Pack it up, pack it in!

29 Jan

I stopped by the apartment the other night to grab some gym clothes on the way to meeting a girlfriend for a sweat-fest. As I walked in I thought, “Wow, did he clean up?” And he had.

He had straightened up everything — my books and DVDs were piled on the windowsill, my toiletries were bagged up on the shelf in the bathroom (minus the ones in the shower that he was using) and all my clothing, including the towels that had been hanging on the racks, were shoved in the closet, door closed.

It was as if he couldn’t stand to be around by my stuff. A small thought popped up, “Maybe it’s too hard to look at my things, which were as good as his things, knowing I wouldn’t be around anymore?” But I knew better.

He was collecting the remnants of ‘us’ and pushing them away — just as he did in his mind and in his heart.

The realization that he could so easily erase me from his life hurt more deeply than any other action had. I felt a deep sense of rejection.

I thought back to the holiday party we had attended only a month earlier at the house of a mutual friend of him and his ex-girlfriend. After leaving he explained that he had no interest in chatting with her, finding out what she was up to or divulging what was going on in his life. She was “in the past” and he didn’t care. With 100+ photos of their relationship, trips together and nights out on the town still posted on his Facebook page and website, I didn’t understand how he could ignore her role in his life. How could he view her as nothing put a piece of the past while he continued to advertise her to the online public?

Now, in the same place myself, I get it. I’ve been put in a box, on a shelf in his mind, to be left alone until I may pop up again.

Hmmmm….

I’m still up and down… sad followed by smiles, weak kicked out by strong, angry sprinkled with acceptance. So while hanging around my house on an upswing, I purged my own residence of his touch — clothes ripped from the closets, pillows thrown from the bed, gifts boxed away, until I had a nice little pile of ‘stuff,’ a representation of something I once trusted and believed in.

If he doesn’t want to be reminded of me, then he doesn’t deserve the space in my place that once welcomed him unconditionally.

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