Lone track

Getting rid of him was the best thing I could ever do. Or he got rid of me, whatever way you want to see it. And I was so spectacularly, amazingly devastated. I could not live in that apartment again. I didn’t want to sleep in the same bed, use the same glasses. I was disgusted by the idea that that creature ever touched me. That idea alone made me so sick that I literally vomited. I vomited a lot for the first days, every time I thought of my shame. I was feeling raped, in my body and my moral. I was ashamed, and I could not believe that anger could be so solid. I had a constant feeling of dirt, dirt on my hair, my arms, my legs. I had to make a pact with myself, only take one bath a day. And just after I bathe, I felt dirty. I threw away the clothing that he touched, my clothing. I bought new ones. And I felt angry. Oh, the anger. Anger is a hot feeling, sadness is a cold feeling, that’s how I always describe them. I was burning. I could feel my mandibles hurting because of the heat. I felt like that nonstop for a couple of months, I think. After that, the feeling kept coming back intermittently for a long time. Maybe half a year, and then it lowered to what I call “normal levels”.

But please understand, I was angry at myself too. I thought a lot about the time I wasted being unhappy and seeking the wrong people. I thought about the opportunities I lost, specially the opportunities he made me lost. He became somehow a symbol of my unhappy past, representing everything I hated about myself.

My parents invited me to move back in with them. I accepted, even if our relationship was crap, and I accepted only because I didn’t want to be alone. I sold every single piece of furniture I had, including glasses and napkins. I had no idea how I was going to buy all that stuff again, but I just wanted to see it gone. I removed from my life any object that he ever touched or that could remind me of him, of my shame and my anger. I sold them for a symbolic price, glad that someone simply came and took them away.

Now, I’m glad to say I’ll stop telling the story of my past. I’m going to stop talking about anger, shame and bad stuff. The sad part of my life ends here, and I’m glad I can stop talking about it. I actually had a nightmare last night, after I typed part of this story. I know it sounds bad when you read it, but believe me, it’s worse. I’m just not strong enough to read everything again and polish the text to reproduce how bad it was. And I see no point, because now it’s over.

But the reason why I added this information here is because I think it’s important for you to understand how it started. I was hoping that somehow this could justify why I believe so much in affirmations.

So now… drum rolls… beginning the happy part of the blog!