The break-up blues

It’s a cold blustering windy day. It’s the kind of day perfect for a broken heart. When fluffy comforters, warm snuggle dogs, a pint of chocolate fudge brownie, Netflix binge and a glass of wine suits. Normally that’s where I would be, in my world of self isolation and gulony. But seven months ago I made a commitment to a different way of life. I’m in recovery, so today I’m choosing to do something different. Instead of staring at the empty space in the closet where your suits used to hang and compulsively sniffing the bedsheets to find to lingering presence. Instead I’m going to lean on the creator to guide me through my heartbreak. 

And the creator lead me here. The same place we attempted to have a celebratory anniversary meal and failed. I’m here to reclaim this space with a healing presence. And with every bite from my big bowl of chili I felt empowered. I’m letting you go. 

For the first time in my life, I’m choosing me first.  And while my heart aches for the situation you’re in, while my first response is to help, while I can’t help shake the feeling that I have given you the death wish, I’m still letting you go and I’m choosing me. 

And the warm chili nourishes my soul and affirms me that I am supported if I stay on my path. And packing your bags, and asking for the key, allows me to get back into my path.  It’s unfortunate things have to end. I’ve been holding on to us and the idea of us through some distant glimmer of hope. But I finally hit a breaking point and constant positive perspective changed to accept the reality as it is. And the reality is that you don’t appreciate me and what I do for you. That your immaturity has seen its day. That this relationship is not good for my recovery. That I love you terribly but I have to learn to let you, us and the idea of us go. And it fucking sucks and I’m heartbroken and worn down. I don’t want to be strong and walk away as I have. I want you to be what I need, and I hate being here. So I eat my chili, and fill up my belly and hope that you will realize what you had now it’s gone. And maybe, just maybe you can grow into the man I need. Until then I’ll keep mixing in the salt water tears and eat consume large bites of chili, comfort food that nourishes my soul. And then my last memory of this place will be about me, not you, and I can be on my path to recovery once again. 


The bluffs

I’m hopeful that you’ll come. Deep inside I believe you want this to work too. The peace of this place draws our souls near. Closeness is what we need. The gap between us grows with every hour apart, every hour of silence, every misunderstanding. I want to hold your cold hand and remember that it’s mine. And remember that I fit safely and neatly nestled inside you. Our bodies are like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle or spoons in drawer. 

I’m hopeful that you’ll show up, but I’m careful not to have an expectation. Expectations break hearts. My heart has been broken too many times from the chaos we create. My addict brain can’t stop. Won’t stop. It’s a daily fight, minute by minute. And yet I’m hopeful there’s a better way. A way to peace with myself. A way to peace with you. Serenity. 

I’m hopeful you’ll arrive. Inside you don’t want to linger the streets more. Inside you want to love me and hold me and assure me things will be fine. Things can be fine, so I’m hopeful you’ll come. 

And so I pray for my guidance. And I sit in the silence and peace of this place and find my higher power so if you don’t come, I can still get up and leave.