(N.B. This post gets a bit angsty and mopey, so if you're not into that sort of thing, start scrolling)
I guess, most importantly, I talked to him online today, and didn't feel as though the wind was kicked out of me as he said hello. That's a good sign.
I don't know. I just don't know. Usually I'm fine with everything, and took the break-up well, especially considering what a terrible few months I've had, but it's the little things, things that I shouldn't even acknowledge, that just make me feel as though someone punched me in the stomach or worse.
I was reading the newspaper yesterday, and read a little snippet of a story describing the computer access at his school, and sat there for twenty minutes, newspaper in hand, just staring blankly at the inch-long article. I was paralyzed just after reading the byline.
I was watching The West Wing a few days ago, and for background music, they played a Jeff Buckley song, which left me frazzled for the following few hours.
When I am perusing my cds, looking for something to listen to, I can't bring myself to listen to a cd he made me. I've relocated all of his cds to the bottom of the spindle, and only take them out if someone else wants to listen.
However, Liz and I went for pasties the other day (pasties being the food that defines the UP, like cranberries for Green Bay or pizza in Chicago or New York), and was totally fine with it; despite all the camp and paraphernalia from the UP, I barely blinked an eye, pointing out where he lived on a map on the wall and joking about long distances.
I guess, when asked, I'm doing fine. I'm not over him, but I'm not under him either (guffaw guffaw). I would still drop everything and move to LaFayette if he asked me, but I've learned not to get my hopes up.
The hardest part is training myself not to pretend like he's there at night; usually I contort my body as if he were there, using a body pillow, which got me through a lot of lonely nights at school.
It's hard. For those of you who've seen me out, you're bound to have noticed that I am a cuddley guy. Liz and I used to make fun of MJ for being the same way, describing him as an octopus, tentacles everywhere, with Kat as dinner (slurp). I suppose I'm just as guilty of that as he, if not worse.
There's a Dilbert cartoon that comes to mind: Dilbert is in a psychiatric office, in midst of a session. He complains that never has any physical contact with anyone; everyone at the office is too afraid to touch anyone due to sexual harrassment training, his dates always end badly at best, and his dog has taken to demanding payment for any petting. He recollects that the last time he had physical contact with anyone was when he hugged his mom for her birthday a few months back. At the end of the session, he outreaches his hand to thank the psychiatrist for her time, and she refuses him, seeing through his trick.
That's how I feel, right now. I'm a cuddly person, someone who feels better as an appendage of someone he likes, and it's just not happening anymore. I don't want to dwell on it too much, but I'm pretty sure that at school, I've gone almost a month without any human contact whatsoever: people don't sit directly next to me in class so there's no subtle brushes of the arm, I don't hug friends when I see them (mostly because they don't exist), nothing. It sucks.
I'm willing to bet that the lack of physical contact is one of the reasons why I don't like it at school. I'm like a swaddled Russian child, who has taught himself that crying out for attention won't do anything, and learns to sit there complacently.
Wow. That was a stupid metaphor.
Cat Stevens was right: the first cut is the deepest.
