In the wake of yet another breakup, I've had some serious times of reflection (as my past few pots are evidence of). There are these moments where I feel powerful as fuck! Hands in the air, wavin' like I just don't care, humming a tune of "All the Single Ladies".
That's typically my motto from 6am-6pm Monday through Friday.
Then, the drive home from work sucks- it's a harsh realization that I'm going home to an empty apartment where no one, not even a furry creature, will be there to greet me and no chance that someone will come through the door chiming, "Honey! I'm home!"
Alright, truthfully, this isn't always so bad. Some days, it's awesome, and I actually feel sorry for those that don't get the chance to have more than just a few minutes alone. And with each passing day, the wound of the breakup heals ever so slightly more. The impending visit from my mom just days away to be quickly followed by a visit from a good friend gives me much to look forward to, making the focus on the breakup slightly less.
But then- a blood bath. No really, there was blood everywhere.
This past Friday (ironically, Good Friday) I rushed home from my full-time CA job with just enough time to vacuum my entire apartment in preparation for the previously mentioned visitors when before I knew it, it was time to head off to my second job. With only minutes to spare before rushing out the door, I realized that if I didn't prepare myself a snack, it would be 9 o'clock before I'd get the chance to eat again. So I started toasting my favorite rosemary sourdough from Sprouts and cut open an avocado to schemear on top. I'd successfully coated one piece of toast when I went to remove the pit from the second half of the fruit. I typically use a paring knife, piercing the pit then rotating it to remove it. Only this time, the knife didn't stop at the pit. When I turned it to remove it, instead of staying in the pit, it went straight through and into my hand.
Blood. Everywhere. I scream.
To be frank, I was in more shock and I don't handle blood all that well; but oddly enough, it wasn't the most amount of pain I've ever been in. (I've had kidney stones for crying out loud!)
My mind immediately goes to dollar signs when faced with a serious injury and all I can think of in that moment is, "Is this really that bad? Maybe I could just put some ice and a band-aide on it and still make it to work. I don't really need to go to the hospital."
But the blood just would not stop. I couldn't even see the cut because it was covered in red. I knew I'd need to go to the hospital, but I called my cousin anyway because I was hoping she'd tell me to just throw some ice on it and suck it up. Of course that's not what happened, but drive myself to the hospital??
All I wanted in that moment was help. A partner. Anyone. My mom? My cousin? A boyfriend.
Though I knew it wasn't an injury that would prevent me from having the capability to drive myself to the hospital, going it alone was the last thing I wanted.
I get to the closest urgent care, mascara laden tears streaming down my face. They rush me into a private room and I sit and wait patiently. And by "patiently" I mean sobbing and unable to control the jitters coursing through my bouncing legs. I'm still not entirely sure how this is possible, but while my hand is in an incredible amount of pain, in another way, it's also gone numb. Almost feeling as if it's fallen asleep. Two thoughts immediately rush through my head: 1) This can't be good that it feels numb, I really hope I didn't hit a nerve 2) Being here alone without a loving man by my side might just be the lowest of the low. I thought I knew lonely before. Wow was I wrong.
At this point, I'd say probably 80% of my tears are pouring from my feelings of loneliness.
Now, I don't want to come off as ungrateful- my cousin moved a few things around and was able to load up her kids and meet me to take me home since I was too drugged up to get behind the wheel. And I am so appreciative for that, I really truly am. But am I so crazy for wanting a man to fill that role? I was trying so hard in the midst of it all to remind myself, "Abbey, you can do this. Alone." and obviously, it wasn't that detrimental. I did it. There are very few (if any) things in life that only a man can do or that we truly need a mans help with. For me, it's not about the need. It's about the want. But in the same way that my recent patio furniture purchase was technically a want, it fulfilled a need in me that is very important- the need to be able to experience as much outdoor time as possible.
I'm working on restoring myself to being whole. Without a man. I know that a man does not complete me. Only I can complete me. Much like the stitches in my hand, the hypothetical thread of life is being strung through the needle as I type, with each passing moment, with every letter and word, to bring me back together. My hope is that some day, I'l be able to look back on these posts and have appreciation for the hard times because as much as they suck now, I know deep down that I cannot get to a higher point in life without starting from the bottom of somewhere.
