When the relationship with Bastardo Romantico� ended (and that�s a euphemism for �he dumped me� just days before our third year anniversary and then I found out he had been cheating on me for three years while becoming a lunatic abusive wild man if I said good evening to my married male neighbor) I had a very difficult time.
But there are ways to handle these kinds of things. You simply have to be ruthless about going through the steps, whatever your steps are.
First I needed sleep. Because the crying, and the thinking, and the unmistakable knowledge I would never have the answers to the questions made it impossible. I was honest with the doctor, and got a prescription for Ambien.
Second, get through the time between coming home from work and taking the Ambien. So I stocked vodka and Rose�s lime juice. Lots and lots of vodka. And since I am a Hep C survivor vodka couldn�t be the only answer...liver, ya know. (no, I DON�T know how I got it, no I�m not a member of the GLBT community, an IV drug user or have/had sex with people who are � really, 25% of the 5,000,000 undiagnosed cases in the US really will have no idea how they got it)
I simply re-activated my Match.com profile (and a couple of others) and spent the next six months going out with, at times, five guys a week. Most never got a second date, but I spent a pleasant two hours with generally nice men, and always offered to pay my half of the bill if neither of us suggested getting together again.
Thirdly, I had to be able to live with the gifts. Not the little stuff � that was quid pro quo. But the bigger ones were so integrated into my life they would be difficult to replace. My computer, my cell phone, my printer, DVD player, the security system, other and sundry electronics. The gifts over our three years together hadn�t been one-sided. So I listed the original value of everything I had given him, and the same for what he had given me, subtracted one from the other, and deposited the difference in his checking account (my name was still on it at that point). I found out later he ranted and raved that I dared pay him for his gifts� but he didn�t give the money back either. Now I could think of the things he had given me as mine - because I paid for them. (and not feel so bad about having gotten him the new flat screen for his birthday four weeks before)
Lastly, if I had any hope of moving on I really needed to move on. That meant, if I wasn�t ready to trash it, everything that had anything to do with him had to be packed and put away out of sight. Books, papers, letters, cards, pictures, ticket stubs, jewelry, gifts, CDs, engraved pens, you name it � if it had anything to do with the relationship, it went in a box and into the storage room. Even the candle holders from the bedroom and the shells from our vacation got put away. The 5,000+ emails were archived as well (hey, I might write a book some day).
Which brings me to today, fourteen months later. I noticed the box in the storage space and realized I had almost forgotten it was there. And when I opened the lid, I also realized I was strong enough to do what needed to be done.
The box is almost empty now. The paper contents were set out for recycling, the bric-a-brac taken to the Goodwill Store. All but one piece of the whim purchased jewelry from street fairs or small shops in the village had lost any real significance, so some went back in the drawer to wear again.
The locket of course, the one engraved �Ditto Too� because �Ditto� was what I said the first time he said �I love you�. That is still in the silk lined case. And tucked away far out of sight to be forgotten about once again. The time for doing anything with it isn�t quite here.
But it will come around too, just like today did. And without any vodka!
Warning: Persons taking Ambien have been known to �sleep-drive�, prepare and eat food, make phone calls, sleepwalk or have sex � all without remembering it in the morning. So if I don�t remember this in the morning, perhaps someone can give me a �Woot�
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