#19 | time
There's a phase of processing breakups that I'm familiar with, and one I'm reaching, which is the nobody-understands-me phase. Many of my friends understand at most one dimension of the situation: they've been through the end of a long-term relationship. They've experienced grief. They're queer. They're emotionally avoidant like her, or anxious like me. Nobody I know has specifically been through a long-term lesbian relationship that ended because familial grief and homophobia upended your lives and stretched you thin. It feels like everyone is at a loss of what to say. Words are inadequate, and even if someone had been through the same thing, I'm not sure if they would give advice that felt sufficient. Because every relationship and breakup has a unique fingerprint, and unfortunately the only person who could come close to understanding my feelings is the person that it's all about.
I have to accept a state of solitude. This is normal, this is how it goes. Does it help to tell myself that? That it's nothing special, instead of dramatizing our story and relationship, and maybe love is not so divine after all? I don't think that's the right approach either.
Going outside or doing activities helps, but only temporarily. Yesterday, I went on another run through the park and then toured apartments. In the evening, I went to a comedy show and was able to forget about my life for a while and laugh, but when I took the train back and walked past the building where she's living now—the home we used to share, the home that was taken from us—I knew I could've looked up and seen the lights on, but I had to brace myself not to. I crossed the street. Then I had to walk across the neighborhood that isn't my neighborhood anymore to sleep in the home that isn't my home anymore. I started to lightly cry in front of my friends, a few tears falling to the sidewalk as they grasped for comforting words. I was restless the rest of the night, waking up periodically, in the morning crying again about how I felt dropped like deadweight.
My friend who has experienced the loss of a parent is trying to view this through the fact that I'm experiencing grief as well, and need to focus on affirmations: it's not my fault; I tried my best; don't put expectations on her actions; prioritize yourself; take things one day at a time. Things that I keep losing focus of. It makes sense, but when I finish following that or anyone else's advice, the presence of grief and all its complications is still there, looming, and won't go away. The only thing that can tangibly help me is the passage of time, the speed of which I am powerless to affect.