Saturday column: How to start a new life after a hard breakup

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We had known each other for a very long time, but we never communicated closely. He was always a star – that’s all I knew about him, and wasn’t trying to find out more. Until he recently called me to a meeting. To my taste, sapiosexual is impeccable. Intellectual and insanely talented, and his talents combined both creativity and the highly analytical, mathematical sphere of activity. Extremely honest, principled. Well, in order to increase the degree of probable crash, with all its external extroversion, he was still a little cynical and distant, few people close to him. It sounds like an almost perfect cocktail for instant ignition at the end of summer. In addition, he showed a sincere and deep interest in me. When I was sad, he put the right music, when something went wrong – he sent flowers. He asked about my childhood and said that I was probably a wonderful baby, and it always touches me so when someone remembers and praises us little ones. And he directly said that he feels and what he wants. All in all, he was honest and good. My last relationship was long over. Well, what’s not the time for something new?

The gap, everything that led to it and what followed after, destroyed me almost completely. Everything that surrounded this story was so traumatic that I really do not know how I survived this time. What they did to me and how they acted, how I acted myself, it is unbearable even to recall. In this sense, for a long time I really wanted support, care and, to hell, this vulgar flower delivery to the office. All this time I collected myself in pieces. Fortunately in our time there are many good psychotherapists and high-quality day tranquilizers. I learned to re-recognize my feelings, my needs, put them in the first place. I regained my own value, bit by bit, with sharp jumps back and starting all over again, and again, and again. At first, nothing kept me at all except the therapist and true friends. Having a little strength, I returned again to creativity, remembering what filled and gave the taste of my life, returning its authorship to myself. Later, I learned to switch the focus of attention from abstract to my body. To notice where there is tension in my body at this moment, and let it go. Taxi rides, with a soft but confident girth of the belt from the shoulder through the chest, to the stomach and behind the back, became my exercise in releasing the body. To the music in the headphones and smoothly blending into the rotation of the car. I remembered everything that I had forgotten about, remembered myself, the things that made me alive. For example, when I, after a week of a road trip, absolutely dirty and absolutely free, ate strawberries in Sequoia National Park, recalling hundreds of big and small stories that I saw during this trip, and the incredible Grand Canyon the day before, and thought that now, after these stories and this strawberry, with wind and dust on the skin, you can die, but I will live forever – in this memory, in this moment. Or just a feeling of one’s own skin under the fingertips, its smell, how fingers were ingeniously invented, and how they poetically bend, one after another. How many things I experienced, how I grew above myself. What world has created around itself. Having gained a foothold in this state, I was able to continue the process of creation. Multiplying my own values.

And so one day this man appeared. With all his interest in me, something was wrong. He very quickly began to fill all the space that he could get. I later went to bed, exploited my empathy, to listen to and perceive other people's values. My rhythm changed, and I had to remove something to make way for this new one, which was approaching so fast and point blank. And then I felt that my own life is so full, its rhythm supports and nourishes so much, and there is so much to learn and create in front of me that I can not once again start to study and empathize with other people's interests. There are not enough hours in my days for my own hobbies and thoughts, I turned out to be so full, or rather filled, that it is completely impossible to imagine how to give this valuable resource to someone who is so needed to be seen and admired.

My romance with myself only entered the most bewitching phase of co-creation. No, not now, now is not the time. And even sex, which promised to be extremely satisfying from so many perspectives, was not an argument enough to embark on this story. “Listen, you’re a star, of course, and I’m that champion, but I can’t give you anything but sex.” He did not want, he wanted more. As I.

Read also: Saturday column: Hope dies last, or Why do we always return to the former

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