It’s been quite a few days since my last post.
To be fair, I have stared at this blank white page for those many days, trying to figure out what I should write about.
But I felt like I should post to let you know that I am alive! My blog is still kicking!
So an update:
Out of a consideration for my heart and my well-being, I packed up some clothes and my 27-inch monitor and flew to Los Angeles. I wasn’t sure if flying to the city where everything started would make me feel better. I wasn’t sure if flying to the home of my best friend (but also his best friend) would make me feel better.
It has been 10 days.
Do I feel better? Sometimes.
Have I made some progress? I think… so? [A more lengthy post about the wonderful times in LA to come, I promise]
I’ve sent this blog to some of my nearest and dearest friends, and many responses I have gotten are ones of pride and astonishment. It seems that I may be doing a decent job at processing. And although those friends do not necessarily say that I seem to be doing well for how recently it happened, those unsaid words still seem to linger and hang in the air.
It definitely is not true though. I still feel very unwell. There’s a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach that just can’t seem to settle itself.
I started writing this blog to keep myself accountable for my thoughts and feelings. And with each person I tell and with each person who reads these words, I hope that their knowledge of my thoughts and feelings will also keep me accountable.
I found out he returned to New York yesterday. He, who said he’d rather be anywhere but New York. He, who said that living in Latin America was something he was sure he wanted to do in this lifetime.
It was on the pretense that he was sitting on a new job offer, apparently.
And to demonstrate that I am not as level-headed and well-processed as the previous blog points may indicate, I woke up this morning and I checked his location.
He, who was so private, and cherished a certain freedom, had never understood the use of sharing his location with anyone. So when he finally agreed to share it with me a couple years ago, I was honored. It felt, and still feels, sacred. Up until this morning, post-breakup, I hadn’t felt the need to check his location. But I knew that when the day came, when I would feel the urge, pull open the app to find his name, that I would have to remove it. And I guess that day was today.
He was in Manhattan, somewhere in Little Italy. His little dot just sat there, very still. I would imagine that he would have to be quarantining somewhere. But this wasn’t a hotel. Maybe it was an Airbnb, but I know that he has never had any desire to stay in Manhattan, particularly Lower Manhattan, as it is much too small and too expensive. He would’ve found some place in Brooklyn. Or Harlem. Or anywhere else. And as someone who very intimately knew him and his life in New York, I can confidently say that he didn’t know anyone who lived there.
Except her, now, maybe.
I know, I know, I am a literal stalker. In my defense, as I was opening the app, I knew that it would be the last time I would check up on him.
I immediately began to feel a sense of dread, realizing that he may have cut his escapades in Latin America short to fly back to New York and quarantine/see her less than three weeks after we broke up.
[But also, this is unsubstantiated! Maybe it purely is for this new job, and maybe he just randomly happens to be staying in Little Italy despite all the things he has said. But also, I feel, deep in my gut, that I’m not wrong.]
Well, that’s a little embarrassing to admit that I did that. But I’m not perfect, and hopefully I’ll look back on this and not feel so sad and pitiful, but realize that I don’t deserve to feel this way — paranoid, crazy, betrayed, disrespected.
Obviously I cannot dispel those feelings in a day or even a week or a month. I wonder if they’ll always be there?
But I can say, I stuck to my word and I removed his location. I think, I hope that will help. Baby steps?
