So my head-shrinker suggested that I spend some time alone, completely on my own, single without the mingle. "Don't reconcile with your ex-boyfriend because you are lonely; he deserves a chance to get on with his own life. Don't keep pulling him back in if you aren't ready to play for keeps. And no dating, just spend time alone, doing the things that are important and fulfilling in your life. Keep a journal. You just might be surprised to find out how well you'll get to know yourself without the crutch of some type of romantic relationship sidetracking you."
The tone in her voice suggested that she was almost certain that I would fail at the task. Humph! I'd show her! I don't need a man to fulfill me! Do I?
Day One: I was sitting on the beach, watching Jay surf. I couldn't take my eyes off of him; he was so strong, so confident and so beautiful. He caught sight of me and caught the next wave in. As he walked toward me, surfboard under his muscular arm, I could see his skillion-dollar smile and all the love in his baby blues. My heart was so full. I ran to him, wanting so badly to sit beneath the lifeguard tower at sunset, whispering into his ear, "I love you. I love you. I love you," like I had done in the past when we were strong and new and just finally realizing the depth of our feelings.
But as I neared, I was suddenly aware that I'd lost him in the crowd of happy beach-goers. I looked around frantically; he was nowhere to be found.
Suddenly I bolted upright. I was in my own bed, thank goodness—it had only been a dream, a terrible dream. I reached for the comfort of him, again he was nowhere to be found. I was alone, and suddenly very, very lonely. Tears stung my eyes as I looked around the dimly-lit room. I glanced at the nightstand, which held our first picture, taken at Cassidy's after a long, lazy day in the sun. My face sun-kissed and bare, not a stitch of make-up, looking so young and alive; I was really happy.
I reached for the phone. I picked it up and dialed his number but before it connected, I hung up. "Not an option," I said to myself. Be fair: Love him enough not to hurt him any more than you already have. Don't be selfish. Let him be.
I cried myself to sleep.
Day Two: I decided to take down every picture of him that I'd only recently put back up after our last attempt to get back together. After paying homage to each and every one, I put them away in my hope chest along with a little prayer that I could stick to my resolve and leave him alone. I also sent him love and positive energy that he would find someone who could match his ability to love all the way, but that I would never have to know about it, because I felt sure that I would die a thousand deaths, knowing that I'd let him get away.
I curled up in the fetal position on the couch and watched An Affair to Remember no less than four times. Then I dragged myself to bed and cried myself to sleep.
Day Three: Went to work, stared at my computer. Wanted to e-mail him, just drop him a line to thank him for loving me so much, for trying so hard to convince me that I am worthy of all the love he had to give and for making my life so much easier just by being in it. Fought myself. Won. Went home sick and cried myself to sleep.
Day Four: Called in sick. Cried all day.
Day Five: Decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. It had been my decision to break it off. It never would have worked. We wanted different things. It was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and move on.
I felt stronger than I had for a very long time. Then I checked the mail, something I only do when I think the power bill is due. There was a package postmarked the day before I broke up with him; he'd obviously sent it before I crushed him. I opened it. Inside there was an exquisite antique teacup and saucer to add to my collection. The note read: "I love you Dollcakes, thank you for loving me." I fell to the floor in a heap and cried my eyes out.
Day Six: Made a list of all the things around the house that I'd been meaning to tend to. I was doing great. Hadn't cried all day. Started to scrub the grout on my tile kitchen countertops with a toothbrush. Decided I hated tile, called tile and marble company to come out and give me a granite estimate.
I answered the door and almost fainted. The tile guy was gorgeous. Bow-chick-a-bow-bow, went the music in my head as '70s-type porn unfolded in my mind. I blushed at the thought. Bad, naughty Sonja. Things were starting to look up.
Day Seven: Made my first journal entry:
"Dear Diary,
It's been one week since my decision to break up with my beloved Jay. I have not dated and have stood strong to my decision not to complicate things by continuing to lead Jay on when I don't know what it is that I want. It has been a very difficult journey. My heart aches sometimes so badly that I doubt that I can go on. But I do go on. And with each passing day, I am growing and learning more about myself and the direction I am headed."
Tonight I am headed to Primo's Steakhouse inside of the Suncoast Hotel and Casino to meet my tile guy ... just to go over the estimate on my granite countertops. Really.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?