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  • dearabi

The Difference.

I knew I could marry my ex boyfriend when I knew I would be OK if we broke up.

This doesn't mean I didn't think I wouldn't cry if we did. I've cried a lot. On some days I would cry would happen so fast with no trigger, I didn't even have time to fight the spiral. In the middle of making breakfast, cutting fruit, or making tea, I wouldn't even feel the tears well up - just streams down my face leaving hot, salty trails behind.

This doesn't mean I didn't think I wouldn't be lonely. When I'm not enjoying the company of friends I'm filling the spaces in between my breaths with the love I have for myself. But in between feeling independent and liberated and self love, I feel immense loneliness. The kind that makes you cry from the inside out - soul first, heart second, and eyes last.

This doesn't mean I wouldn't miss him. Sometimes I think I'm actually going crazy, because I miss him so much I think he's still there. I still see him working at his desk. Playing golf. Driving me around, and crazy. Doing goofy dances just to make me laugh.

This doesn't mean I wouldn't be absolutely, devastatingly heartbroken. I am still struggling. I still haven't moved on. I have dreams. On some days I feel like I'm floating instead of living. I want to reach out to him then beat myself up for even thinking about it.

This doesn't mean I didn't blame myself. I spent the first few months counting all the things I did wrong. Remembering all the times I could've been better. Thinking of how things could've been so different. Wishing I would've said "Thank you" and "I am so proud of you" and "I know you're trying" more.

So what is the difference then? The difference is despite the tears, I laugh and smile with an honesty I can feel in my bones. Despite the loneliness, I embrace the solitude. Even though I miss him, I remind myself why he's not here. Even when my heart is breaking, I still know I'm enough. Despite all my faults, I still love myself. The difference is I said I would be OK, and I actually am.

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