"It's a grieving process; it takes time. It's like a death," said my therapist this morning. This was the second time I've seen her, the second week since A~ left me. "It's the death of a relationship," she went on. I didn't respond at first. I was busy blowing a brain-sized wad of snot into a tissue. I think I went through an entire box this morning, crying my face off. It wasn't that she was saying anything revolutionary, but that what she was saying was so damned true.
"I should have a funeral, then," I told her, when I caught my breath. "Some kind of ritual to mark the occasion."
"That might be a good idea."
So I'm thinking about what I might do. I suspect it probably involves burning something.
I've been thinking about releasing A~ as though it were the process of pulling off a bandaid. I'd rather do it quick than drag it out one painful hair at a time. I want to devote the time and energy to getting him out of my system now, rather than mourning on and on forever. But I know this can't be rushed, and I know I've got to eat sleep work exercise laugh play too. Plus, there are layers that I will only be able to face as they come up, such as the other day, when I was supposed to write down an emergency contact person on a form, and was suddenly in tears, at a loss for a name for the first time in a decade. And then there was this morning before therapy, when I got a haircut I wasn't so sure about. I had no one to rush home to for a hug and reassurance that I was loved and beautiful just the same, and that really stings.
The good news is, I have friends and neighbors I'm not afraid to call on. D~ came over to serve as surrogate haircut evaluator. "Tell me truth," I told him, "I can take it."
"Girl," he said, shaking his head, "you look hot!"
Can't complain about that.