needless to say, it was tragic.
The conversation ended with me learning that he and his lady had decided to be together as of the night before and that he was quite certain that he had never in fact loved me. Ouch.
The rest of the day and night was spent drunkenly crying to my girlfriends. TIP: even if you think you just need to be alone, you really need to be with your girlfriends. The next day I woke up and was re-welcomed to the sunny side of life. I got up before everyone else, cleaned myself up, and walked down the street to the grocery store to get breakfast. The healing had begun.
Like any physical wound, deep emotional ones get worse before they get better. And like physical wounds, we can be sure that this process will happen every time and we can find comfort in it. Push through, pass the time with bad TV, and have much wine and chocolate!
The fun of me sharing my stories is I get to hear yours!
What do you think the appropriate grieving period is and what do you take into account when making that decision? Have you experienced a definitive “rock bottom” moment? We are open for discussion!