During this same month of love, I also had to extricate myself from my ex-relationship. Practically and emotionally.
Fortunately I’d never given up my own apartment, so I wasn’t stranded. I ran in to fetch my few belongings from Ex’s place while he was at work. It was a sad act filled with finality, but I rushed through it like someone possessed. When I realised that I’d packed up everything of mine and fit it into the boot of my car within 30 minutes, it confirmed just how separate our lives had actually been. I felt a huge sense of loss, but more for the barren years gone before than for this ending now.
I saw Ex-boyfriend a few times, it was always heartbreaking. He looked like a stranger to me. So stiff and formal, unsure and insecure. He wrote me a letter in which it seemed that he understood more of the why than I gave him credit for.
He was sorry and ready to change and wanted to try again. I felt completely numb. The nearest emotion I could identify towards him was regret. He was not a bad person; he had so much to offer. It was just too late and I’d left the building a long time ago.
I went to our last scheduled counselling session alone, and told the therapist everything. I started by saying that my head was all messy and confused, that I wasn’t thinking straight and needed some guidance. I thought he would urge caution; register surprise and distress at the break-up. But by the end of the hour he told me he’d never seen me so clear-headed and vibrant. That I should take this happy infatuation and run with it. He didn’t want to see me again, I was ‘cured’.
Now I still don’t know if the nature of that session confirms that we pay shrinks to tell us what we want to hear, or if this therapist had secretly been thinking that my relationship with Ex was doomed from the start and this was the best outcome for everyone. Maybe I’ll ask him one day.