Follow up to “Sorry. I can’t. Don’t Hate Me–“

In my recent diatribe regarding the similarity between my life and a particular episode in the fifth season of Sex and the City, I spent about three seconds mourning the loss of the “fun” of the somewhat-dating-relationship in my life. I decided, like Carrie, that I would spend as much time mourning the loss of it as he did ending it. And so, I moved on.

Moving on from relationships, no matter how fun, serious, long, or short–has always involved some sort of process from me. And of course, I’m sure if I were to ask for a show of hands on this one that I’d get plenty raised, it is so much easier to move on from the person when they’re cut out of your life. I’ve never understood how people can truly move on from a relationship (no matter what capacity it was) when they do not cut the person out of their life. This means no more seeing the person, no more calling, texting, and in some extreme cases–defriending and blocking on Facebook. (Guilty, guilty, and guilty of all of the above)

So when a person is cut out of our lives in an attempt to “get over” the relationship, is that really what makes us move on? The act of removing them and having them no longer around physically, over the phone, or internet is a process that takes getting used to. Sure, you’re no longer seeing the person. You’re no longer talking. You’re no longer spending time with them at their apartment, or yours, or out at night. But what happens to the attraction? What happens to the feeling that is associated with their existance? That cannot be cut out of our lives. Why? Because it’s not an animate object that we can remove. It’s merely feelings. It’s internal. And that can keep growing, multiplying, reproducing no matter how much we try to physically remove the person.

Then, what happens when their existence crosses your existence? Where does all that attraction and feeling go? I like to think of it as being stored away somewhere that’s not so “feel-able,” such as my feet, or in cliche terms, “the back of my mind.” It’s there, it’s present, but it’s not a constant dwelling at the front of my mind. But seeing them again–that is what makes it become tangible. And it rises from my feet back into the forefront of my mind faster than vomit soaring up my esophagus. Damnit.

There it is. Attraction. Feeling. Everything associated with the person, back up right where I can see, and feel it.

Now what? I’ve spent the last month without feeling, without communicating, and I’d say I’ve done a good job at it. But that attraction–where did it go? Not only is it manifesting within my head, or feet, or wherever–it is somewhere where I can feel it. And that–is toxic.

“Maybe we just obsess over relationships that seem unfinished.”

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