This week is my birthday week (Libras, unite!). Yesterday I had a pre-birthday celebration, surrounded by friends and loved ones. It was a joint party with two other European (birthday) girls, and it was great. So many people came through, and it felt really special. The week ahead looks just as good: I’m getting sworn in at an Italian-American society in Los Angeles (months of work and networking), I’m hanging out with my best friend, I have a spooky movie night with my girlfriends, and on Saturday I’m going to see my favorite band ever. &, on top of it all, I have a beach day planned on Sunday (my actual birthday, and my favorite activity to do).
Oddly enough, there’s a lingering feeling that my ex should have been there. I celebrated ten birthdays with him, including some really important ones. The last one with him was bad. This time last year, I ended up in the ER in Canada after a massive mental breakdown on a work trip. A few days later, I saw three psychiatrists, who all diagnosed me with a serious mood disorder. I was crying all the time, on top of pretty serious depression and anxiety. My mind kept swinging between X and Y. I couldn’t make a single decision, and I felt incredibly stuck and hurt. Despair became my companion. I dissociated constantly and couldn’t feel anything. I felt like a Sims character.
On my birthday last year, my ex left me alone all day because “I had not requested his presence during the day” and “I need to organize things with him because his time is valuable.” Instead, he went to play soccer with a team he had barely put together. Then he was annoyed that he had to get me flowers (I like flowers on my birthday). His reasoning was that because he had helped plan my birthday dinner that evening, I could entertain myself during the day. So I spent the day crying on the couch. I watched Intouchables, barely ate, and walked the dog. My parents (who live in France) sent me a pretty plant on my day, and I cried some more. I dreaded the evening, felt like I couldn’t survive it, and wanted to cancel. He pushed me to go out and celebrate, and honestly, it was a good thing. I had a great time with my friends – although I drank too much and almost did not make it to the toilet bowl.
This year looks very different. I feel like I have so many new friends, a whole new circle, and I celebrated at a really cool spot in Los Angeles. Not many old friends were invited, the ones who would have been at my birthday for years, because navigating our shared friends has become a very tough endeavor. I’m quite sad about that, and at the same time immensely relieved.
My growth over the last year has been tremendous. I exercise five days a week (CrossFit, HIIT, strength training), I’ve built a huge gym community, I have lots of new friends I love, I travel a lot, I’ve reconnected with my family and old friends, as well as hobbies, and I found a job I adore that fits my lifestyle really well. As cheesy as it fucking sounds, I’ve reconnected with myself and found more within myself. I’m confident, and I feel much more at peace. It’s as if the storm has settled and the waves are no longer crashing against a wall.
Life doesn’t feel so crazily overwhelming anymore. Yet he still pulls me back a little. I can still feel his invisible hand, a decade of love and care (on my end) that’s taking time to unravel. It feels odd, because I now see him as weak and, quite frankly, pathetic. I don’t think he had evil intentions or set out to be manipulative, but he was so fucked up. Such a boy, with little confidence, immense anxiety, and narcissism. He was killing me softly. And yet I feel sorry for him, for how much he lost because of his own hubris. A Greek god who suddenly lost it all.
Sometimes I want to cry or scream, but nothing comes out. I’m a little afraid that I felt too much and went through so many traumatic years that now I feel nothing, or so little. It truly feels like my mind is still protecting me from the constant high stress and trauma I was subjected to. Little by little, I’m trying to give myself the space to think about what I’m feeling, and to actually feel it. Sometimes it works, and this blog definitely helps. But most of the time, it still doesn’t. I’m being patient with myself, because there is progress. One day, when someone asks me how I feel, I want to be able to answer with something other than “nothing” or “I don’t know.”
