It’s been a year. A year since I was in the hospital getting help for my mental health. A year since the day I was supposed to be going home and trying to get my shit together. And a year since my ex came to get me, only to tell me we were done.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the timing of that. I was getting discharged from the hospital, already dealing with enough, and whatever I’d been going through hadn’t magically disappeared just because I was ready to leave. Then, on top of everything else, my relationship was over. Happy fucking discharge day, I guess.
I’m not sure what I was supposed to do with that information. I was already in a pretty vulnerable place, and now I had to deal with losing someone who was a big part of my life, too. I don’t know if there’s a good way to find out your relationship is over, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it.
The thing is, when you’re already struggling with your mental health, you don’t exactly need another reason to lie awake at night wondering what the hell is going on with your life. But that’s what happened. They’d made their decision, and I was left to deal with it.
I wish I could say that a year later, I’ve got it all figured out. That I’ve processed everything, made peace with it, and emerged as some improved version of myself. But that would be bullshit. Life isn’t a self-help book. Sometimes things happen, they hurt like hell, and you spend a long time trying to figure out how to live with them. There isn’t always some great lesson waiting for you at the end. Sometimes something just hurts, and sometimes it hurts a little more because of when it happened.
I’ve thought about that day a lot over the past year. Probably more than I’d like to admit. I think about how I was already trying to get help, already trying to deal with my own head, and then suddenly I had this whole other thing to process. It’s a strange feeling, realizing that while you’re trying to hold yourself together, something else in your life is falling apart. And you don’t get to put it on hold until you’re feeling better.
You still have to get up, eat, sleep, pay bills, and deal with all the other bullshit that comes with being alive. Nobody sends you a calendar invitation saying, Hey, just checking in. Are you emotionally available to deal with another life-altering event this week? Nope. Life just shows up whenever it feels like it, kicks you in the nuts, and carries on like nothing happened. Honestly, the customer service is fucking terrible.
I don’t know what my ex was thinking that day. I can’t speak for them, and I’m not going to pretend I know all the reasons behind their decision. What I do know is how it felt on my end, and it wasn’t great.
There’s something particularly difficult about accepting that someone you thought would be there for you isn’t going to be there anymore. You can spend hours going over things in your head, trying to figure out where it went wrong or what you could have done differently. Your brain becomes a detective with absolutely no new evidence. You revisit conversations, remember little things, and wonder whether you missed something obvious. Then you tell yourself you’re done thinking about it, only to find yourself thinking about it again twenty minutes later. Brilliant. Really making progress here.
The worst part is that you can’t change what happened. You can’t go back to that day and have a different conversation. You can’t make someone stay if they’ve decided they don’t want to. You just have to deal with the reality of it, whether you’re ready to or not.
I suppose that’s what the past year has been about for me: trying to deal with it. Some days are easier than others. Sometimes I don’t think about it much at all. Other times, something reminds me of that period of my life, and there it is again. I don’t think that necessarily means I’m going backwards. I think some experiences just stick with you, especially the ones that happen when you’re already struggling.
A year sounds like a long time until you start looking back at everything that happened during it. Then you realize how much time has passed and how quickly it went. And here I am, writing about it.
Part of me wonders why it still matters enough to write about. It’s been a year. The relationship is over. Nothing I write here is going to change that. I’m not expecting my ex to read this, and if they do, I’m not sure what I’d expect them to take away from it. Maybe nothing. Maybe they’ll see things differently than I do. That’s life, I suppose. Two people can go through the same experience and walk away with completely different versions of it.
But this is my version. I was in the hospital getting help for my mental health. I was getting discharged. And on that same day, my relationship ended. That’s what happened to me, and I don’t think I need to pretend it didn’t affect me just because a year has passed.
I’m still figuring things out. I’ve still got my own shit to deal with. I’m not going to sit here and tell anyone that everything is wonderful now, because that wouldn’t be honest. But I’m here, and I guess that’s something. Not some grand, inspirational achievement. I’m not expecting a medal in the mail. Although, if anyone’s handing out medals for making it through a difficult year, I wouldn’t exactly turn one down. Maybe a little trophy, too. Nothing fancy. Just something that says, Congratulations. You survived another year of absolute bullshit.
I’d put it on the shelf, probably right beside the things I keep meaning to deal with and haven’t gotten around to yet.
Because that’s where I am with all of this. I’m still dealing with it. I’m still living my life, and I’m trying not to let one terrible day define everything that came after it.
I wish things had happened differently. I wish that day had been about getting out of the hospital and focusing on getting better, without having to deal with a breakup at the same time. But wishing doesn’t change anything. A year has passed, and I can’t go back and change what happened. All I can do is keep going from here. Some days that’s easier said than done, but I’m doing it.
And to the person who picked that particular day to leave, I don’t really know what else there is to say.
You picked a hell of a day. You really did.
It’s been a year. I’m still here. And I’ve got a lot of life left to live, whether you were part of it or not.
I suppose we’ll see what happens next.
— Notes to no one.