I’ve hesitated in posting this, mostly because a) it’s rather personal and b) it’s about the boy and therefore makes me feel completely pathetic that any particle of energy is even spent thinking about him for a second. But alas, nothing else is really coming to mind to blog about, so here it is. Judge away.
One month ago, after hearing this talk in General Conference, I had a dream.
I was sitting on my bed, holding my phone, looking at his contact info. I wanted to hear his voice and maybe find a way to restart what we had. I took a deep breath, touched his phone number, and waited for him to answer.
The phone rang, and he said hello. “Hello?” I said back…and then there was a click, and the line went dead.
I woke up immediately, and I knew–stop hoping. It’s over. He’s not coming back.
And I really was okay with that for about a week.
I haven’t worked out very much this winter (it’s one of many many weaknesses) but this past week I knew if I didn’t at least go for a walk, I’d end up going certifiably insane. So Thursday I went to the gym, and was instantly reminded of the power of scent and memory.
It was a warm day, and the grass has been mowed, so the air smelled grass-sweet. Then I walked in the gym, and the combination of the summery outside and the sterile-yet-sweaty inside reminded me of the many times last summer that I was in that gym, texting him when I’d be home.
It made me not want to work out at all, but I did anyway, and as I did, I figured I just need some desensitization therapy. Keep going to the gym, keep listening to the songs that remind me of him until I’ve replaced all of it with different memories.
I’ve spent the past several months shoving all of those memories into a room in my brain, padlocked it shut, opening it only when an external sound, image, or smell forced it open, and because I wasn’t thinking about him (or spending all kinds of time telling myself to stop thinking about him), I told myself I was getting over him.
But I think the only way to take the final step in really getting over him is to throw open that door, sift through the memories and stop the “emotional cutting” of reliving–in small pieces–what last summer was like. Listen to everything, let the memories wash over me instead of glancing at them sideways as I lock them away…like a guitarist builds up calluses on his fingers on his way to making gorgeous music, time to build up my own calluses on my way to making a gorgeous life.