It’s been a real rollercoaster ride ever since my boyfriend enlisted.
Up till a month ago, I prided myself on being a strong independent woman, on not needing anyone in order to survive, and because of that, I had expected the transition, from being joined at the hip to only seeing him on weekends like plenty of other couples do, to not necessarily be easy per se, but definitely easier than the hell I’m experiencing right now.
In hindsight, I guess I should’ve known.
People always like to say that they’ll cross the bridge when they get to it, which means that they’ll handle the situation or problem when it presents itself. But crossing those bridges that you will inevitably eventually come to always seem like a much simpler task in your head and when you finally get to them, half the time, they’re made of tattered rope and lit on fire.
Which makes crossing it anything but a pleasant experience, unless, y’know, you’re into that kind of thing, then sure, you do you, boo.
All that aside, I don’t quite know how to describe it but there’s just something about not having your significant other by your side that makes you feel empty. As though they take a part of your heart with them every time they go and leave in its place a pulsating ache that fluctuates between dull and nauseating, but undeniably so ever-present.
Some days, it threatens to consume you, overwhelming and suffocating like the large destructive waves of a stormy ocean. On slightly calmer days, it’s nothing but heavy sighs and wistful gazing at cloud-dotted skies, hoping that wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’s okay.
From what I’ve felt so far, it’s pretty 50-50. Every day’s a gamble.
This week has been especially horrid because he’s off on a mandatory six-day field camp, which means zero contact, no Morse Code, no smoke signals, absolutely no communication, until most probably Monday morning or, hopefully, late Sunday night. And when there’s absolutely no way for him to tell me that he’s perfectly fine, it’s really hard not to make up horrible scenarios and think of the most depressing things that could have happened.
The worry and dread I feel inside is nothing short of torture, to put it simply.
On regular days, we text whenever he has a break in his schedule. We have video calls every night and nothing will be as perfect as having him physically next to me but it’s the closest we can get. At least until he books out again, whenever that is.
But now, I feel lost without his smile, his laughter, his army stories, his lame jokes. I’m dependent on any and every text message, image, voice recording, video clip of him that I have, every Polaroid and Boomerang in my possession, just to remind myself that he’s not gone and that, not to worry, I’ll see him again very soon.
If only everything didn’t remind me of him. Maybe his absence would be more bearable then. But then again, maybe not.
When we’re apart, I don’t have the motivation to do anything. Neither do I have much of an appetite. But I force myself to stay busy. I force myself to eat. I force myself to function as a normal human should but I feel like I’m just going through the motions, like my body is doing all the work but my mind and soul are elsewhere, wandering through some hazy realm like restless ghosts.
It isn’t right. It sounds bleak. But that’s how it is at the present moment.
Not a second goes by that I don’t wish for him to just come home and never leave again, for us to run away together and never look back.
But, oh, how idealistic.
It’s dumb of me to dream of such things.
j . 