You’re tired. You get so tired so easily. Rather than deal with it, you sleep through it. It’s all still so shocking. Sure, some of the signs were there, but you really didn’t think it was anything to worry about. You thought, as always, that you could fix it. If you just tried a little harder, it would all turn out great. If you just pushed a little more, you could work through some of the pain. You were wrong.
It would be so much easier if you could get angry at him and hate him, but you are still completely devoted to him. And what makes this breakup even harder is that even though you’re no longer a couple, he’s still around. You share the same friends. You bump into each other at the park or on some of your favorite trails, and every time you see him you think maybe, just maybe you will get back together, but the realist in you starts to take over. You’re not getting back together. And now you regret all of those times when you were frustrated with him because he didn’t want to do what you wanted to do; or worse, when you wasted all of those opportunities to spend time together because you just didn’t feel like it. And now none of that even matters. You start to think back to the good times, but rather than soothing you as they once did, now you choke on them.
You start avoiding all of the places you’re sure you’ll bump into him. You cringe at how you used to secretly hope that you would cross paths, but now the thought sickens you. You hate everything about him.
The next time you see him, he’s with someone else, and they look so happy. A wave of emotions whips through you. A shudder wracks your entire body. Your mouth is simultaneously dry and filled with saliva, but you still find it hard to swallow. The tears blur your vision while your hands form into fists. You of course hate her. She gets to have him and you don’t. So, you go home, you lie down on your couch, you eat your feelings. Whenever you used to feel this badly, you would go to him to comfort you, but now what do you do? You certainly don’t dare breathe a word of how you really feel to your friends because they – of course – were right, and now you can’t bring yourself to face them. After it’s over, the truth comes out. “You were obsessed,” your friends say. “We saw it. We tried to tell you, but you just wouldn’t listen.” Your family blurts out during a seemingly harmless Sunday dinner, “We knew this would eventually happen. We knew you would get hurt.” Then you return home, crawl under the covers, and try to sleep so that it will all just go away. You crack your eyes in the morning, and for that one perfect nanosecond you’re blissfully unaware of anything, especially how angry and sad you are, but that doesn’t last long.
You don’t want to feel like this any more. You’ve replaced one obsession with another. You know you have to take action. You know you have to move on, but you don’t know how. Finally, you seek out help. You go once, maybe twice a week. Your therapist starts off easing you into the process. At first you think it’s stupid and that the therapy isn’t even working, but you still continue to go. After four weeks of therapy, you admit to yourself that yes, you are in fact feeling a little better. For the first time in a long time, you see the faintest hint of the proverbial tunnel light.
“Will I ever run again,” has been the question you were too frightened to utter out loud, but now you know the answer. You will run again, and though at first it may be tough to trust yourself not to get in as deeply as you did before, you will tri your hardest, because that’s what you do, only this time you’ll be stronger and wiser.