No matter how many times I say, “I’m done”… I’m not really done until the pit in my stomach, the tension in my back, and the ache in my heart subsides long enough to think clearly for a minute. I don’t know why all of that physical and emotional strain impacts every waking thought so much, but it does. And it sucks.
And that is exactly what happened this weekend.
On Thursday, it was 2 weeks since Mr. Avoidant dumped me over the phone and rushed back to his comfort zone. I accepted the 2-week mark as a definite “no going back” milestone to say the least. This was apparent after the first few days of no contact, but my heart didn’t know that. All my heart knew was hurt, which signaled my eyes to tear up unexpectedly, my mind to reminisce, and my left eye to constantly twitch.
On this Thursday of the 2-week mark, I started out strong – woke up and started my day as usual. But around 10 AM I started to get restless. The restless thoughts started again. I wasn’t about to go through another weekend sabotaging myself with more restless thoughts. I finally texted him. Yes, I texted Mr. Avoidant. Not to restart anything, just to see if we could talk – pointing out that such an abrupt ending was/is not healthy for either of us. I wasn’t expecting a response.
In less than 20 minutes, he texted right back. Very kindly saying he was sorry, that he still thinks about me constantly, would like to talk, and didn’t mean to hurt me. He said he was going fishing, and we’d talk soon. I simply said, “Ok, thank you.” I wasn’t about to fall into another one of his word traps. I know how nice he can be. And then he can turn around a dump you like a piece of trash because of his own insecurities. I thought saying “thank you” was just a good neutral response and then to be continued later.
To my surprise, I got more replies from him, saying he didn’t know what to say [the past two weeks], and he hoped I was doing well.
Since apparently “texting” is allowed now, I let him know I wasn’t very well because of too many feelings plus I’d been sick and on an antibiotic for chest congestion. He responded immediately “Oh no”… and blah blah fucking-blah. He tried to send me a joke. I told him I didn’t feel like laughing, just wanted to talk, missed my friend, and told him to catch some fish. I left it at that. No more responses, and then hours later in the evening he texts that he caught three fish. I responded “Yay good good”… and then there was no more responses from then on.
He’s gone on fishing trips before, so I knew he was with his friend and drinking and fishing and doing whatever they do. I figured I’d hear from him the next day or sometime during the weekend. I couldn’t sleep that night. I wavered between wanting to say all the words to get him back, and wanting to preserve my dignity and walk away with my head held high. I didn’t sleep too well on Thursday night or Friday night. I just wanted to make sure I could listen to him and not yell. That was my whole goal – try to gain a little more understanding, or not. But at least get some closure — to end this on a better note than it did.
Well, the weekend came and went. No more texts. No phone calls. Nothing.
I journaled all weekend. I cried more. I slept. I kept busy. On Saturday, I’d had it with my overactive mind and started cleaning out the basement. What started as a simple toy clean-out initiative turned into a gutting of old clothes and shoes that were clogging up my basement and our bedroom closets for entirely too long. After 3 hours, my car was full of 18 bags and 2 big boxes of donation items. Mostly clothes and shoes from me and my kids.
That felt good. As I cleaned out my own clothes, I threw out every piece of a clothing that conjured up any negative memory from the past. I had several items that my ex-husband had bought me or that I’d worn on an occasion that he ruined. So, in the trash bag it went.
I’m very much over my ex-husband, but I still have items laying around that remind me of him, or situations with him that I don’t like. Some things just are what they are, but if it’s a stupid shirt with a dumb memory associated with it and can be replaced easily, then hell with it. I don’t need it. I’m a 45-year adult with a great job, I can afford some new clothes here and there.
The closet clean-out was very therapeutic. I think my kids felt better too. I have a habit of cleaning out their drawers, but then I leave the pile of unwanted clothes sitting in the corner of their room for entirely too long instead of instantly putting it in a bag and donating it.
By the end of Saturday night, I was whooped. I was still expecting a call from Mr. Avoidant, but then somehow told myself he was probably busy and would reappear on Sunday night. Nope. We went to church, breakfast, and then went to a birthday party. No text. No call. I went to the grocery store and made dinner. No call. No text. I figured if he didn’t call this Sunday night, he’d likely never call.
And right then, realizing that if someone can’t give you the decency of a phone call after saying they would 3 days prior, that right there is pure disrespect and actually quite sad. It’s sad that he avoids life, and it’s sad that I face it head on and get this kind of treatment. That realization snapped me right out of it. Funny how it wasn’t the 2 weeks of avoidance, but the 3 more days of avoidance based on something he said he’d do and didn’t.
What can I say? I’m slow.
For the rest of Sunday night, I watched a show, didn’t look at my phone, didn’t check to see if he’d called or texted. Nor did I have the urge to. My phone attachment (to him) had been broken. My eye stopped twitching, my back stopped being tense, my heart hardened, and my dignity was no longer at risk of being compromised. Because, well, I hit my limit. I’m very much done.
This morning, I woke up feeling brand new. Mr. Avoidant was not my first thought in the morning. There wasn’t a dreadful thing weighing me down like the past 2 weeks.
Sometimes you don’t need the closure you think you need or deserve. Sometimes you just need to accept you were dumped by a moron and move on. I guess he was a good summer distraction while I grew my hair out from chemo.
I’m no longer distracted. I have more things to clean out of my basement. I didn’t survive months of breast cancer treatments to obsess over another person’s lack of effort. I have more life to live.
Stifle Me Not
Stifle Me Not 