A text before leaving

She’s left me. I thought this was to be my last great love affair. The one that would redeem all the agony and futility experienced with lovers of the past. I was wrong. She is now in the process of moving out; a painfully incremental affair. “I can pick up some of my things tonight. I’ll let you know when I can get the rest.” All of this via text message.

As of this break up, I have grown to despise texting. Even the word causes lingual discomfort. I found out she was moving because she text-ed me. When we were together, she would sometimes text me sweet messages. In time, sweetness gave way to the more utilitarian, yes, no, home at eight sort of thing. What was once a rush of joy has become a source of anxiety. Now my intestines unravel at the sight of her name on my phone. Every text is more evidence indicating the death of a dream.

My apartment is about 900 square feet. It seems vast without her. Everywhere her stuff once was looks like a cavity. The worst is the lingering scent of her. Each time I return home, the scent is more subtle; it’s fading assaults my senses with emptiness.

I wish I could be angry at her. I’m more pissed off at myself. As a recovered alcoholic, my knee jerk reaction of dealing with consistent pain or discomfort is to medicate. I have chosen to relinquish my right to a drink or drug. The good news is I get to feel everything. That is also the bad news.

“Oh Frank, don’t worry, you are just making room for something better.” Fuck you. I hurt, this sucks and don’t patronize me. People that say this type of crap are incapable of allowing someone the space to feel their pain. In general, most people I talk to are pretty cool. My guess is that most people recognize the symptoms and are exceedingly grateful not to be in my shoes. I have been through this before. I know the drill. Knowing doesn’t really help. All I want is to stop hurting and to stop the internal hurricane whenever I see her or hear her name.

Resuming life is my current challenge. One day I feel like the worse is over only to plummet on the next. When I lived in Washington DC, someone once told me that when you win an election, everybody comes. When you lose an election, your friends show up. I know who my friends are. I have been supported through the campaign all the way to the dismal results of Election Day.

What to do if you can’t get stoned or take tranquilizers. I avoid ice cream and eat healthy, exercise regularly, attend support groups and go to therapy. I even started yoga. I know all this sounds goody two shoes what a good boy am I shit. Here’s the thing. I will get over this and will once again reclaim my personal power. In the mean time, while I recover from the heartbreak I don’t want to get fat. What a drag to be free of the hurt only to have to look at a fat guy in the mirror.