Sunday, December 22

His Hangover

I don’t want to catalogue all of the emotions that I have endured this month, but it was a lot. One of the most difficult months of my life. I went through every stage of mourning:  denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

Denial: the night we split up I went to bed with a ridiculous smile thinking of how fortunate things had turned out and concluding that it was all for the best, as the freedom of single life may offer time to apply to grad school. And I woke up that next morning with my whole face covered in tears.

Anger: for cheating on me, not believing in me or us, not taking a chance, and of course in perfect Scott fashion, putting himself first.

Bargaining: prayer at China Beach, out the apartment window, in the car at the Golden Gate, anywhere. Everywhere. The streets of San Francisco are saturated with my prayers. I'll do anything to get him back, dear God. 

Depression: going strong, all winter long.

Acceptance: this is recent, so I don't trust it. I hope that every time it creeps in and goes away a bit of it remains. Like a hangover. He is a hangover: the terrible present remnant of a past joy.