Living Apart: 417 Days

I came back to live in the states and go back to work on November 17th, 2016.  That means Steven and I have been doing this distance marriage thing for 417 days.

FOUR HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN DAYS, PEOPLE.

We've each had our ups and downs, and luckily never at the same time so we can offer each other moral support. And I was more or less fine for the most of the year.

I was exhausted and half-numb from trying to get used to 60+ hour work weeks again and 2 new jobs (I switched companies 6 months in). But all things considered I compartmentalized relatively well.

Or at least I thought I was considering the circumstances. I managed to hold it together at work (which was a useful distraction from the nothingness at home) but not much else. Seriously, I did nothing else (remember this post from March and this one from April?).

Our visits and trips got us through the year. We saw each other five times last year and each one was more blissful than the last.

But each one was also followed by a fairly harsh 'coming down' period and another roller coaster of feelings. But after each one I eventually re-compartmentalized myself.

And then we went to France in the beginning of October and that made all the difference. Every empty and hollow feeling I had was replaced with reminders of what I value, who and what I am, and the life I want to lead. It was wonderful.

And when I came back, I was different. Something happened in my head/heart and I just couldn't put myself back together in quite the same way as before.

I think being that happy and fulfilled made pretending afterwards a bit of a joke. But I still had my job and that innate/sometimes self-defeating desire to do well at it, and we still had goals that made sense. So when I went back to work it was coupled with a harsher sense of the trade-offs, but also at least some determination to see it through for a while longer.

And then things at work deteriorated. The hours got longer, behavior got uglier, and it was decently miserable. A handful of people quit and I was proud of them for knowing themselves and their boundaries, but also more aware of the ridiculous trade-off I was making to be there.

But of course, I know what's wrong with me. I just keep doing what I'm doing anyway.

I slid back into the numbness of work work work, long distance calls in the middle of the night to Steven, and sleeping just a handful of hours. Rinse, repeat.

And then Thanksgiving rolled around and I just couldn't hold it together after that, at least not really. I finally cried about this whole thing, and then I couldn't really stop.

So naturally, I tried coping with it by cutting myself some bangs at 2am on a weeknight. And while I love the bangs (really, I do), of course it didn't work.

And I've been hobbling along like a wounded bird ever since.

Aaaaand I'm back at work tomorrow.