Not broken, just bruised…
I do believe earlier on I likened this whole thing to haemorrhaging.
I’m all a bit sorry (for myself mostly) that I am still going on about this, but in all my okay-ness I forgot that I’m still sad. Which works for the most part, except at 3am when you’re drunk and your roomie on the great girl’s trip asks about it (sorry about that honey, I only remembered on Friday how much I cried after we made that amazingly funny video blog!) and when your coach pins you down on your sadness. I was all a bit mad at her for pointing it out because I’m so OK in all of this I don’t want anyone to see the last bit of the bruise. You know the part. The yellowy shadowy bit. That’s there but not there.
I would also like to blame my naturopath because I am on a detox after the great girls trip (just to thank my 40 year old body for being such a trooper!), and after my session with my coach when my eyes started leaking, they did not stop leaking for 3 whole days I messaged her and said ‘is bloody crying part of the detox????” and she returned some snappy, chipper answer about “emotional cleansing” (thanks honey). So I’m guessing I’m doing some of that.
I have to be honest. I even wrote a blog where I professed something about never speaking of him again. I have systematically tried to eradicate him from my life, and worked through all the things that were not right or good about us, and tried to understand from every perspective why and how and what was my part of that, and I’ve done a pretty ace job of all of that. But the one thing I didn’t want to say to anyone after all this time is that I miss him sometimes. And that is real and does exist for me.
I miss the good and fun bits of us. I miss having that person I told everything too. I miss writing to him and talking to him and touching him with my foot in bed. I am not wallowing in missing, not drowning in it, not falling apart. The truth is I am OK and was always going to be OK without him, I just didn’t know that when it began (the being without him). But every now and then I miss him. Mostly I miss knowing that he (someone) loved me without question. Which is funny right? Especially coming from a Mum who has four daughters who pretty much love me without question. Like obsessively love me. And all those other people who love me for no particular reason. But I’m talking about that one person. For those of you who have that, I know you know what I mean.
So it’s there, the faded out yellow part of the bruise. I know people wear their hurt in the shadows under their eyes, or the half-ness in which they smile or in their distracted air. I have that about me sometimes. And sometimes I don’t have it all. So it’s there but not there. I’m using Gap Year as a bruise-healing time.
Someone asked me if I “got lucky” on the girls trip, but the truth of me is that I am not ready for that. There were many men in KL, many of whom were no doubt up for getting lucky, but none of those men came near me. Because my heartbreak is like a bruise that is almost faded away, but if you put too much pressure on the spot where it was you would see me pull back. I’m not ready for hypothetical guy (I have a half written blog called “waiting for Hypothetical Guy” that I haven’t posted because I’m not really waiting for him). I’m keeping him at bay with this thing called Gap Year, which I think is OK (until it’s not OK by which time I know I have enough people in my life who will remind me to let it go now. It could be this weekend or next year).
So I guess this is about honouring all the parts of the healing. The bits that feel good and the bits that don’t. And acknowledging that even when you think it’s probably about time you were OK, that if you’re not totally bruise free, just rub a bit more arnica on there and give it a bit more time. One day you won’t even remember exactly where the bruise hurt or the colour it was when it started.