A Hundred Days of Siri.

Photo credits: liveatlakeshore

Kiki left. This time round for good. Not because he wanted to but because I finally lost the war. I didn’t have any energy left in me to keep fighting for him, with him. We had dated for four years, but in the last one year we had been fighting constantly. Breaking up and making up.

Making up because we were both afraid of what the world had in store for us. Making up because change was hard, especially for me. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. After four years anyone's mind will get used to seeing the same familiar face over and over. It will become comfortable. You become secure, one is bound to. We both dreaded the loneliness that was in between the break ups, but, as it always does, there came a point that staying together was more painful than being apart. It was like I held a tight rope to my hands that made me bleed each time I pulled closer. Finally, in a moment, I noticed the pool of blood on the floor and my dwindled strength – I couldn’t pull closer anymore.

 I lost the battle one Saturday morning when I went over to his place and found a woman’s shoes and clothes. He claimed they were his sister's, but I knew better. This was neither the first nor the second time. In between our breakups he had hooked up with someone else. I still stayed the night, regardless. He knew that despite all that I would stay because of my desperation and what I claimed and, therefore, believed to be my love for him. I wanted my love, our love, to be for better or for worse, but truth is, I was afraid of being alone. I had no life of my own except with him. I could imagine of nothing else without him. Yet I hated myself for all that, for violating myself for the sake of another. It is a crime against self to tolerate abuse. Yet I committed the crime over and over again.

When I left the following morning, I promised myself never to return. That I would rather face my desperation was my final decision. I decided I would rather endure my loneliness than be with a man who abused me emotionally. I was ready for rock bottom. Ready for grief and sadness. And bottom the rock did hit. They say grief has five stages. Like 100 days of summer, I started experiencing my grief.

Stage one, Denial.

Am laying on my bed helpless. Pain has become my second name. I have finally decided to let him go. I got to the edge of the cliff and, as fear chocked my being, jumped into oblivion. My heart is on the floor, in pieces screaming to be picked, and am bleeding tears. I never thought I could go for days without speaking, but I did. At work, I claimed I had a sore throat to cover up for my changed behaviour, but it took long enough and people started speculating. It is bound to, it was bound to happen.

I can’t believe that I, Siri, will face the world without him. My mental world is tortured. I refuse to accept the reality of things, I hurt some more.

Stage two, Anger.

 Each morning as my feet touch the cold floor, my mind tells me the same story and I listen. I am alone. I am single. My thoughts concur. These thoughts send waves of sadness and anger through my body – to the very core of my being. My body curls up at the weight of the grief and I have no more energy left than that for just breathing and crying.  I let my anger transform itself into tears.

I blame myself for not being good enough.

 I breathe and cry until I fall asleep.

Stage three, Bargaining.

 A number of days later: When I wake up all I want is to go back to sleep. Back to the world of no self. Where I just exist in body but not in mind, but that is not possible. I rise up and get through with the routine. Nothing in life excites me anymore. I see his messages asking me to come over. I tell him its over. As usual, in his messages, I sense the pompous conviction that he expects me back. He does not believe me when I say it is over. I lost count of the number of times I used that line and still showed up. He pleads and I resist with all the remaining strength in me. This time round, I deserve better. I go silent and he doesn’t bother anymore. He knows soon I will return, but I don’t.

Time passes. I become a stranger to myself and the world. I decline the temptation to look back. He waits and waits. I don’t show up. I let my pain and fear wither me.

I dwell in silence until it becomes my name.

Stage four, Depression.

The memories of our time together pop up in my mind. They replay over and over. Slowly I start to loathe life. I remember the promises he made to never leave me. I remember all the hopes and dreams we shared, and my sadness soars. It becomes hard to breathe, to eat and to socialize. I become a zombie in my own world. My body and my house cannot hide it all. I slowly start losing weight and my house bears the look of neglect. I am trying to survive my storms. I convince myself.

Depression kicks in and I surrender fully.

Stage five, Acceptance.

Slowly, as time passes by, I get tired of listening myself narrating to me the sad story of my lovelorn life. I am fed up with my own misery. I get bored of it. It’s as if am reading the same script  every day. I start to accept and slowly let go. They say that time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t. I have realised that time only provides space for you to heal yourself and focus on other things.

I start cleaning up my spirit, my body and my house. Slowly, I start to accept this truism: that if I ever want to get better, I have got to give me a chance.

Healing is messy but it’s the only choice that one has and as long as you are still breathing there is hope.

Slowly, I start seeing the wound in me. Society has taught the woman that having a man is what validates her as a woman. I start seeing the source of my fear of being alone - validation.

My mind opens to a new world of understanding. Experience is the best teacher.

A Hundred Days of Siri.

By Mystic Venus.