June 16, 2012

I didn’t feel a thing.

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Breakup, Getting Unstuck, Healing, Letting Go, Living Life, Manipulation, Moving On, Relationships, Starting Over | Tags: , , , , , |
[13] Comments 

I received an email from Mack the other day telling me he’d sent me the final payment. But instead of just telling me he’d sent the final payment, he continued with a long drawn-out emotional message about various and sundry things; things I don’t feel compelled to spend typing strokes on here. He did say we have no need to contact one another again. Ever. So I guess that means he’ll stop trying to hook me with emotional emails. Oh wait. Maybe not. What was the next thing in my inbox? You got it: another email from Mack. This one included a song he recorded. Apparently about me. I’m not sure though, because I didn’t listen to it.

So how did this final spate of emails make me feel?

I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t feel angry. I didn’t feel regret. I did feel a slight bit of irritation, but not enough to color my day. And I felt relief.

Dare I say it?

 

June 3, 2012

The Thing That Wouldn’t Leave

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Abusive Relationships, Breakup, Healing, Letting Go, Love, Manipulation, Moving On, Relationships, Starting Over | Tags: , , , , , , |
[11] Comments 

Remember the old John Belushi SNL skit, where Belushi ensconced himself in the home of Jane Curtain and Bill Murray and wouldn’t leave? It came to mind this morning in thinking about my latest email from Mack. Yes, Mack still sends me notes from time to time. For months I didn’t reply, but when he sent sympathy notes about my brother, I felt I couldn’t ignore those, and so I thanked him. Since then, I’ve been responding to his emails. In his last note, he told me he’d finish paying off his financial debt to me next month, and we can then finally go our separate ways.

My initial reaction, if only in my head:

We went our separate ways eight months ago. Or at least I did.

But then I started thinking about it. Mack’s been writing me notes since I ended things back in September. He never stopped. In early December, I stopped responding. But receiving his notes, whether I replied or not, kept him in my head. Which I’m guessing was the point. He wrote a song about me once, which included the line: “If I can’t be the love of your life, I hope I’ll still be on your mind.” And here we are, eight months after I ended the relationship, and yes, he’s still on my mind.

The last note he wrote to me, I let him get under my skin. I responded, expressing my ire. I could have kicked myself the next day for writing back. But it’s got me thinking: When at long last he stops writing to me and sending me monthly payments, will it be like a breakup all over again? Of course on a much smaller scale. But will it cause me pain?

What does it take for a goodbye to be final? What does it look like to be fully split? When there’s no longer any form of communication? When they stop getting under your skin? When you stop loving them? When you stop wanting them? When you stop wishing things could have been different? When you stop wishing they were the man you fell in love with?

When have you truly moved on?

 

May 13, 2012

Tuscany, Day 1

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Living Life, Moving On, Starting Over, Travel, Tuscany, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , |
[4] Comments 

After 12 hours of flight time, I made it to Tuscany and I’m at the villa. It’s lovely. But I’ve yet to sleep on a trans-Atlantic flight. I was plied with Prosecco and Italian salami, olives, and cheese upon my arrival. The chef’s name is Valentino. Perfect.

I hadn’t intended to nap. The plan was to push on through. But then the light rain began, and it was so cozy that I thought I’d rest my head for a moment. A moment turned into a three-hour nap. I feel rested and ready to continue the adventure.

I’m off in search of my villa-mates, whom I haven’t yet met. And more Prosecco.

 

March 27, 2012

Painting Over the Past

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Abusive Relationships, Antidepressants, Breakup, Depression, Domestic Violence, Getting Unstuck, Healing, Interior Design, Letting Go, Living Life, Love, Marriage, Mid-Life, Moving On, Relationships, Starting Over, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
[4] Comments 

The painter comes tomorrow. It feels like this change is about a lot more than paint color. It’s been six months since I ended things with Mack, give or take a handful of days. According to popular thinking, it was to take me half the time of the relationship to feel free of him. We were “together” a few days shy of a year. So here we are, at half-time.

At least in my case, the formula is accurate. It took a psychiatrist, a cocktail of antidepressants, a therapist, a personal trainer, an interior designer, a painter, and a scheduled trip to Tuscany. But I’m free of him. Mostly.

I go days at a time without him sliding into my thoughts. I’ve stopped mentioning him to my friends; for which I’m sure they are most grateful. I’ve stopped muttering a barage of profanity to myself, when I do think of him. I’ve started wearing the ring again. On my right hand. I asked two of my dear friends at sushi the other night, “Does it pass as a right-hand ring?” And they said, “It can be whatever you want it to be.” What I want it to be is a very special ring I bought for myself. Which is exactly what it is.

I’m so grateful it sits upon my right hand, rather than my left.

Yes, it’s definitely about more than just the paint. It’s about making my life, my environment, my world, just the way I want it to be. My old paint is a burnished red. And sandy beige. My new paint is a deep vibrant teal and a neutral called Coastal Fog. I’ve always been attracted to cool colors. I have no idea how I ended up with warm. But tomorrow, they’ll be gone. And my home will be vibrating on the same frequency as my soul.

And I’ll have painted over Mack.

 

March 18, 2012

Fork In the Road

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Abusive Relationships, Blogging, Breakup, Getting Unstuck, Healing, Letting Go, Living Life, Love, Marriage, Mid-Life, Moving On, Relationships, Starting Over | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , |
[8] Comments 

There are lots of bloggers who start blogging because of a breakup. I started blogging because I wanted to break up. I eventually wrote my way there, but it took many months. Too many. After I wrote myself to the breakup, I spent the next six months writing myself through the breakup.

Once we write ourselves through the breakup, what then? I worry that there’s nothing else inside me.

Where I stand now, I can see for miles in every direction. Looking at what lies behind fills me with an odd mix of disquiet and comfort. Despite the familiarity, I feel an urgency to change directions. Anywhere but toward more of the same.

I’ve always written the script. The men I’ve chosen to play the supporting roles have waved their undesirable traits at me like a matador waves his cape at a bull. And like the bull, I’ve found it intoxicating. Rotten men are a drug. A drug it’s time I stopped using.

I can choose someone different this time. Can’t I?

Can I free myself from the effects of an abusive childhood? Does anyone ever really free themselves? I need to know that it happens. I need to know that it’s possible.

 

I’ve been writing since I was a little girl, carrying a notebook and pencil around with me wherever I went. The little girl who pushed her kitten around in a baby stroller. My writing will never dry up. But it’s time the pull toward rotten men did.

 

 

 

March 10, 2012

Let’s do some living after we die.*

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Abusive Relationships, Breakup, Depression, Domestic Violence, Getting Unstuck, Healing, Interior Design, Letting Go, Love, Mid-Life, Moving On, Relationships, Starting Over, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , |
[7] Comments 

Last night, in preparation for my upcoming trip, I watched Under the Tuscan Sun. I’d seen the movie years ago, and don’t remember thinking much of it. But last night, it got me. While I didn’t recently go through a painful divorce, I am recovering from a relationship with an emotional abuser. And so I related to the fall and rise of the lead character, Frances. The thing that struck me most is that, like post-divorce Frances, I’d fallen into a deep depression and was in danger of staying there. And like Frances, I’m beginning to live my life in a way I haven’t, for a very long time. If ever.

Now that I’m emerging from this depression and am getting an idea of what it feels like to not be depressed, I suspect I’ve been sinking in and out of it for years. At least since 2006, when I got involved with the narcissist pedophile I met on eHarmony. (I do not exaggerate. But that is a blog post for another day.) He was a bad, bad man, and that relationship, followed closely by learning my brother-in-law molested my niece (his daughter with my sister), had me down deep in that black pit. I’d begun to claw my way to the surface when I met Mack, who sent me tumbling back down to the bottom.

But it wasn’t just the depression and the abusive men. I’ve always had a tendency to hold back when it comes to living my life. A lot of this comes from my mother. She was born in 1936, in the midst of the Great Depression. She grew up poor. A kind of poor I know nothing about. My mother is not an extravagant woman. She’s rarely indulged herself in any way. She’s lived her life as if she could end up back in the “poor house,” like when she was a little girl. If it wasn’t a necessity, you didn’t buy it and you didn’t do it. Instead, you worked hard, and you saved. While I’ve never wholly subscribed to her philosophy of living (or not living, as it were), I did let her fears control decisions I made for my life.

For years I’ve been living timidly. Fearfully. I don’t take chances. I don’t risk anything. And I seem to have been waiting for something to happen before I started living my life. A good boyfriend (or husband). A friend whose travel schedule synced with mine. My parents to be gone. Losing 20 pounds. The housing market to improve. My student loan to be paid off.

Fuck timidity. I’m not waiting any more. I’m living my life now.

I’m not just saying the words. I’ve taken real steps, this time. Here’s what I’ve got going so far for my fearless new life:

  • I’ve booked a trip to Tuscany in May. On my own. I’m not going to wait for a boyfriend to travel with, or a friend’s schedule to sync with my own. I’m going now. I’ve arranged to join a gourmet cooking group (all strangers) and will stay the first six nights with them in a villa in the Tuscan countryside. The last three nights I’ll spend in Florence. Entirely by myself. Well, I will have my iPad and the plan is to blog prolifically. Hopefully I’ll have a wild fling with a handsome Italian. I probably won’t buy a villa, however.
  • I bought Pimsleur’s Italian language CDs and have been learning Italian during my commute. Even if I don’t need it to get by there, I want to be able to use the language. And really, I can do better than speaking only English and a little Spanish during my lifetime. Maybe I’ll tackle French, next.
  • I hired a decorator. I’m going to create the space I’ve always wanted. Right where I am. I’m not going to wait for the market to improve to sell my condo and decorate my new place. I’m going to transform the space I’m in right now. I met with the designer last week and she presented her plan. It’s stunning. The colors of a peacock. The drapes and accent wall are a deep teal. The base (including the sofa) is cream. (Unlike Annette Bening in American Beauty, I’m not going to let a cream sofa get in the way of romance, should romance present itself on my sofa.) New rugs and furniture, including accent chairs in peacock green. A flat screen tv. (Yes, I still have a behemoth old Sony.) A glass dining tabletop set atop two dramatic metal pedestals. Custom dining-room chairs. Light fixtures like nothing you’d ever set eyes on in Home Depot (from whence my current fixtures came). I’m having the oak kitchen cabinets painted cream, and putting in a teal glass-tile backsplash. I’m replacing the tile floors with hardwood. (It just occurred to me I should take some before and after photos and post them here.) I deserve to be surrounded by beauty.
  • I have hired an accountant and contacted my financial adviser for a reevaluation. I’ve always been bad about hiding my head in the sand when it comes to money. As long as I can pay my bills and not live beyond my means so that I have to worry about budgeting, I’m good. Planning for retirement freaks me out. I keep secretly hoping some rich man who’s an excellent money manager will come along and take care of everything. I’m not waiting for him any more. I’m going to maximize my wealth regardless of whether there’s a man in my life. Oh, and I’m not going to buy a new car. My accountant impressed upon me that purchasing a big-ticket depreciating asset, like a car (when the one you have is paid off and looks and runs perfectly fine), is stupid. I may be many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. So I’ll keep driving the nine-year-old Audi.
  • I’ve cut back working on weekends. Most weekends, anyway. I refuse to spend my life toiling away as if the next Great Depression is around the corner. And now that my brain fog has lifted from my personal depression, I’ve regained my focus. It’s a lot easier to get my work done during the work week with a fully functioning brain.

While I haven’t yet started living my life when it comes to romance, I’m beginning to feel ready. My heart is waking up. I can feel it flutter now and then.

I’ve done a lot of dying throughout my life. Now it’s time to live.

*The title of the blog borrows lyrics from The Rolling Stones’ Wild Horses off the album Sticky Fingers.

 

March 4, 2012

Forgiveness is Dangerous

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Abusive Relationships, Breakup, Domestic Violence, Forgiveness, Healing, Letting Go, Love, Manipulation, Mindfucking, Moving On, Relationships, Starting Over | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |
[11] Comments 

I have trouble with the concept of forgiveness. Maybe I don’t understand what it means to forgive. Having been raised Catholic, to me it means to be absolved of sins. Or as the forgiver, to absolve someone else of their sins. But to get forgiveness, you have to be remorseful, to apologize, and to not repeat the act. I’ve known many abusers in my life. And I can tell you that while they may have apologized, they always were repeat offenders.

The first abuser in my life was my father. He verbally abused my mother and his four children, and he physically abused my two brothers. Being the youngest, I escaped the worst of it until my elder siblings had left home. I then became his target. He broke down doors. He hit me. He threw me onto the floor and kicked me. He would later apologize. My mother would force me to accept his apologies. I never accepted them freely. He’s now 82, has Alzheimer’s, and is incapable of abusing anyone. He’s a weak, harmless old man. But he’s still an emotionally and verbally abusive asshole when he can pull it off. And he doesn’t have remorse. Case in point: I was in Canada this summer with Mack. My dad was there. He “joked” several times that I had better do what I was told or he’d beat me like when I was little. Funny guy. Except we all knew he’d done it and he wasn’t speaking in jest. Sometimes at his weakest, most pitiful moments, and there are a lot of those of late, I feel sorry for him. And I imagine what his childhood must have been like with his own alcoholic father and abusive mother. It’s at those times that I feel forgiveness. It’s taken thirty years, but it’s happened. I didn’t force it. It just happened with time. But with some kinds of abuse, I don’t think enough time could ever go by for me to find forgiveness for the abuser.

My brother-in-law was sexually inappropriate (aka, abusive) with me when I was fifteen. He was married to my sister, and he and I were very close. One day when he was teaching me to drive out in the country, he kissed me. A nasty, slobbering, full-on french kiss. I didn’t tell anyone for decades. And then my niece came to live with me. She told me that her father (the same brother-in-law that had abused me) had sexually abused her from about age eight to age sixteen. At sixteen, she got fed up and told a school counselor. Child Protective Services investigated. A protocol was set up to be sure he didn’t do it again. He was not prosecuted. My sister forgave him. Despite being perfectly capable of supporting herself financially, my sister stayed with this man. You see, we learned from my mother that you forgive abusers. You stay with them. No matter how much damage they have done, how much hurt they have caused, you forgive them. You let it go. Shit happens. Accept it. Ignore it. My sister’s choice to forgive her husband, her daughter’s abuser, damaged my niece. She felt her mother had chosen her abuser over her. And she had. That kind of forgiveness is harmful. I learned of this five years ago. I do not forgive my brother-in-law, and I do not forgive my sister for staying with him. Maybe when he is dead and gone and she and I are old, I’ll feel forgiveness for her. But not now. I will never forgive him for what he did. Some things simply are unforgivable. The effects of his acts continue to this day. I hope they stop with my niece’s generation.

And then there’s the latest abuser in my life: Mack. His acts seem almost trivial in comparison. But they weren’t. Emotional abuse does damage to our spirits. Emotional abuse turns strong women into sniveling, apologetic doormats. We can’t afford to forgive emotional abusers. Emotional abusers are manipulative. They prey on our goodness. They count on our forgiveness. And they don’t stop abusing. To forgive an abuser is dangerous.

So how then, do we move on? I think there is a place for forgiveness when recovering from abuse. But the forgiveness is of ourselves. We forgive ourselves for getting, and staying, involved with these men. We forgive ourselves for ignoring the red flags. We forgive ourselves for going back. And eventually, organically, with time, we stop feeling angry. We stop feeling a tightness in our guts when we think of them. We stop feeling that boiling, red fury when we think of the way they treated us. We forgive ourselves for allowing them to treat us this way. But we don’t forgive them. And we don’t forget.

With time, we simply let go.

 

March 3, 2012

Relapse & Recovery

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Abusive Relationships, Better-than-nothing, Breakup, Depression, Domestic Violence, Gaslighting, Getting Unstuck, Manipulation, Mindfucking, Moving On, Relationships, Settling, Starting Over, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , |
[18] Comments 

Last night I got a little melancholy. I think it’s still too soon to listen to Adele while cooking myself dinner on a Friday night. For a moment, I felt a twinge for Mack. I forgot the abuse, and remembered the better times. I thought maybe I was being too hard on him. Maybe I should have answered the email he sent a couple weeks ago about his uncle dying. He sent the email on a Saturday night at 3:20 a.m., and said his uncle had died a month ago. Annie, my therapist, saw it as bait; an attempt to hook me again. I tend to agree, which is why I let the email go unanswered. Nevertheless, last night I found myself missing having him around. I forced myself to snap out of it, and I switched my iPod from Adele to Bomba Estereo’s “Fuego.”

Bumping and grinding my hips around the kitchen was quite therapeutic.

With the crisis averted, I pondered how I had convinced myself that being with Mack was better than being alone. Annie keeps reminding me that Mack is manipulative. That abusers are expert mind-fuckers. Even the strongest women fall victim. (I hate that word, “victim.”)

When Mack proposed to me, he said, “Now you don’t have to be alone any more.”

My immediate reaction, although I didn’t say it out loud was, “What the fuck? You think you are saving me from a doomed life of singledom? You think I’ve been angling desperately for marriage so I don’t have to be alone?”

Yes, I had those thoughts in the middle of his proposal. But they flashed past, and I let them go. I didn’t want to see them. I wanted to say, “Yes!” And so, I did.

Mack thought I was fearful of being alone. In an attempt to capitalize on that perceived fear, to make me cling to him, he often said, “I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how you’ve been on your own all these years.”

Although I didn’t have that fear, I soon would. Eventually, I convinced myself that being with Mack, an angry, abusive, jobless man, was better than being alone. Mack also liked to play with the opposite end of the spectrum. He knew I saw myself as an independent, financially secure, successful, strong woman. So he’d say things like, “Why do you care so much about what other people think? What’s wrong with a woman making more money than a man? You’re successful. You’re going to make more than many men you run across. Is money that important? Are you that shallow?”

And then I’d start to think, “I don’t care what other people think. If I want to be with a ‘writer/musician’ with no job, I can. He’ll have more time to support me emotionally. He can take care of our home, write songs and work on his novel, and I’ll have more time to focus on my career. Men have been paying the way for women for years. I am a liberated woman. What’s so wrong with my paying a man’s way? What’s wrong with having a house husband? I am a new generation of woman. I can buck traditional gender roles. After all, I’ve been avoiding the traditional role of women my whole life: single and childless at 48, as well as successful in a male-dominated profession.Love is the most important thing. Money doesn’t matter. It’s all about the love.”

What a bunch of horse shit.

Mack didn’t take care of my home. He didn’t support me emotionally. In fact, he tore me down. He spent very little time working on his writing and his music. From time to time, I’d ask him what he did that day. He’d get angry and say I was abusing him, demeaning him, by making him account for every minute of his time. The next day, he’d give me a list of everything he’d done from the moment he got up until I came home from work:

  • 9:00 – 9:15 made coffee, scrambled eggs
  • 9:15 – 11:15 worked on novel
  • 11:15 – 11:45 personal grooming
  • 11:45 – 12:00 planned dinner
  • 12:00 – 1:30 gym
  • 1:30 – 1:50 lunch
  • 1:50 - 2:30 ran errands (gas, groceries)
  • 2:30 – 4:30 vacuumed, dusted, made bed, cleaned kitchen
  • 4:30 – 5:30 answered emails, responded to on-line job posting
  • 5:30 started dinner

I’d feel petty, as he’d intended, and stop asking, “What did you do today?” when I came home from work.

Despite the list, I was fairly certain Mack spent his days watching sports and exchanging emails with fellow sports fans and ex-girlfriends. And he wasn’t looking for a job. Mack had no intention of working. The woman he was living with when I met him had been supporting him for the past 15 years. Why work? And if I was going to make him work, he’d go back to her. Which he did, the minute I brought it up. Yes, Mack is a taker. And with him, there is no reciprocity.

Regarding the taking, I put together my tax documents for my accountant this week. I’d decided in 2011 to save my sales receipts to see if I could top the standard deduction. As I added up the sales tax paid on each receipt, I got to take a little stroll down 2011 memory lane. I got to relive the things that Mack and I did together. I got to see all the money I spent including him in my life. And I had Tourette’s for the few hours it took to wade through the receipts.

Sushi bills: ”User.”

Clothing receipts: “Bloodsucking leech.”

Gas, beer, toothpaste, shoes receipts: ”Motherfucking freeloader.”

Dinners, beach toys, groceries, liquor for my birthday trip to Galveston: “Asshole.” (Recall he threw a tantrum that weekend because I sang in the car.)

Engagement ring: “Oy, that’s a lot of sales tax.”

Guitar: “Prick.” (I kept the guitar, and gave it to my niece’s boyfriend at Christmas.)

Stack of receipts from trip to Canada: “Fucking vampire.” And then, “Hallelujah, it’s almost over.” (I broke it off a week and a half after we returned from that trip.)

To be fair, I paid for these things willingly. If I wanted to do anything with Mack at all, there was no choice: he had  no income. So I paid for his company.

Admittedly, I was a tool.

Mack’s mind-fucking, and the resulting self-talk I mentioned earlier, helped me construct the rationalization. It was powerful stuff. In fact, it almost had me married to an abusive, jobless, freeloader, who had absolutely no intention of contributing to the relationship.

I cannot allow myself to forget the emotional abuse. I cannot allow myself to justify and rationalize. I must keep writing, keep blogging, keep reminding myself over and over that this man was an abuser. Mack was emotionally abusive. And I will never allow any man to treat me that way again.

Also, I need to lay off the Adele.

 

February 19, 2012

How Long Until I’m Over This Breakup?–Part Deux

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Abusive Relationships, Affair, Blogging, Breakup, Commitment, Depression, Domestic Violence, Getting Unstuck, Healing, Love, Manipulation, Marriage, Mid-Life, Moving On, Relationships, Starting Over | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
[6] Comments 

This blog began as a way to sort through my feelings about a difficult relationship. It then became a blog about ending that relationship; an ending I initiated. Finally, it morphed into a blog about recovering from an abusive relationship and depression. Blogging is good stuff. Were it not for blogging, I might still be wringing my hands, questioning whether I did the right thing when I ended the relationship, and perhaps even being sucked back in by Mack’s manipulation.

Back in January, I wrote about how long it might take to get over ending things with Mack. http://wp.me/p1jL9y-34 The standard formula is half the time you were in the relationship. Mack and I were “together” for a year. I broke it off with him in late September. According to that formula, I should be in recovery until late March.

But the formula is stupid. Take these examples:

  • I’ve been married to a man I detest for 20 years. The moment the last kid finally heads off to college, I call the lawyer I’ve had waiting in the wings for the past 5 years. Do you really think it’s going to take me 10 years to recover from the divorce?
  • I’m married to the love of my life for 6 years. He’s honest, kind, and the funniest man I’ve ever known. We’ve had lots of grand adventures, and respect each other immensely. He dies of pancreatic cancer. Am I going to be over him in 3 years? I doubt it. I probably never will be over him.
  • I’ve lived with an emotionally abusive prick for 16 years. He’s got my head so fucked up I don’t know who I am any more. My self-confidence is virtually non-existent, and I’m convinced (with loads of help from him) no other man will ever love me. He doesn’t have a job and I support him financially. Even so, he leaves me for someone new. Will I be over him in 8 years? With the help of a therapist and a good support system, maybe. But the odds are high I’ll take him back in a heartbeat when his new love throws him out, having realized what an abusive, manipulative motherfucker he is. (True story.)

The truth is, the formula for getting over a breakup looks more like this:

There simply are so many variables, there can’t be a one-size-fits-all formula.

Even though there is no time certain when you’ll be over your breakup, there are things you can do to speed the process.

  • The number one most important thing you can do to heal from a breakup, and I cannot stress this enough, is to cut off all communication.

This is particularly important when your ex is abusive or manipulative. No communication means you don’t meet him for a drink to hash through things yet again, you don’t call him (even if your brother is dying), you don’t return his calls, you don’t send email, you delete his email without replying, you unfriend him on Facebook, Twitter, etc., and if necessary, you block him. No communication means no communication. Zero. Zip. Nada.

  • If your ex was abusive, you’re probably going to need a shrink. Get one.

There’s no sense in attempting on your own to unravel the wad of shit you’ll no doubt need to sort through. A therapist also can make sure you don’t engage in too much self-recrimination for being with an abusive asshole to begin with. These guys are practiced at the art of manipulation and deception. Give yourself a break.

  • Get rid of reminders.

If you can’t bring yourself to toss them just yet, bury them in the back of a drawer. I buried the engagement ring in the back of a bathroom drawer. Why the bathroom? Possibly because he’s a douche.

  • Self-care is important for healing. We should take good care of ourselves all the time, but it’s especially important when you’re healing from a breakup.

    • Get plenty of sleep.
    • Feed yourself healthful, nutritious foods. (Feeding yourself well is the most basic form of self-care.)
    • Cut back on the alcohol. You know why: alcohol is a depressant and also it leads to drinking and dialing. Don’t risk it.
    • Get regular exercise, even if it’s just 15 minutes a day. You don’t have to do an all-out cardio workout for now if you don’t quite have the energy. You can go for a walk or roll out your yoga mat. Exercising outdoors is especially helpful for improving your mental state. Exposure to sun and nature is proven to help lift our spirits.
    • Get massages. If you can’t afford one, you can give yourself a massage with a foam roller. There are lots of videos on how to do this on YouTube. There are even a videos on how to make your own foam roller.
    • Take bubble baths with aromatherapy. I am particularly fond of Aura Cacia’s Lavender Harvest Bubble Bath. It makes lots of beautifully scented bubbles.

  • Plan a vacation or something to which you’ll look forward with anticipation.

I just booked a 10-night solo trip to Tuscany, somewhere I’ve always wanted to go. A trip fling with a tall, dark, and handsome Italian would certainly speed the healing process. See this hilarious classic SNL skit featuring Kirstie Alley at Il Cantore restaurant. http://www.hulu.com/watch/3521/saturday-night-live-il-cantore-resaurant) You might want to avoid Paris, however. Everywhere you go, people are kissing. There even are web postings on the best places in Paris to kiss. http://www.bonjourparis.com/story/the-best-places-to-kiss-in-paris/ I’m thinking they could do a best-places-to-masturbate-in-Paris post, and expand their market.

  • Make a list of negative things about your ex. Review it often.

If you were the dumper, this should be easy. If you were the dumpee, it might be harder. But try. If you need help, ask your friends. They see lots of things we miss whilst doing the ostrich.

I can’t have you missing out on ostrich cuteness while you’re recovering from your breakup, so I give you this, also:

  • Blog.

Lots of experts recommend journaling. But why journal when you can blog? When you journal, you’re on your own. But when you blog, you run across people going through similar challenges. I’ve found comfort in learning the ball of shit I’m sifting through is not so unique. It makes me feel less alone.

And less damaged.

 

February 18, 2012

Embrace Life

Posted by Unconfirmed Bachelorette under Abilify, Abusive Relationships, Breakup, Deplin, Depression, Healing, Love, Manipulation, Marriage, Mid-Life, Mindfucking, Motivation, Moving On, Relationships, Settling, Starting Over, Wellbutrin | Tags: , , , , , |
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While I haven’t quite achieved the nirvana depicted in this photo, I’m getting there. The antidepressants no doubt are doing their job. I wouldn’t say I’ve been transformed, but certainly there’s some reconstruction going on. On the antidepressant front, I’m now on 300 mg Wellbutrin, 15 mg Deplin, and recently Dr. McEnroe added 1 mg Abilify. After the breaking-in period, the side effects have been minimal. Although the Abilify does make me extremely nauseated from time to time, particularly when I do yoga. But when I’m nauseated, I don’t want to eat, so I’ll deal with it.

Since beginning the antidepressants, I’ve noticed a significant difference in my self-confidence. Yesterday I had a 4.5 hour meeting with 15  or 20 of my colleagues consisting of heavy-hitting lawyers and members of the judiciary from across the state. I’ve been on this particular committee for a little over a year, and have felt rather intimidated most of the time. But during the past two meetings that has changed. Yesterday I suggested a somewhat controversial addition to the publication the committee is updating, and I (with some help from my subcommittee) held the naysayers at bay, and gained a majority, pushing the change through. Yeah, I’ve come out of my fog. It’s simply amazing how much more confident I feel now that my brain is working well.

Here’s another difference: I’ve booked a solo trip to Tuscany in May. Okay, not entirely solo; I’m joining up with a group. It’s a gourmet cooking trip, and I’ll be staying at a villa somewhere in the Italian countryside between Pisa and Florence. In addition to the cooking classes, there will be trips to Tuscan vineyards, the coast, local villages, and markets. After my 6-night stay at the villa, I’ve planned three additional nights on my own in Florence. I sure hope I have internet access so I can blog my newly-bursting heart out.

I would say I’m back to my old self. But I’m not. I’m feeling entirely new.

 

 

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