Getting Perspective

DISCLAIMER: More than anything, this blog is about me hearing the sound of my own voice and by verbalising my thoughts I usually sort my funny over-analysing head out.

Disclaimer II: This post should be posted in the middle of the night - mid-day is the wrong time for talking about emotional drama. if it helps, this was mostly written after 2 in the morning two weeks ago.


19 months ago, Mr Not-X became… Mr-X... Mr Long-Distance became Mr-We-Couldn't-Do-This-Any-Longer. And after 5 and a half years of being each others Number 1 Special Person it hurt. Oh boy IT HURT to have to break up. Hurt like a heart attack. Hurt like being kicked in the stomach. Hurt like going to bed hungry.

Now I have been thinking about blogging about this very moment for near on 19 months. The thing is that it has taken me a very very very long time to move on. It took far longer than I ever expected. Naively I had thought at the time, the hardest thing I had ever done was complete my engineering degree and breaking a romantic relationship couldn’t be harder than that right? (Yes I was wrong, Very Wrong) It took so long that I actually would not like to admit it the time frame out loud.

I can’t say today is the day when I made peace with the decision to break things off. That day passed by a while ago, quietly, without me noticing because mostly I was busy. But it has taken this long to really get far enough away from the event to get sufficient perspective on it. The look back on the path that I followed and the way things have changed since then to gain an appreciation of the journey.



Now people talk about the stages of mourning: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. I went through these five stages again and again and again. First on an hourly basis, then a daily basis, then two stages at once, then stages within stages, then weeks of good acceptance feelings then sitting in the bath tub weeping for my sad little heart.

Denial came from that we broke up on a sort of mutual basis in that dating long distance wasn’t doing us any good. We even endeavoured to stay friends – leading to the denial that anything had really changed. Oh the horror when he started seeing other women!!! Denial that I should pack away his photograph. Denial that I shouldn't throw away his gifts and cards.

Anger at myself “Frank What were you thinking!! You let him go!” Anger at him for letting me break up with him. Anger at him for not being the same person he was when we started dating. Anger at myself for not being the type of person he wanted me to be. Anger at the fact that we lived in different countries. Anger at his new girlfriend for, well... being his new girlfriend. Anger at that I was angry and yet had agreed to be cool with everything.

Bargaining I found in escapism into movies and books. I went to A LOT of movies and read a lot of books last year. In some the heroine found love. In some the heroine kicks the man to the street. In some the story was happy and I had hope. In some the story was sad and I agreed. I got to a stage where I couldn't bear to watch romantic-comedies, finding them to be a fake and unrealistic portrayal of real life and for mostly giving me false hope. I immersed myself in indie arthouse flicks where the main characters dealt with the harsh realities of life and then grew from it. I gained little from this but an escape from having to look into the depths of my misery that I was sad and alone and didn’t know if I had done the right thing.

What I did gain was being okay with spending time alone with myself. I now love spending an evening alone wandering the books stores, having a coffee, being myself with myself and being selfish with my time.

Depression hit good and hard when I spent time with friends who were in couples. Depression lurked on Facebook with every sorry time I saw Mr X update. (or teh new girlfriend update - who makes heart shaped blueberry muffins?) Depression lurked and struck like clockwork after everytime I spoke to Mr X. Tears used to roll down my face while I drove home from work after a long day. (maybe that was just the bad traffic) Depression hit when Mr-X made no sign of suffering for the separation. Not like I would be the one he would tell.

Acceptance was driven by the fact that I knew/know in my heart that it would be the greatest insult to the entire love affair if I could not want him to be happy in the end. I loved him at one time and therefore I knew that rationally I should wish him well.

In the midst of this crazy twister blender whirlwind dust storm hailstorm of feelings my (wise) father sat me down and offered to find me counselling. I reacted as expected “I do not need help!!” I my oh my oh my do I wish I had agreeeed to go for counselling if only that I may have dealt with things faster. And then again maybe the slow road had its benefits.

I think what really got to me what irked me was the realisation that Mr-X stopped showing feelings of sadness long ago and showed all the symptoms of having moved along with his life.

And I could go on and list all the things that were wrong with him and with us but for the fact that it takes two imperfect people to make a relationship.

And so grdually after a time the cycles of mourning wanned and lessened and I stopped feeling so many things and one day while cruising along I suddenly I popped through the clouds.

I realised that the relationship and person I was mourning didn’t really exist anymore. That Mr X was effectively a stranger. That I had gone days without pondering about him. That I could look at his happiness and not feel a twist in my heart.

It irks me to see him live out his (and occasionally I feel our) dreams without me only for the irk-ed-ness that he got there first. I hope he leaves at least some of Europe for me to see before him.

It scares me a little that Mr Thursday and Mr X bear similarities. At times Mr Thursday pops up with idea and sentences that bizarrely reminds me of Mr X. (It is about as horrifying as hearing my mothers words or fathers quips pop out my mouth.)



What actually made the biggest difference in the process was a complete stranger. I happened upon a blog of a woman who had lost her baby at almost the full term of her pregnancy. I am ashamed to say but I followed her through her time of deep mourning. But she was so eloquent and so wise about her healing process that In seeing her move through her tragedy to various stages of healing of the heart, I realised that my silly broken heart is really nothing compared to the loss of her child.

Another healing process was a long conversation last September that I had with a friend in Cape Town whose mother had passed away. I actually don’t remember exactly the words of wisdom he imparted. But he made me feel that it was okay to still be upset and he encouraged me to seek counselling and most of all he listened and did not freak out when I shed some tears. (drinking wine and then talking about your sorrows will always result in excess emotions – lesson learned)

And so today I can say I am well within the region of "I Have Moved On"…. I think. Mr Thursday and I are in a good space. (He deserves a prize for putting up with me while I moved on. )

The best metaphor I ever thought of on this entire topic was that Mr X and I are like paper boats floating on a pond. Once we were untied from each other we slowly drifted on the currents and sailed slowly apart and I am finally okay with not seeing him on the horizon anymore...