Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

She's gone, and it feels just as awful as I expected it would.

 

We went our separate ways last Sunday and I haven't seen her since. Neither of us acknowledged the relationship was over, but we both saw it coming. Slowly but persistently, nagging doubts had worked there way into my thoughts over the preceding months, probably years. For a longer time still, I ignored them, telling myself what I was feeling was normal. Still, what we had was automatic, like breathing. That was how deeply we were intertwined. And, regardless of the pain to come, that's when I knew it had to end.

 

I had known from the day we met that she was going to be nothing but trouble. And like most trouble, she was beautiful, inviting. At first I saw her infrequently. I didn't think much of it, or of her. I knew of her reputation - that she could be a charmer. Still, I kept her at arms length for years despite her best efforts.

 

Finally, after years of resistance, she broke through my mirage of disinterest. The truth was that I had always wanted her. But I knew even then how high the cost would be. The cost would become its own form of addiction. Like Moby Dick's Captain Ahab, she became my "white whale".

 

We did, however, have many good years together. She had a wonderful way of waking me up each morning and sending me out into the world. With her encouragement and warmth, I felt fortified against all comers. Daily, she built me up with sweetness and heat, always whispering in my ear, "I'm never letting you go."

 

But eventually, that same whisper became more shrill, controlling. Even after a long day, she would force herself on me. When I tried to resist, she would reply harshly, wearing a sinister grin, "I don't think so. You need me too much."

 

And she was right. What had been borne out of a mutual desire was now ugly, twisted. She had all the power, and wielded it like a tyrant, which she had surely become. When that awful truth became clear to me, my course was obvious. I had to banish her, and immediately, despite the pain that would surely follow. "The first week will be the hardest," I told myself. How right I was . . .

 

Every sensation hit me all at once, and with a fury that suggested she herself was orchestrating my torment.

 

By the end of our first day apart, I sensed a dull ache at the base of my neck, intent on moving north, engulfing my entire brain. An accompanying dizziness and total fatigue made for a merry threesome.

 

By the middle of the second day, my appetite was completely gone. Coupled with a ringing in my ears, I faced the full onslaught of a headache that wouldn't abate. "She's not going to make this easy," I thought grimly.

 

But to my surprise, I awoke the next morning with a clear head, having slept like the dead, with no nightmares of her absence interrupting me. I thought of her often still, but not with the same longing or desire.

 

Wishful thinking. As if to remind me of the total control she once had over me  - I was visited on the fourth day since her disappearance with a complete body ache, her way of not so gently reminding me that I needed her in ways even I hadn't understood.

 

But that day had merely been an echo. Her last, pathetic attempt to get me back. There will be difficult days ahead, I know, but the worst seems to be over. Yes, I miss her, and always will.  How could it be otherwise? Sadly, the overwhelming feeling that remains is emptiness. A gaping hole now rests where she once lived. Naturally, the mornings are the hardest. I wake up alone and still reach out to her, for her warmth and sweetness, fortifying me each new day.

 

And the saddest reality of all is the knowledge that nothing will ever completely replace her or fill that void. Tea? Juice? Never. Goodbye, Sweet Coffee. You will be sorely missed.

 

Gotcha!