This morning, I packed my suitcase. I filled three hampers with my myriads of dirty clothes and shoved 12 or so books into my book bag. Then, I woke him up and asked him to help me carry everything out to my car. As he helped me load things into the backseat in silence, I told him I’d return the key once I was able to get the rest of my things from the apartment. I couldn’t do it all this morning, I just had to leave.
Last night, sitting in our bed after waking up from a nap, he told me that he didn’t think it was going to work out. I’d known for a while by then that he wasn’t in love with me anymore, but when I asked him why, he said he had no idea how it had happened. He just woke up one morning, and realized he hadn’t loved me for a long time.
For about a month now, I’d had a feeling that something between us was different, call it a gut instinct, I think. We started fighting more and more often. He continued to upset me by his lack of emotion and sympathy, and I continued to annoy him by getting angry about the same things. We’d fight, get drunk, fight some more, have sex, feel better for a few days, and then the cycle would continue again. I knew we couldn’t continue like that for much longer, but I didn’t want to end it because I still loved him. So, naturally, I waited until it was quite clear that there was no hope for us before packing my bags and leaving.
I’m now sitting on the couch at my parents’ house. I have a few bags scattered around me, the rest still in the car because I just don’t feel like moving anything else right now. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia is playing in the background as I sit here, writing. My dog is running around the house somewhere, while my mom’s dog is sleeping at my feet. No one else is home, because they have their own lives to attend to. And that’s fine. I must attend to mine, as well.
I will be 28 next week, and I just moved back in with my parents. I am once again back to square one in regards to my relationships and my future, and I have no idea what to do with myself. I’m sitting here, staring at this screen in front of me, forcing my fingers to type out the thoughts that sporadically pop into my mind, all the while the nasty, quiet voice underneath it all is whispering, “Failure. You’re a fucking loser. You messed up again.”
I’m at a loss. I don’t know where to go from here, or where I even can go. I’m 28; I’m no longer a child. Half the women my age seem to have started their careers, and most of those women have started families as well, if not just preparing for their beginnings. Not only have I left the man I wanted to marry, I also lost my home and moved far away from my job as a server downtown, a job which by no means do I actually want to be doing for the rest of my life. I feel like I’m losing in every possible way that I can be right now.
So, what do I do now? Where do I go from here? Should I quit my job and leave New York entirely? Go to Ohio? Should I stay here, and hope it’ll get better? Should I just cry myself to sleep, and refuse to get up in the morning? Should I try to make him love me again? Should I bother with anything anymore? What the hell am I going to do with myself now?
Just now, as I was sitting and writing here, depressed beyond the point of even crying, my dog, Harry, jumped on my lap and snuggled into me. There is nothing that is quite as good for the soul as the unconditional love of a dog; he will never stop loving me. How could I ever ask for anything more?
So, for Harry, I’ll start over. I’ll find a way to be strong again, to have a home regardless of whether or not I have a man by my side. I’ll make year 28 count for me and discover my happiness once again. I will start with getting off of this couch.