It has now been an entire year since I last spoke to Adam, my ex. Sometimes it feels like several years, sometimes it feels like it’s only been a few minutes. I’ve harassed our mutual friends to make them tell me everything little thing about him– what he’s doing, if he’s happy, if he asks about me, if he’s seeing someone else. I’ve cried until I thought I was going to die. There’s been more than a couple hospital visits. I’d made it 24 years without him, why was I acting like I’d lost some vital part of myself? It felt– it feels, occasionally– like I did. He was my every waking thought. Everything I did was in relation to how it would affect him, our future, our time together. Everything I did… I did for him. Cue Bryan Adams, natch.
I vowed to myself, here on this very page, that I would never write another word about him. But I am. Because it’s been an entire year since I spoke to him, but I can still recreate his voice in my head like I just heard it. It’s been a year, but I still find it hard to shake the “gotta tell Adam” feeling I get when something happens. It’s not hard to be alone. It’s hard to be without him, even now, but I managing. Some days I’m Beyonce in “Sorry”, some days I’m Regina Spektor in “Samson”. Some days I’m not a song at all. Some days, I’m a fucking wreck, praying for him to come back, to make everything okay again.
He doesn’t, of course, and I pick myself up and move on. I work, I write, I go out for lunch with my best friend, I exist in the world with him but not with him. What I thought would kill me definitely tried, but I’m still here. I’m still breathing. Sometimes that breathing is hitched from crying. Sometimes it’s gone from laughter. Sometimes, I don’t want to be breathing at all, but I continue because I know it gets better.
I just have to wait it out.