Out of reach

I know I ended my last post resolving to move on. The exact words being move forward, if I recall/read correctly.

I lied.

I miss him.

I want so much to call him up and tell him that. Cause I do. I miss him a lot. Even though we did the long-distance thing, and he technically wasn't ever physically there for me, I knew that I needed anything, he was just one phone call away. He was emotionally there for me. And so, I miss him.

But I know I can't. Call it pride. Call it smart. Call it whatever you want. I can't make that phone call. Cause somewhere, deep down, I know that he let go of this relationship a long time ago. He's already well into the healing stage, whereas I am still barely treading water. I just got over the shock of it all a day ago. See, the silver lining in long-distance relationships? Once you break up, there's no chance of an awkward run-in. No worrying about seeing them in the corridors at school. No hiding about in the supermarket. No avoiding eye contact. No hedge diving. Actually, the long-distance breakup has ideal conditions, if you think about it. Everyone around you probably knows you better, and so, is automatically, "on your side," even if there are no sides to speak of. There are no "spies" to go back and report to him how horribly you're doing.

So I've been taking full advantage of this "ideal" breakup situation. Not showering. Vegetating in front of the television with lots and lots of junk food. I definitely feel no need to cook for myself, so I've been subsisting on whatever's edible in our fridge. Kraft single slices of cheese. Spoonfuls of peanut butter - straight from the jar. Gummy bears meant as part of a birthday package. Yogurt (that turned out to be past its expiration date). Pickles.

I knew there was absolutely no chance that I would see him, so I'd go check my mail in the lobby occasionally - pajamas and unkempt hair be damned. I knew I wouldn't run into him on my way to class, so I would throw on the stained sweatshirt that I left on the floor a week ago, and walk out the door. I had absolutely zero energy to devote to looking nice, or even presentable, really.

It was pathetic, really. And my apartment was turning into an absolute pig sty.

Last night, my friends were fabulous. They made me finally get out of the house, and took me to the Joffrey - where the dress code dictates that you a) must have taken a shower prior to the performance, and b) look relatively nice.

The ballet was gorgeous. Amazing. Wonderful. But what's even better is that my friends and I then just hung out at one of our apartments afterwards - taking silly pictures and basically just enjoying ourselves. It was so therapeutic. They got my thoughts off of Tim. Which is a lot harder of a task than you might think - since I was supposed to go visit him this weekend.

So once I got home, I resolved to put my life back in order. Folded my laundry that I had been sleeping on for the past day and a half. Did the dishes that had started to overflow in the sink. Finally stepped back into my room and got rid of that last bit of Tim - unpacked that suitcase that I, last Monday, thought was bound for Kansas City. And with the unpacking, threw away any last bits of denial that my relationship was really over. Okay, in the spirit of being honest, I tried to get rid of that denial. A big part of me is still clinging to the hope that he'll call and tell me he misses me. As much as I miss him.

I really do. Everything I see or hear makes me want to call him. Tell him things. Or I'll think things and relate them back to us. I see people flirting with each other, and it's super cute. We used to be super cute. I just found out that one of my friends is dating a girl who lives in Japan. Has been dating her. For over a year now. If he can make it work, why couldn't we? Or maybe more importantly, why didn't he want to make it work??

I know I'm just hurting myself by thinking these things. But I can't help it.

I miss him. Terribly.

And I was a fool for thinking I could move past it so quickly. I need this time to "get over him," to fall out of love with him. I was so hopeful - wanting to be able to be that bigger person and forgive and forget quickly. But, I know me, and so I should have known better. It's gonna take me a while. And I'll probably hurt for a while. And I need to be okay with that. After all, time heals everything, right?