This was not the post I was expecting to write.
I am supposed to be sitting in a moving van with all of my worldly belongings and the love of my life driving South towards a life that I had so desperately yearned for. But just a few short days ago, after all of the plans had been made, I was asked not to move to Florida.
It feels as though my entire world has crumbled down around me.
Now, my collection of possessions are sitting just blocks from my soon-to-be vacated apartment. I am heartbroken, homeless and lost of all hope.
Long-distance got the best of this long-distance relationship.
It’s a dark place to be.
And I am taking this blog to the heart of the darkness. I’ve lost my appetite, so don’t expect any light-hearted recipes and cute stories from my childhood in the near future. I thought about not writing about this; to keep it all to myself. It’s not about the boy and what happened. It’s about searching myself and finding a way. Writing therapy, if you will. To make it public will keep things in perspective; to be fair to all parties involved.
Healing takes time and space.
So instead of heading South with the person I built a life with, I am heading West for a while with my constant companions, Puck and Kudzu, to lick my wound in the welcoming, supportive and loving arms of my family. And to surround myself in the grey mist of the Pacific Northwest. A gloominess that mirrors that in my heart and mind.
In my heart, I know that there is majesty and beauty and sheer awesomeness beneath it all.
I just don’t know when the sun will come out from behind the clouds.