Getting words from my brain to my fingertips has been daunting for quite some time now. Last time I checked in I updated on the first part of my summer, with great intentions to be back every few weeks until I’d filled in the gaps between the months of July and October. That didn’t happen, clearly.
Here’s a run-through in double-time (with photos!):
In July, I met my (now-ex) boyfriend after several months of Tinder exchanges and texting. Against my better judgment, I dove in head-first. In August I moved out of the one bedroom apartment that Ron and I shared, into the three bedroom apartment that my family rented to be close to me. In September I turned 27, my parents moved to Michigan, and my (now-ex) boyfriend moved in with me. Meanwhile, Fiona grew and grew and grew. I also dyed my hair blonde.
In October, I took a 3 week trip to California to spend the first anniversary of Ron’s death with his family and friends (but to cushion the blow, first, I took my niece, sister, and unborn nephew to Disneyland).
In November, I got home feeling completely out of my mind, miserable, and overwhelmed, ready to check myself back into a psych ward. The fall is the worst time of the year for me. The 5th of October was 3 years since Ron proposed. The 27th was a year since he died. The 7th of November would have been the start of our 7th year together. The 18th of November should have been his 30th birthday.
There were tearful nights in which I devoted way too much of my time and energy to explaining to my (ex) boyfriend that my unhappiness had nothing to do with him, while he told me what a weight it was on his shoulders knowing that he’d never be able to “make” me “happy”. “This affects me too, you know” was the last thing I heard before I mentally ended the relationship…and a couple days later, I filled him in on that decision.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t fun. It was eye-opening, though–on one hand, I know my worth, and I know what kind of support I need and what kind of toxicity I don’t; yet, on the other hand, I’ve yet to recover from the realization that he is probably not the last man on earth (and really, wasn’t even the first) that will imply that I am an emotional burden for him–which, in turn, is just an extra emotional burden for me.
The beginning half of December was mainly a blur of poor decisions, alcohol, poor decisions involving alcohol, and alcohol the poor decision, but around Christmas, the universe rallied around me. It was what should have been another night of drinking alone at my favorite bar, except this time, my Lyft driver just so happened to be a realtor, and I just so happened to be within weeks of the end of my lease and mildly panicking about my next move. By New Years Eve, I had seen as many houses as I needed too, chosen a favorite, and put in an offer. On January 18th, I closed and got my keys.
That brings us pretty close to today. So far, the theme for 2018 seems to be more major life changes. The last month has been devoted to small home projects, furniture shopping, a mountain of moving boxes, and settling in as an official homeowner.
There have been ups: we introduced a new member to the family, Stevie Nicks, a 5-month old lab-mastiff mix who keeps Fiona and me on our toes–and downs: we lost a member of the family, Ron’s beloved cat Kitty, who enjoyed nearly 2 decades of life but was just ready to go home and reunite with her one true love, Ron.
The biggest and best thing is still in the works though. I’m going to keep this quick, and I’ll get into a bit more detail later, but what really inspired me to get back here is this: my little family will hopefully be growing more this year or next, because I’ve decided it’s time to add a tiny human.
…to be continued.