It’s 8:15 p.m and I’m driving back to my little home, tears stream down my face and my heart aches “It’s okay to cry Jamie, he hurt you. You are in pain, feel your emotions and let them go…”

I have opened this and closed it many nights. I have written countless words and deleted them all. I have so much to say and then I question why writing about it should matter at all. But it does matter and that’s why I keep coming back to this blank page. I have a story to tell and a path of healing to begin.

I needed you today. We celebrated my Dad’s 60th birthday, an event I openly shared my excitement for you to be a part of. I looked around at a beautiful party full of our closest family and friends, people who care about me and love me genuinely and I still felt alone. I didn’t have my rock. My best friend. My support to kiss me after my toast or someone to reminisce on the day as a whole with on the drive home. I keep telling myself I can’t keep going through this grief alone - yet here I am.

Since the breakup - I have discovered more pieces to the confusing puzzle of why you left, shared more moments and conversations with you, and in the time to reflect I have felt a lot of pain.

As hard as I try, I can’t be angry at you. I don’t hate you. I just hate the hurt that you put me through. Your decision felt like it came from left field. Only 3 weeks prior we got back from North Carolina where I attended your sister’s wedding and met your entire family. We had just finished our huge road trip where we grew as a couple. You convinced me to ask my new landlord for a shorter lease in hopes of moving in together sooner. You had a key to my place and we were headed in what I thought was the right direction. We were continuing to learn and grow together. We were happy.

Instead of anger towards you, I feel sadness for you. You walked away from a person who challenged you, shared the same passions and interests, encouraged growth, supported you, and genuinely loved you for you. My whole life I have been searching for meaningful relationships. I am confused by your blindsiding decision because I can’t possibly wrap my head around something I can never fathom doing myself - walking away from a person that loved and supported me unconditionally. After beating my head against a wall, streaming a timeline of events together, replaying every word trying to decipher where it went wrong, I realized I can’t make logic out of something that is illogical. I can’t make sense of something that may not even fully make sense to you. I can’t understand how you were feeling if it was never communicated to me. I can’t find my healing in trying to pinpoint a reason.

It turned out that the hardest part would not be the day you walked away, but it was the day you gave me hope. We shared a beautiful night together over a month into our separation, everything I had fantasized and prayed for finally came true. Without going into detail, words were said, feelings were processed, laughter filled the room, my cheek on your chest - I didn’t feel guilt, fear, or hesitation. I felt at peace. I felt love stronger for you than ever. A rebirth of our spark, connection, and a validation that our love was still very much alive and present. It’s a memory comprised of 15 hours etched into my heart, mind, and soul that will be a part of me until the very end.

What a tragic yet blissful ending it was - to not know in the moments, I would never share those experiences and exchange of words with you again. Kissing you goodbye the next morning I was blissfully unaware of the storm that was to come.

The next day we both agreed it was an amazing night. I went to work with a pep in my step again. I was dancing in the shower and I fell asleep with dry cheeks . We would be us again.

Except, you gaslighted me. You were still actively dating other people and I quickly found the words to remind you of the evening I had been smiling about for days, trying to refresh your memory of the conversations we had - you told me I was blowing it out of proportion. “That night may mean something someday, but not what you are hoping it means right now.”

It might mean something someday…

I hung up the phone. I cried so hard I made myself sick. I stayed up all night. And my heart has not been the same since. It feels like a stranger, beating slower these days.

I felt so close to a breakthrough, the end of my heartache. Yet, somehow it slipped through the cracks. Hard for me to admit now, I poured every ounce of my energy for the next 30 days into doing what I thought would bring you back to me.

I purchased a huge calendar and pinned it on my bedroom wall right where I could see it. 30 days of no contact period had begun and a red expo marker soon became my addiction. Every day I went without contacting you, I drew a thick red X. As a visionary person - I needed to see my progress daily.

Every hour that went by felt like a minute. The end of each day felt like I ran a marathon, leaving me emotionally & mentally drained. I found hope & healing in those red X’s - I wrote them confidently as ignoring you was the one thing I hadn’t tried, but just might work. During this time I worked out, cut out alcohol, started a second job, hiked more, saw a therapist, and did what I could to enforce a healthier mindset.

Day 22 - it felt right. I reached out to you and you responded positively. Though, our next conversations and the next time we spent an afternoon together would not feel the same. It felt foreign being so close to you and not being able to kiss you or say the words that felt so natural - I love you. I had lied about my intentions and you were ready for a friendship.

You met someone…

My fear became reality. I didn’t have enough time. I’m not ready. My stomach in my throat. It knocked me over. And for the first time, I felt nothing. Numb. I was numb.

Numb is what I finally needed to feel. I created a mental vault and anytime a memory of you or feeling about you crosses my mind, I visually crumple it up like a piece of paper and throw it into the vault, lock it up, and push it away.

All the red X’s in the world won’t save us. Countless meaningful conversations won’t bring you back to me. An amazing night I believed was the foundation of a new beginning, doesn’t matter.

So,

I discovered something about myself. The day Alzheimer’s took my father away from me I felt a loss of control. Your choice to leave me, triggered my deeply rooted fear: lacking control that resulted in abandonment. Instinctively, I sprung into actions that I thought could control the outcome I so desperately yearned for. I did everything I possibly could and it proved I don’t have the power to make you stay. Nor should I have to convince & strategize to keep you in my life. Saving us would not hold my happiness. Holding onto you, would not eliminate my fear of abandonment. This realization brought me to an idea you recently shared with me, the idea of ancient stoicism: the obstacle is still the way. Every part of life whether it’s suffering or happiness is part of the most beautiful thing, life itself. In the thick of my most beautiful obstacle of grief and heartbreak, I know it’s exactly where I am supposed to be right now. It’s a part of a bigger plan than I could ever imagine for myself.

I won’t find healing in your reasoning. I won’t find healing in my red X’s. I will find healing in the lessons learned. I will stop trying to change and rebuild my path, but instead, embrace it and begin to walk down it with confidence.

The first love is the hardest. The first break in the heart is always the largest.

This obstacle is proving to be a difficult one because one thing is for certain. My soul knows I would have loved you until the very end.

A short ride in our lives, but damn… it was a good one.