Last Sunday night was it for me – I was completely spent! Exhausted one more time from crying my eyes out after having one more phone conversation that led to…what it always leads to: NOWHERE! Two months plus of Break Up Boo Hoo had brought me nowhere closer to healing. Well, that wasn’t completely true. I had kept on keeping on with my job, responsibilities, social engagements, yada, yada. I had gone back to seeing my therapist a couple of weeks ago who had asked me to try and look at this situation differently (and I have tried and am continuing to try). But the truth was, I was still holding onto the hope. Hope that HE would have a change of heart. Hope that HE would realize what a dumb ass he is for giving me up and come back. Hope that HE would own his part in all of this.
Let me set the record straight: I hate playing the victim and even more than that, I loathe feeling like a victim. But it’s really hard when I’m hurting to not feel “victimized” a little bit. However, it doesn’t help. Crying my brains out -that’s my default mode, by the way - (I can cry in a snap) doesn’t bring him back, change his mind, or make him realize his mistakes. It only exhausts me, dehydrates me and keeps me stuck. Oh, and it gives me really puffy eyes and screws up my contacts. And it totally interferes with whatever I am doing. It renders me a crumpled rag doll incapable of even taking on the most remedial of tasks. NOT GOOD (maybe in the first week, understandable. After two months? Pu-lease!)!!!
Now, allow me to set another thing straight. Please do not misunderstand. I am very much about the healing process and giving oneself time to heal. I am all for self-care, self-love, support and big bowls of cereal and whole-season marathons of The Gilmore Girls in one day (yes, definitely - I’ve done that). It’s just that I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t keep losing it every hour at work, and I can no longer continue to spend four hours at a stretch playing my own version of The Crying Game (cross-dressing not included).
So after another evening of sobs and gobs (of Kleenex) last Sunday night, I went to bed knowing something had to get different pretty quick. Before my eyes even fluttered open last Monday morning, I had the answer: Break Up Boot Camp. Without much struggle, I immediately employed a tough little cookie to live in-braino (the mind equivalent of in vitro) and to kick my brain and yell (loudly) “CHANGE YOUR THOUGHT!” every time I started to think about HIM.
I was pretty tickled with this idea, and as I drove to work that morning, I actually enjoyed my inner drill sergeant yelling at me and offering up a good kick every time a thought about HIM approached (approximately every 17 seconds). The cool thing was, I was actually able to do this outstandingly well my first two days. Even though it felt like I had a second full-time job (that’s how often those thoughts entered my brain), by employing that inner drill sergeant, I seemed to have more energy to focus in the present. The irritability and unreasonableness I had been feeling at work for months seemed seamlessly lifted, and I was enjoying this new, creative process to tackling my Break Up Blues.
By Wednesday, my inner drill sergeant was still able to catch those thoughts fairly well, but by Thursday (Day 4) I could feel my adherence to the current discipline waning and Friday felt even more difficult and laborious (think: boggy, craggy marsh in some obscure and arty independent film).
Because I had to work Saturday morning, I still managed to hang on all right, but my irritability level rose and my patience level sank, and by the time I was driving home in the afternoon I had gone AWOL: I was awash in a sea of tears. That inner drill sergeant kept attempting to yell, “CHANGE YOUR THOUGHT” – but my sobbing over-powered her, and by the time I got home, it was a replay of last Sunday, and I took to my bed, sad and tired. But I didn’t dare go near the phone or the email (a cheer from my gally pallys who understand what an amazing feat that is for me).
Today continued on the same, though I did get a good walk in with the dog, managed some house cleaning, errands and other chores. And now that I have been writing this first entry, I am beginning to feel better. Ready to suit up for basic training once again.
Though I certainly doubt Scarlet O’Hara would have ever enlisted in Break Up Boot Camp, I believe her words are definitely fitting in my situation: Tomorrow is, after all, another day.
And, so it is. Tomorrow it's back to Break Up Boot Camp for me!
