Rebounding with a Scottish soldier
Breaking up.
If it were an easy thing, synonyms for the phrase wouldn't include words like cease, finish or terminate. A break-up means it's the end of something, and even if it makes sense to happen, it's still hard to process and accept. And while time has helped shift my emotional state, I didn't get here overnight.
In fact, as soon as I realized what was happening on the phone with Declan, I handled it like the strong, Independent woman that I am ... I texted my friends while I was still on the phone to give them a heads up. Look, independent women still recognize when to utilize the strength of their support system.
I think I got three immediate calls while still sorting out the details to closing my chapter with Declan. My stomach lurched as soon as I clicked "end" for the very last time with him. I ran to the bathroom and threw up the entire contents of my stomach. Some people eat when they're upset, but my stomach prefers to empty itself.
"I imagine I'll be spending a significant amount of time here," I said to myself as I kneeled next to the toilet.
I called Laurie back first as I knew that she wouldn't let me be alone, even if I would arrive after midnight. It would be a two-hour drive to her, but I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. It's not that I didn't trust myself, I just know that my instinct is to analyze all the things that could possibly be wrong with me, and I really didn't want to deal with that. On the ride to her house, I called Kate back and then my brother Matt, and told them both what happened. All three listened to me wail, and helped me organize my racing thoughts. For those that don't know me very well, I'm not good at the "let it go" mindset. When something happens, I need to fix it immediately. I need to rationalize and understand it. I need the answers. Since he couldn't even give me the words, I'm not sure how I would find them on my own, but I'm lucky enough to have people that love me and understand my need to piece it together anyways.
When I pulled up at Laurie's, I tiptoed in through the side door and found her waiting for me on the couch, passed out. I woke her up and encouraged her to go to bed, while she showed me to the room she'd made up for me. I knew my thoughts weren't going to let me sleep, but I went to lay down nonetheless. In no time, my nerves would send me back to the bathroom as I cried until I'd used up all my tears.
The next day, Laurie made me some toast and tea, which I promptly ejected moments after ingestion. As she prepped for a party she was going to, I shared earmarked moments that I had worried about while Declan and I were together, intermittently crying. She interrupted a few times to let me know that some of those moments he and I had together were not "normal." Part of that made me feel better, but also made me feel worse. I still let those things happen even though I promised myself I wouldn't this time.
When she had company that evening, I tucked myself away in the bedroom listening to a song (that's far too embarrassing to admit) on repeat and wrote Declan a letter to address the lingering feelings that had bubbled up.
By the second day, it was time to go. I don't know why, but whenever I experience a break-up, I suddenly feel less than - I felt less attractive, less smart, less everything. It makes me want to hide from people, which is a super weird feeling for someone who loves seeing and meeting people. Knowing that I had to drive by where he works to make it home, I put on my black sunglasses and lined my lips with a healthy coating of Santa Sangre - Poison Apple. For some reason, the act of applying the red lipstick made me feel powerful. And for the first time in a very long time, I sang at the top of my lungs all the way home. Driving home, singing the words to every song on the radio with brightly-colored red lips, I felt like myself, and I liked it.
When I got home, my bed and my new comforter welcomed me like an old friend. For the first and second days home, I caught up on the sleep that my body was begging for.
By the third day, I had some tea and searched for something to watch on Netflix to distract me from trying to address childhood trauma, past relationships, abuse and questioning which of my boyfriends had actually loved me. I scrolled past movies with relationships or love stories, because I was not about to watch something that I didn't have, and clicked on my "continue watching" section. The first item was "Outlander," a show my Mum has been nagging me to watch for weeks. It was in the continue watching section because she knew that if she went under my name and started it, I couldn't get away from it. So, I gave it a go.
It was slow-going at first, but before I knew it, I was transported in time to 18th century Scotland to meet Jamie Fraser. Oh. My. Damn. Mum was right.
I was supposed to visit years ago, but the timing was never right for my trip. While my background includes Irish, not Scottish, I've always been fascinated with the country, the culture and the way of life. I found myself researching while sitting in bed and nursing my broken heart. I wasn't interested in getting lost in a love story, but I couldn't help it, there were actually quite a few relatable moments in this time-travel romance. I started writing again. I let myself mourn the loss of my relationship as I lived vicariously through the fictional romance experienced by Claire Randall ... It didn't hurt that the actor that played Jamie is dashingly handsome and delivered some of these tender lines during some especially intimate moments - moments that I was clearly missing in my own life. Yes, I realize Jamie Fraser is not a real man. I do. But ... somehow, Sam Heughan's romantic depiction made me actually long for 18th century life. And I have got to tell you, I have been running into rocks for the past month now, and have sadly discovered that there are no secret doorways through time hidden behind rocks in the Berkshires. It's lame.