My phone broke today, well last night rather. I couldn't get the charger in the slot thingy. (Jack? Is that what it's called?) So I took it into Verizon to have them reactivate my old phone to get me by until my upgrade in September. Somehow, in a split second my mother had convinced me to just get a new version of the same model for 50 dollars, the Verizon lady had taken my old phone and I was pathetically asking her if my saved text messages would transfer over to my new phone. She said that because the charger jack was broken that this wasn't possible. My heart sank, tears began to well up, and I pleaded with the confused young lady to somehow get those text messages transfered over.
After a normal breakup, I usually go through some sort of purging ritual. Put away everything I had acquired while we were together, sit solemnly and read through old love notes and listen to mixed CDs before tucking them safely away in their appropriate place in a box beneath my bed that is never opened until another set of bitter sweet relics must be stowed away. The text messages are usually the last to go. Sweet little nothings that I save to remind me, through the course of a relationship, of how in love we are, how incredibly fabulous he is, and how wonderfully lucky I am to have him. Deleting these, watching them fade away, lost forever (not retrievable in a box beneath my bed), is extremely difficult.
This breakup, however, was not normal. He (let's call him Mr. Long Distance) is still very much a part of my life and a relationship I don't quite want to give up on just yet. His friendship is still very important to me and as dysfunctional and self destructive as it is, I truly feel like it's the right thing to keep him a part of my life.
After deep thought on the matter and hearing differing opinions on whether or not we should continue any sort of relationship, I came to a realization that truly felt right to me. I was at peace with it, honestly. He and I are at incredibly ambiguous places right now. We could both easily be in different countries in the near future. We were a long distance relationship to begin with but different continents is just a bit too much to bear at this point. Not to mention we're both, sad to say, too immature for each other right now. And good Lord I hope he doesn't read this. But let me reiterate that it's very much a two way street. Most people grow together, work through a lot of their insecurities and short comings along side each other. I really don't think that's the right things for us. We need to figure a lot of things out about ourselves, love, life, everything, separately before anything functional could come out of a romantic relationship.
So, all that being said, I was comfortable being his friend, talking to him sporadically, and feeling nauseous at the very thought of dating anyone else. I thought I had it all under control. And then, in the middle of a Verizon store, the reality came crashing down around me. This facade of contentment dissolved more quickly than I could have imagined and I unwillingly let go of the last piece of our happy memories I had left. And so I cried, in front of everyone, in front of the annoyed sales lady, my confused mom, and curious customers. I kept thinking I couldn't remember what all of them said. And then I would start recall, and the tears would come all the stronger. I should've written them down, my mind accused me and reminded me of my negligence. Gone gone gone. Those little reminders of his past affection, gone.
All of the stale self diagnoses and inner reflections felt so irrelevant. My heart broke, for the first real time since he and I drove around for what felt like hours and unwillingly separated from each others lives, futures, dreams, everything. Real emotion, real pain shot through me like electrocution. Letting go can be the most therapeutic but most painful experience life has to offer. In this case, I got to experience the pain. Hopefully the therapy's not far behind.
It's funny how we convince ourselves of things, and God, the universe, whatever you want to call it, oh so gently knocks us on the chin and tells us to get real.
He will be here in August. I have a lot of fixing (and exercising) to do before then.
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