“I think I’m getting better, I think I’m getting over it. I’m starting to not feel as hurt and missing him as bad.” Those words were no sooner out of my mouth that I felt the depression kick back in. It was like because I spoke it, the enemy immediately swooped in and said, “Oh yeah, check this out.” At dinner, I could barely eat as I moped and pushed my food around. On the way home, I checked Facebook only to see he removed our pictures. All of them. All of our memories, the happy smiles, the promise of a life together, gone. It kicked me over the edge, and I resulted in blowing up his phone with texts full of blame, begging, wishing, apologizing. Only to be met with coldness, and then silence.
There is this moment in a breakup that is singlehandedly the hardest part of the entire breakup once you are past the initial words of the ending, and that is the moment when you realize there is no hope. In a break-up, I feel that most people have some form of hope that lingers for an undetermined amount of time. It may never come, or it may come a year down the road or only linger for the first month. For me, it was two weeks. Two weeks of hoping that God would give us His blessing in our relationship. Hope that he would show up on my doorstep, and take me back to California and live happily ever after. Hope that the love and hopes and dreams we shared, and the life we planned in full detail would happen somehow, someway. Hope that my heart would be healed by his incredible love, and ultimately, hope that this was all just a really bad dream. But there is no hope, and that is the most incredibly sad comment I could possibly say about the relationship I shared with him.
Now comes the questions: Why is he so cold? Why is he walking away so easily? Is he with someone already? Is he talking to someone? Did he ever really love me? Was everything we shared just a dream that he never planned to fulfill? What, when, why, how? How could he walk away knowing all that he knows? The questions are endless, and I know the answers, but I don’t want to admit the truth, because the truth hurts. What no one knows is this… he rescued me from a dark place. He loved me back to life after I had given up on love, and decided to live a life of sin to fill the emptiness. He made me realize that I am loveable, and beautiful, and silly, and that I deserve someone good. I’m grateful to him for that, but with all the goodness came a lot of pain at the end. There have been days I wished to not wake up, and days that my heart hurt so bad that I felt like it could burst out of my chest. It has taken all my power to just get up and shower and go to work. I know I sound dramatic, and I’ll admit I am, but I have no apologies for how I am coping with this.
I will never plan my life with someone again without almost complete surety that it will work out. We made premature plans both times we dated. This time, we had how we would decorate our house, our Christmas tree, how we would dress our children, what kind of lessons they would have, their names and backup names. We dreamed of our ministries together, shared hopes and dreams of everything, made plans to go to San Francisco, different places in San Diego, Mexico, etc, etc, etc. We would just plan and plan, and hold hands in the car and talk about our wonderful life together. I mean, a month ago, you couldn’t have told me that I wasn’t moving to California in May. He was getting things ready there in Cali, and I was getting things ready here in Indiana. Hopefully a wedding in July and wanting to tell everyone about a baby in December. I was prepared to move my job, and had gotten permission to work from home, and was ready to sell everything in my apartment and move to start our life together. And then, it’s over… For a 34 year old and a 36 year old, we sure made some mistakes. I won’t do that again. I guess I just hoped this was it. I felt like it was, and I am starting to finally feel like it wasn’t. I don’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow, but today, there is no hope, and I hate that.
