Moving on, obviously
I’m in better shape now than last week. The period of grieving was over. I eat normally now, not like those days when I eat like a mad man or not eat at all. I sleep well now, although there are nights when I still wake up crying or screaming or looking for him beside me. I don’t drown myself with beer anymore, maybe because I don’t have much money left with me. But I know those drunk nights, and the hangover mornings that follow, were over. I busy myself with reading and writing and hanging out with friends. I feel much lighter now. I already unloaded a lot of burdens and tears since last week. I feel fine, great even.
Funny how in the first days, I felt completely stuck. I was even preparing myself to do all those forever. I cling on those bittersweet memories of us like they were my lifeline. I thought my eyes wouldn’t get tired of crying. My stomach seemed already used to feeling upset because of beer. Vomiting and passing out were already normal things to me. I thought I wouldn’t be able to move on.
Funny how right now, I can’t remember half of the things I did last week. Last week seemed an eternity ago. It seemed another lifetime, and I felt like I was just reincarnated. I can’t remember why I got heartbroken. I know it was because of him. But the details don’t matter to me anymore. For me, he is just another person that can’t stay in my life for long. No big deal anymore.
I won’t forget, of course. But when things ran not too smoothly, I had to decide which things to take with me and which ones to leave behind. Again, I won’t forget. I just had to learn that he is not that important anymore. It’s so that I won’t pay much attention to him and those memories that include him. Maybe it is heartless. Maybe it is rude. Maybe it is bitchy. But hell, he’s not in the inner circle anymore.
I won’t bear grudges. Last week, I did. I had tons of regrets, felt pangs of anger (hatred, even), cursed at the wind or the wall or the ceiling. I even exaggerated things when I vent out on my friends. I made it clear that I was the victim. But, somewhere along our messy affair, I reached a conclusion that both of us were wrong. We made mistakes, and somehow we had a mutual understanding that it was supposed to be over. He just understood it sooner than I did.
From time to time, when my mind gets idle, I still think of him. I admit that sometimes, I still miss him, but not much. He doesn’t control my life anymore. He doesn’t control my emotions anymore, not like before that he could drive me insane in a minute, sad in the next, and happy the minute after. I don’t depend on him anymore.
I learned self-love. Self-respect. Self-preservation.
I learned how to deal with myself. Last week, I used to blame him for leaving me a wreck. I used to point out his faults and mistakes. But now, when I ponder over these things, I realize that I deserve this. I must also take responsibility for what happened. It was a two-way relationship, anyway.
I’m still moving on. I’m glad that I’m making progress, when just last week I thought I was hopeless. It’s good to know that I have friends to back me up, or scold me, or just hug me when I need one. I’m on the right path. This time, I’ll make things right.