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It's Been Two Weeks, and It Still Feels Like I've Had a Hole Punched Through My Chest...

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Ms. Macon is an advice columnist and content writer for radio and television commercials. Catch her on Ask A Bitchface, truly funny truth.


It's Been A Little Over Two Weeks...

I have purchased a new phone, because I couldn't find it in myself to go through the old one and delete everything affiliated with us. I just don't have the strength for it yet. It's the same with the Medium publication about us. I can't bring myself to even log in.

I have done well with putting distance between myself and the reminders, but I haven't found the fortitude it requires to get rid of the evidence that we existed. It pains me to say it, but I need to know that once upon a time, I really did believe in happily ever after. Even with the horrible way that it all imploded.

I'm not strong enough to delete his memory....

It Isn't As Though I Don't Know It's Over...

I know factually, there isn't a way on this Earth that our relationship could be resurrected. I'm almost certain that's why he ended things in the way that he did. Just to be sure we were completely in ruins. So there wasn't a way to ever get back to who we were.

The worst part, though, is the knowledge that, even after the horrible ending, if he showed up here today, I would take him back. I would take him back, and I would forget that this two week hell I have been living inside of ever existed. I would smile and tell him everything was just fine, and live the rest of my life as though two weeks just fell off of the calender, and it would be perfectly acceptable to me.


None Of That Matters, Though...

It's just me torturing myself with "what if's" and it's pathetic, actually, when I sit down and think about it.

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I'm better than this, and I know that, but the tears still come, and most of the time it's when I'm not expecting them. It feels like a fist-sized hole has been punched through my chest, and sometimes I imagine that I can hear the wheezing and gurgling as I struggle to breathe despite the cavity.

This is the painful part of the breakup, and the intelligent part of my brain understands that. The emotional center of my brain, though, is begging me to do something about the agony, and I just cannot help it. There's no aid that I can render.

I try not to acknowledge the tears when they fall, not even to brush them away...

I've Done Well, Considering...

I haven't further humiliated myself by reaching out to him, or allowing myself to believe that there's any chance at reconciliation. I have failed only in my ability to erase our history. But there's a reason for that...I know that if I allow myself to look through the memories, I'm going to fall apart.

However, at some point in the future, I'll be strong again. I'll be a woman on fire again. And when that day happens, it will be nothing to delete anything ever affiliated with him; every photo, every memory, everything. That day is not today, though, so I know that pushing that envelope will lead to emotions I just don't have the ability to crawl my way through.

Every woman has her limitations, I keep telling myself. This appears to be where mine are. When it comes to forgetting him, it seems my heart has drawn the line.

How Long Did It Take You To Delete Your Memories With Your Ex?

It's Not Cathartic Yet...

I feel no relief when I write about him, rather, it's just more agony. I know, though, that it will happen eventually. One day it will come to me in the form of poetry, or I'll crack a joke about it in my column, and that will be the day that I have healed.

That day is not today. It isn't looking highly likely for tomorrow, either, if we're being honest.

But, I know that the day will come. It will feel like some distant memory that can be sat on a shelf, not some tangible yesterday that leaves me whimpering in the shower. I will be fine.

Soon. I will be fine, soon.

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