heartbreak house

Last night it rained hard, all night. So hard it woke me up. Around four, a rumble a thunder and then a huge crash. It’s all very strange for Portland, where thunderstorms are rare indeed. In the middle of the night, I got up to pee and noticed that it was raining. I walked downstairs to the bathroom and then went out on the deck for a second, feeling the cold rain on my skin, watching it pool on the glass table and in the seats of the deck chairs. 

I am feeling surprisingly OK, really. I was crying nonstop yesterday with Eric around, and then when he finally left. When he finally left was hard. We had been pushing ourselves all afternoon and evening trying to get everything done. He helped me with the bulk of the cleaning although there’s a little more to be done. And then he drove with me back to my new house to unload a few last items. He talked me through how to replace the brake pads on my bike, which he’s always done for me in the past, and when he explained it, I couldn’t stop crying, trying to watch what he was pointing at through my tears. "I know. I know it’s sad because we never got around to it," he tells me. 

We unload and there’s something he wants to find before he leaves. A cord that he left sitting on a table in my house before the move. I remember picking up the cord, but have no idea where I put it, in which box it resides. But apparently it is a crucial cord that he absolutely needs, and so we begin opening each and every box of mine and rifling through the contents looking for it. We open all the boxes and it’s nowhere. Finally, he stops and asks me, "It’s a cord. Where would you have put a cord?" 

"In my computer bag?" I say, and then I look, and it’s there. I hand it to him, excited that we found it, but also knowing what it means. Knowing that when he has that cord back in his hand that means there is no reason left for him to stay. I know that we’re already behind schedule, that he has a two-hour drive in his future and grocery shopping to do and it’s getting late, but I can’t stop myself from clinging to him. I wrap my arms around him, and he wraps his arms around me, and we are sweaty and wet, tears running down our cheeks and soaking our shirts. It is sticky and sad. I hyperventilate, can’t catch my breath. "You’re going to be OK," he tells me, and I try to calm my breathing. In and out, slowly. In and out. 

He doesn’t let go of me, just tells me things into my ear. "We’ve learned so much together." "I will always love you." "I’m so grateful that you’ve been in my life for so long." We leave the kitchen and walk out to his car. We hug and cry and kiss and eventually we break apart, but i can’t bring myself to let go of his hand. "I know you have to go," I say. "It’s OK," he tells me. "It’s so hard to let go," I tell him, but we do, and he gets in his car and leaves. I watch his car drive down the road and then turn out of sight. I think about when we first started dating, when he lived just a few blocks away from my house, and I would ride by on my bike and see if his car was there. So. Much. So much has happened since then.

Kirsten and I talked for a long time after he left. I was a total mess when we started talking but by the end of it we were joking and laughing together. I FEEL SO BROUGHT BACK TO MYSELF BY HER. We talked some about Eric but a lot about other things, too. My new house and my new neighborhood and spirituality and life in general. Afterwards my roommate got home and offered me a glass of wine. I told her that Eric and I had broken up, and she whipped around to face me, "Oh my god! Are you serious?" she said, gathering me in her arms. She hugged me and told me that she bought this house after the most horrible break up of her life, that it is the heartbreak house. "You are in a nurturing environment," she tells me. "Woman power!" And she pours me a glass of wine and we sit at the table and talk. I tell her a little bit about my relationship, and she tells me about hers. She tells me about the nine-year relationship she got out of when she was 28, how hard it was for her to do. And she tells me about her last breakup, with the love of her life who she found out was cheating on her. It is over a year old, but she still cries. 

I can’t bring myself to cry anymore. I don’t cry when I’m talking about it with my roommate, I don’t cry when I finally lay down to sleep, exhausted. I don’t cry when I talk about it with Chelsea on the phone or when I wake up in the morning to make my tea and start working. I haven’t cried, actually, until I started this entry. It is only when I think about the weight of this loss, all the things that we never got to do together, all the things that we DID get to do together, that I feel overcome with sadness and grief. It mostly does not feel real. It mostly feels normal, like he has gone back to his house for a few days like he always does. Like I will be joining him in a few days to eat and sauna and walk around in the woods. But I won’t be. 

I feel incredibly supported by my friends. Kristin suggested we blow off the radio show today and do something fun instead. Chelsea says she is down to do whatever I want this weekend and suggested renting kayaks on the river, which made me laugh. My roommate tells me whatever I want, whatever I need, just let her know. She says I will be healed here. She tells me I can do anything I want, that I am on the path to happiness. 

I just want to write. Write it all down. Get it out. Rebuild.