Off My Chest


Hello empty box.

It’s been awhile.

I wasn’t going to make this blog a personal one when I started it, but I’ve never really felt an urge to post to this blog as strong as the one I have now. I have something on my chest, a weight, that I need to get off of it.

The worst thing about a break-up from a long term relationship isn’t just the end of something that once had a pulsing vibrant heart. It’s not the sudden financial burden of losing a partner who was providing more support. It’s not the sudden loss of emotional support through the hardships of life (though that’s nice). The hardest parts of losing something as significant as a long term relationship is:

The Meaninglessness

Before a break up, every moment is bright with potential. Every accomplishment, failure, story, or conversation becomes a moment to share with someone. I feel like I’m always expecting to be able to look over my shoulder when something happens and see someone there with their hands on my shoulders giving me comfort, smiling at the moment, or laughing with me. Now, I look over my shoulder and there’s a ghost of the person who used to be there. The building blocks of life seem to have less meaning because at the center of those building blocks was a cornerstone on which every block connected.

Now the palpable loneliness greets me every time I do something and expect to be able to share it. I feel a tug in my chest and those strings are wavering in the air looking for something that’s no longer there to connect with. The little things that build up meaning suddenly are smaller, and a reminder of what was once. Speaking of reminders:


See, in a long term relationship people often give one another things to show their affection. As the years pass these things build and build up. What’s worse is all the things matter to me. Their connected to my interests because that someone I had knew what I wanted. The mechanical keyboard I’m typing this up on was a gift. The musical keyboard that I’m learning to play to try and find some new meaning for myself was another one. My favorite watch which I wear around my left wrist everyday, its face embossed with my superhero idol (Spider-Man), greets me whenever I check the time.

Each of these things surrounding me brings the ghosts of what once was back to me. Memories playing in front of my eyes, both good and bad, and pull me into the past. It’s hard not to wallow in the sadness of those moments.

What’s harder is that these things are intrinsically linked forever to who I am. I can’t be rid of them because they belong with me. Picked out with precision for me. They tell a story of someone who used to care for me, and that’s what’s hard because now where love used to be there’s:


Especially for me, breaking up means that the universe become that much more meaningless. I’ve often thought myself a existentialist, but occasionally I drop into bouts of nihilism. We’re all just trying to stave of the dread of truth: that ultimately we don’t have any place in the universe.

Having someone’s love means that suddenly there’s meaning in your life. That person, they look at you, and they see you, and that seeing means something. The universe becomes less dreadful because you can find a place to hang on for dear life when the absurdness of human existence begins to try to blow you away into the void.

Now, I feel myself slipping, my fingers slipping off the edges of the rail that I already had a loose grip on anyway. Maybe it’s my depression, but I can feel that place pulling me into it in my darker moments and sometimes I’m afraid it’s going to eat me alive.

What now?

I don’t know.

I’m picking up the pieces of myself and trying to see if they make a shape. I’m afraid, deeply frightened, that they won’t.

All I can do is…

Continue looking at my things and trying to figure out what they were meant for.

Continue looking for a job to support myself as a single person.

Continue to instruct my classes as best as I’m able.

Continue to study the subject of my field and attempt to master it.

Continue to make connections with friends who care about me.


Hopefully, choosing to continue enough times means that those pieces will come together again, and I can figure out what it means to be whole.

I promise, I won’t just make this a place to get things off my chest. I need to write interesting things into it, and I will do that. For now, this post, this is for me. It’s what I need, and I did need it.

Thanks for reading.