Tomorrow marks exactly 10 months out from when X told me he didn’t love me. I’ve been through so much in the past ten months that it seems in some ways like a lifetime ago. At the same time, I’m still incredibly raw and, frankly, struggling. I feel lonely in my new home. I’ve been weepy this weekend. And I’m not sure I understand why. I don’t miss him. In fact, in a lot of ways, my thoughts about him specifically have lessened considerably. But I feel so alone here and I think that makes what I’ve lost stand out in contrast.
I’m still trying. This week I made plans with people! Today I went for a walk with a new friend – a teacher from work. On Tuesday I’m meeting up with an old friend from high school who I haven’t been in touch with for years. I’m trying to make plans with other people and actually do things. But when I get home at night, I get mopey and sad.
I still haven’t found a new therapist, so tomorrow I’m going to make phone calls to try to find one. I have a list of possibilities. Hopefully one will be able to take me. I’m hoping that a weekly therapy session will get me back on the road to recovery. I know in theory that there are lots of ups and downs, twists and turns. Healing isn’t linear. But this feels a little more funky than past funks. And I’ll be damned if this asshole is going to continue to have this kind of impact on me.