There was some very silly, very naive, part of me that thought once I moved to Utah I would stop crying about the past. I was wrong. I was listening to a podcast on breakups that interviewed Dan Savage who advised that “after two months, move on” (or something similar). It was terrible advise. I wish that after two month I could believe that none of it mattered, that my feelings were controllable, and that the anger and sadness would just pack up and leave- or at least change to focus on more productive targets. They haven’t. They are sitting there in the pit of my stomach and back of my throat waiting for odd moments to come gushing back up.
I have always been the type of person to absorb people into my life like family. Once we become friends, you’re stuck with me. One of my closest friends I have known for nearly two decades- they couldn’t get rid of me if they tried at this point. When I met my ex, it felt similar to meeting another one of my best friends, an instant connection, someone I wanted to spend all my time with, who I would have done most anything to make happy, who I wanted to talk about literally every pointless thing imaginable. He was someone I couldn’t see myself not having as a part of my life- and not just because of the growing relationship. Getting unceremoniously dumped by someone who I had worked hard to build trust with has left me with a pile of confusing feelings that I am desperate to ignore or run over with my car (unfortunately you can’t do either of these).
On memorial day weekend, when I had four days to run around the state and climb and visit all the friends I could find in Utah, I spent various portions of it sobbing in my car, in my shower, and eventually on the phone with a friend of mine. In these moments, the world felt too big, too scary, too lonely.
People talk about how hard moving to a new city is- it is hard. It seems impossible to make friends, especially when I only have three months in a city and everyone either looks 18 or 37. And now, going on my third week of being in this city, I’m struck by how fast time is moving. I’m making friends in Utah and in moments I’ll turn around and be back in Atlanta. I’ll have accomplished so many things- an internship, navigating a city on my own, figuring out how to get kids to find me entertaining and not make them cry, and maybe I’ll come back home and feel totally fine, I won’t feel like I’m constantly teetering on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Chances are though, I’ll still cry while I’m leaving. I’ll cry in Nebraska. I’ll cry in Chattanooga. And I’ll cry when I walk into my house, see my roommates, their dog, our chickens. Maybe it’ll still be over how everything has worked out, or maybe it’ll be because, to quote my dear friend Andi, “I’m living my best life” and it’s not at all the life I thought it was.