I’m day four into my new single life and pretty much hating it. I feel like a bi-polar head case! One minute I’m at peace with what’s happened, holding strong onto my discontent for the past year and a half. The next minute I’m choking back tears thinking about some of the great adventures we’ve been on, the dreams we had, and how well we complimented one another with our shared interests, mannerisms, and sense of humor. He really is my best friend and someone I found great comfort in.

Our issues are deep. Aren’t everyone’s? And although we mesh so well, we also clash so horribly. Not getting into the gritty details, I’ll summarize by highlighting my key issues—no intimacy (not in the last year), passive-aggressiveness (I’m guilty of this, too), and addiction behaviors including three relapses in the past year.

Let me talk about that last bullet for a moment. Most people shame those in recovery. They’ll hear that and immediately pass judgment. Well, I view things a little differently. We all have a past. As long as that past doesn’t negatively impact our futures, I’m not going to hold it against. For the first half of our relationship he was pretty solid in recovery. Yes, there are characteristics that come along with those in recovery that are red flags for many—need to control, impatience, emotional immaturity, selfishness, secretive—but while he was healthily managing his demons, these common traits weren’t overbearing. That has not been the case for the last year. Although I would like to be that strong partner that stands by him while he slays demons, I can’t handle it anymore—especially since he’s not fighting for himself. What good is it for me to support someone who doesn’t even want to make healthy decisions? It’s just a mess. Such a mess, he’s not even fully admitting he has a problem right now.

So those last two paragraphs are pretty much what my head is telling my heart in effort to simmer down the flurry of sadness. My heart however is holding onto the magic of how well we work together. You know, those tiny moments that matter so much. Kisses good morning, holding hands across parking lots, tackling a two-mile hike straight up a mountain—you get the idea.

The worse is waking up in the morning and the reality hitting all at once. It’s an instant panic attack. Making it from the bed to the shower is like trying to cross a burning pit of coal. Each step sends pain from my heels to my heart. I can’t wait for this part of the healing process to be behind me.

It’s terrifying to look ahead, too. If I try to think about the healing timeline, I want to vomit. I’m a very emotional person (ENFP for those who know what that means), and the big picture of healing is completely overwhelming. I’m definitely fighting the internal struggle. It’s a shitty life marker. I’m so angry at the universe, at myself, at just everything right now … ugh.