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Author’s Note: For the prompt ‘Permanent,’ I choose to write a short story discussing the difficulties between managing your mental health condition while trying to be okay after a negative breakup.
Synopsis: After a difficult breakup, you find yourself living alone again for the first time in eight years. Struggling with your mental health, you try to rebuild your life but when your ex returns you're conflicted. Do you return to your comfort, or continue rebuilding alone?
I never thought I’d be here again, reviewing my life through the contents I was packing into cardboard boxes, given to me by the local supermarket. That I would be close to my thirties and have nothing to show for my life. Except a negative end to a long-term relationship and a furry companion, and a dozen boxes filled with my possessions. Suppose it could’ve been worse, I could’ve accepted my parents offer of moving back home with them, rather than to rent a new place by myself. But I knew I needed to take this leap of faith towards my future rather than to go backwards.
Once the packing was finished, I didn’t count the number of boxes I’d acquired as I loaded them into the car. It felt too depressing to even consider it. Back in the apartment, I cleared out the rest of my personal effects, with Jasper safely tucked inside his cat carrier. This was the first time I’d seen the apartment empty since we’d filled it with our memories, but you’d already left, leaving me to pick up the pieces of my broken heart.
I deposited the apartment keys into the safe and with my rucksack on my back and Jasper by my side, it was time to start our new adventure together. One without you there to support me every step of the way. I needed to learn how to live my life for myself, then to live it in the shadow of anyone.
When I arrived at the new apartment and had unpacked my truck, it was already late in the evening. Jasper wasn’t too happy about the distance we’d travelled and made his feelings clear by the state of his litter box. I knew then it would take a while for us both to adjust to our new life. That evening I decided to leave the boxes till morning and head to bed for an early night.
The seasons changed and with it, new problems arose. I’d put off many things when we parted, but it seemed you’d sorted it from your end. Everything we had shared; finances, bills, etc, you’d severed that tie and I was still yet to sort them all for my new place. Admittedly, I wasn’t even sure how to deal with them, that’d always been your duty in the relationship but now I was alone, perhaps it was time I learn.
Jasper seemed more comfortable in his new environment, he’d a lot more space to enjoy himself but that didn’t stop him pining for you. That made the separation between us the hardest, watching him wear his emotions that I was harbouring deep inside.
I’d been putting off unpacking, selecting only the items I needed to get by each day rather than spending a few days sorting through everything properly. Maybe that should have been my first priority, or maybe I should’ve dealt with the finances before it got too much.
There was far too much for me to do and very little time in the day to complete them all. Before I realised, everything started getting on top of me. Even the easiest of tasks like getting out of bed or washing my hair felt too daunting to execute. Soon I felt myself sleeping too much and eating too little, but this didn’t ease my problems, it only made them worse.
I thought about calling you, so many times. When I felt I couldn’t breathe under the weight of my stress, or when the tightness in my chest stopped me from completing any task. I was scared. Afraid of what was happening to me, but more at the fact I was facing this alone and that you weren’t by my side to help me back on my feet. I knew you wouldn’t take my calls, we weren’t together anymore, I wasn’t your problem to be burdened with.
Months flew past before I even considered it to be a real issue. When my mental health started getting in the way of finally sorting out my problems. The damage had already been done, and I was too far gone, stuck in bad habits that were preventing me from moving on. But still I felt I couldn’t reach out to anyone, not even you. I wondered why I was feeling the way I did, why I felt so useless because I couldn’t perform the simplest of tasks.
Despite my reluctant nature, I did seek help from a doctor. I always had you to support me that I didn’t feel the need to seek aid, but I was wrong. They gave me a list of coping strategies to help with the anxiety attacks and suggested small routine changes that would increase my productivity. They said that in time, my situation should improve, that I shouldn’t ostracise myself thinking it will improve matters, because as I’ve witnessed first hand that never works.
After several weeks of the newly suggested routine, and the introduction of medication, I slowly started to feel myself again. Slowly breaking into a new normality. This was when I first started unpacking the boxes I couldn’t face before. Those haunting memories I wanted to keep locked away forever. So one evening I settled down after dinner with a glass of wine and began going through the boxes. For now I started with one, the doctor’s words in my head to take things slowly. But my face fell when I ripped the tape off the box. Only I could’ve chosen one filled with our past. I spent hours bawling my eyes out over our photographs taken together, on holidays, on date nights and just in our own space. Photos of the time when we first rescued Jasper, or when we got the keys to our first apartment together. I found myself flooded with emotion, hugging my knees in my chest and sobbing uncontrollably. But I’m glad I did it. It’d been therapeutic in a way.
Six months on, and I started to see a new side of me. There were times I struggled and times I got weepy over the littlest things, but I soon realised feeling this way was normal. I was only human after all. I was proud of the differences I’d made in my life in such a short timeframe, my finances were all back on track and my new routine was working in my favour.
But after ten months, you decided to come back into my life, undoing all my hard work. I didn’t know what to expect at least, I thought I’d packed something of yours that you wanted returning or that you would come to take Jasper, once you’d settled in your own place. No, instead you wanted to reap the rewards for my hard work. To take credit for the woman I was now. Your pleasantries were nice, but I saw through your facade, nothing you said that day had been sincere. I was glad when I set you away, although it killed me to see your walk away for a second time, I knew it was for the best. That I’d every right to be selfish, and enjoy the solitude I’d built myself.
That night you left for the second time, I felt myself wanting to slip back into old routines. To forget this new life I’d built myself. But what good would that have done for me? I deserved to be happy, and so did you. I’m glad we parted, even if it hadn't been on better terms, we’re better people now we’re apart. I wouldn’t say I’m thriving in my new life, but I’m doing well for myself. I allowed myself the space to cry after we said goodbye. Only one evening to release my wave of emotions. To think about you one final time.
Now a year on from our breakup, I feel like a completely different person. That I could finally breathe for the first time in eight years. That I’d spent too much time suppressing the real me and now I was beginning to love the new me. My true authentic self. But it wasn’t just me who was thriving, Jasper was loving his new life too, and together we’ve started going on long walks. Just the two of us, enjoying the noises of nature together.
I continued going to my checkups with the doctor, I even started going to therapy to aid my mental health, as an alternative to coming off my medication. Talking therapy felt more personal to me, than the imbalance I was having taking pills. Conversing with another person, allowing someone into my life felt freeing. We meet on a weekly basis, between the art classes I've recently taken up, and my freelance blog writing. I’ve spoken openly about my struggles with my mental health and found that I wasn’t alone with how I thought. There were others like me. They taught me that not being okay, was in fact okay. That I shouldn’t be too hard on myself for feeling that way. Keeping myself throughout the day keeps the black dog away. The nights are truly the hardest, coming home to an empty apartment with my sad little meals for one.
There hasn’t been another since you. For now I’m happy, knowing I can live without you.
