You’re Still There….

It really is funny how a small reminder of something can instantly produce feelings you’ve been trying to push away and hide under a rock. And I’d have to say by funny, I mean the way getting slapped in the face can be funny.  This morning, while running around my apartment getting ready for work, I sat down on my bed gathering my things to put in my purse and head out towards the subway.  At the very last moment I realized I had forgotten one last something and pulled open the drawer of my nightstand next to my bed. As I reached in to locate the something I was looking for, my mind riffled through the internal shoe catalog it contains trying to decide on which pair of heels to toss into my bag on the way out the door. 

As my hand made contact with the checkbook I needed, I glanced down to pull off a blank check in order to begin signing over the exorbitant rent charged for my mediocre apartment. As I separated the check from it’s book, I noticed writing beneath it. Had I incorrectly filled out a check and left it in the back? No. This check wasn’t filled out by me.

As I realized what the check was, I sat on my bed a little stunned. My stomach immediately twisted into a knot and my throat became dry. His writing. His name. Middle name and all. Dated March 29th.  A week before he left.  Ironically, a check filled out for seven million dollars as a joke is now staring me in the face like a horribly mean-spirited trick. I think to myself, “You have to be kidding me. I don’t need this.” 

As if completely out of my control, tears begin streaming down my face as the sadness hits me like a brick wall.  There it is again. Not gone. Not even close. Staring at this check makes me feel like he just walked out of my room yesterday all over again. 

As I choke back more tears, I decide this check is not going to ruin yet another of my days. I tear it from the book and rip it to shreds with a mix of sorrow and anger. Sorrow because while I wish I was, I am still not even near to being ok with this situation. Anger because I can’t will my mind to move on and I can’t control being sad sometimes. Anyone who knows me knows I prefer to be in control of things and these emotions, they get the best of me every time.

While I am in a place now where I can get through most days at work without sobbing in the bathroom,  I am still not healed. Still not who I was before. This frustrates me the most as I don’t want to feel a knot in my stomach, I don’t want to miss someone who isn’t there. Facing these emotions and knowing I can’t get rid of them any faster than they want to leave, makes me feel like a victim.

After composing myself and managing to push the feelings back where they came from, into a box in the back of my mind, I take a deep breath and walk out of my apartment. My life these past few weeks has been the more difficult than it’s ever been, but there’s nothing else I can do other than try to move forward.