Tuesday, May 09, 2017

That little writing line has been pulsing in this entry box for the past 2 years.
I've had hundreds of entries on the tip of my tongue, but no time. Or no drive. Or no need or want to air my life anymore.
There were no updates, anyway.  Frank and I moved out in December, gotten our own place, but it wasn't finished. And everything was status quo. I was waiting on that damn engagement. For Pinterest wedding board reality. For people to stop bloody asking. For 12 years to amount to something even more momentous than our relationship has been.
And now it will never come.
Today, everything is different entirely. Even from a month ago. My whole world was shook up like one of those souvenir globes and now everything just kind of sits around me, not precisely where it was before.
3 weeks ago Frank sat me down on our couch on a beautiful Friday morning, made me a cup of coffee and told me that he didn't love me anymore. Just like that.
And here I am, 3 weeks later still processing it all: the breakup, my feelings, my life--my whole world, dating apps, what I like, what I don't like, the many bottles of rosé that have come and gone, my newfound understanding of Adele, Taylor Swift and Lemonade, the frustrations of not understanding the situation, and the realization that for the past 12+ years, I've never actually ever been alone.
And that maybe for the past year, I haven't even thought of myself. Not my wants, my needs, my likes-- none of it.
The layers, the fog, are finally lifting away from whoever it is I've been: the coddler, the supporter, the depressed day-sleeper, the slacker, the social avoider, the person who prays that they fade into the background, the person who stopped getting up, getting dressed and being herself. The person who made life decisions based on others' wants and needs. The person who forgot herself.

Someone asked me today what I think about my job and, honestly, I couldn't tell you. Some days I enjoy it, other days I wonder how I got myself into this mess. But if you asked me: if I had all of the money in the world, would I walk away tomorrow? I would. Without a second thought, I'd pack up my bags and never come back. On days like today, I wish I had that power.
I would leave and take a month to sleep and recharge and figure out exactly what it is that I want to do, who I want to be, what-- for once-- actually makes me happy. Not what fits into the "plan." Not what works because it's all that I know and all that I've ever known or ever done.
I took this job and made all of these life decisions for an "us" that no longer exists. So that we could finally start our life together. And now it's just me, in an empty apartment with the dog, myself (eek) and all of these pieces around me that no longer fit together wondering now, did they ever really fit?
Maybe things are meant to happen. Stories are meant to end where they end because they are not meant to go on any further. Maybe I would have become a horrible person if things continued where they were. Maybe I'd still be sitting in that fog never really loving anything ever again and letting myself wear elastic jeans and have a whole world of "fine" for the rest of my life.
Maybe that little entry line would have kept pulsing until this blog disappeared.
Maybe this is a rebirth on all accounts.
Or maybe I jinxed myself every time that I thanked God that I wasn't in the dating scene and, being the unlucky Figliuzzi that I am, did it to myself.

Either way, my whole life is now some scary, uncharted territory (and I say that with excitement). And maybe, for once, good ole Corinne will fuck it up! Maybe I'll fail! And it won't destroy me! But for the first time, maybe ever, that doesn't scare me. And it's not because I'm overly confident or have someone to back me up-- quite the contrary.
But for the first time ever, I'm not afraid of it. 

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