I've been single for three months now, after four years of being with someone. This is the first time I’ll be sharing about the relationship and, ironically, it’s the end of it.
It’s been three months, and I’m more devastated than I had let on (at least I know I should be). Wait, that’s not quite accurate. Truth is, I carried on day by day like I normally would—minus the sweet messages, frequent calls, regular dates… Well, you get the picture. I never shed a tear. Not even once. As if the moment you said it’s over, all emotions went down the drain. All I even mustered to say was a measly “okay.”
The universe decided today would be different, heck of a lot different, if I say so myself. I had a dream. It was the sweetest dream. Like the summary of those four wonderful years. Our friendship. Our courtship. Our relationship. Our breakup. And just like that, it turned into a nightmare.
I woke up feeling tears trickling down the side of my face. I heard myself sniff. Once. Twice. Next thing I know, I was bawling. Almost screaming. It’s been three damned months. This is the first time I’ve shown emotion—real ones. Delayed reaction at its best. I felt raw, bare. As if even the slightest touch would mar me, and leave a scar I would forever live with.
At that moment, I knew everything would change. Have I been subconsciously pretending all this time? Have I been purposefully delaying acknowledging the pain? I can’t quite grasp the reality of all this, of both the breakup and my lack of “proper” response (if there’s even such a thing). All I know now (and somehow I’m glad I do) is that I’m bursting at the seams, and I can’t hold on much longer.
This marks the beginning of my grieving.
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Because I cannot sleep last night.
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