Coffee Cups and Ugly Crying

No photos today friends. No story about hiking, walking, or finding a beautiful image in an otherwise mundane place. Today is just hard, painful, and necessary.

Last night after listening to a book for the second time (Single on Purpose), I “did a thing”. Some of you might have something, or do something that you had or did with someone you loved immensely. What ever it was, so small, or big, it doesn’t matter, but every time you see it, use it, or do it, the feelings you had in that moment with them are always present, bring back the smells, thoughts, motions, and emotions of the “thing”.

For me it is coffee cups. Not just any coffee cups, but coffee cups from someone from a special time in my life. Like the first one she gave me, before we had even been on a second date (maybe we’d been on two dates, isn’t important, its important that she gave me that before we even really knew one another), it came with a painted rock that had “MH + JS” painted on it (it is still in my dad’s guest room because I don’t have it in me to get rid of it). The coffee cup that says “Morning Handsome”. This one hurts at a new level because very recently I found out some specific times, the first of many times, I made her feel she was not a goddess, or beautiful, or my number one. There are funny ones that she gave me with absolute perfect timing only she could do. “I don’t need Google because my girlfriend knows everything”, or “I love you a whole Lotte”.

When I was getting my coffee ready this morning the ugly crying began. Every time I opened the coffee cup door, I would immediately hunch over and loudly blurt out, and ugly cry for a minute or two until I could stand back up. Living alone has its benefits in times like these, no need to be quiet about grief, let it rip.

A few months ago (I honestly can’t remember the month, just the emotion) when I was packing her things into a box for when she wanted them back, I had the same ugly cry moments. Gathering her things out of the shower took a very long time. I left the box on the shower floor for a couple days because the memories of her talking to me while she was showering were to overwhelming. As I packed her things up from the dresser I had to sit on the bed and cry because every single piece of clothing I pulled out of a drawer had a visual memory with an emotional memory attached to it. At the time I thought she was the one that wanted to end the relationship, turns out 6 months later, we talked and I found out she didn’t contact me because I didn’t contact her, and the circle of my poor communication stood up to show its ugly face.

Back to the mugs. I’ve talked to her some today (the new Mary as I call her) and there’s still a familiarity, not a friendliness per say, but the way I write to her is different than I write to anyone else. The way she words things is uniquely Mary (then and now), but our conversations now are very one sided. I truly owe her a debt of gratitude for letting me use text as my sound board and thought process tool. She replies when it is appropriate, or if she’s got something to say, that is important.

Talking about the mugs with her today, and she said “Those mugs were given in a different place and time and people are meant to grow”. Tough to hear, good to hear, true words spoken. People are meant to grow, unfortunately, sometimes to grow you’ve got to fail a few times.

Learning to forgive yourself is hard, learning to let go is a difficult thing to do. People (mainly books and blog posts I’ve read), say to let go of the past. That is something I think is going to be the absolute toughest part of this Singlehood process. I am a nostalgic person. Sentimental value is important to me, but ultimately it is not useful to me. You’re supposed to go through these things by yourself (You come into this world alone, you’ll leave this world alone), but every fiber in me wants to reach out to the people that knew, and know me best. To seek their advice, get encouragement from, and reassurance that through this process I will come out more healthy, stronger, and better for those around me. The crook in this transition of renewal and rebuilding and growing is that, one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my life, is also the woman I’m working through.

How strange is it that the person you want to talk to the most about this process, is also the woman who used to be the woman you loved, and now painfully grieve over? The dichotomy is a strange feeling. The woman I text to now doesn’t “feel” like the same person from a year ago, but she has the same timing of advice, she’s been through this so I feel her words are important, valid, and I admire her for them. I put her through this, now I have the gull to ask for her advice on it? I’ve got ass hole, dick head, fucker, written across my face in spades.

Every Single Day ~ John Kim