I haven’t written in a long time. Frankly, there are only so many ways to write that I can detail being deceived, falling in love, and becoming heartbroken. I was starting to bug myself, so I stopped writing. I dealt with my pain by myself. While adjusting to new meds, I started to think about him less, though when I did, it was still equal to, or maybe more, excruciating as before.
After more than a decade, a combination of medicines were effective. I kept waiting for them to stop working, as several had before. But they’re still working. I can think of them and kind of reminisce in a sad, regretful way. There are still really bad moments, like when a recipe calls for a certain herb. A herb that was the subject of a corny inside joke. Or when I go inside a gas station to buy a snack. But the hardest moments are far between and bearable. I can’t believe I’m saying that. In my worst moments, I vowed to not eat or drink until he contacted me again.
I’ll probably remember them for the rest of my life, especially in the summers. I have an incredible memory for sentimental, gut-wrenching things. I’ll remember him when I cook, or see a certain hairstyle, or when a voice has the same tone. Or when a certain state has another huge drug bust. But for right now, that’s okay. I can handle remembering him.
I can handle it now.