Chapter Fifteen
It didn’t make sense to Sasha that she was still feeling so down after all this time. Surely she should have moved on by now? It had been well over a year since they’d split up. Surely she should be dressing up in gorgeous clothes and high heels, stepping out on dates with eligible bachelors, clinking champagne glasses and being treated to fancy meals?
But the truth was, she seemed to be getting worse, not better. The emptiness engulfed her. The silence. The absence of any emails from him whatsoever. The nothingness. There was just nothing, like a blank canvas; nothing to look back on, nothing to look forward to.
Depression. That’s what it was called; according to her doctor, that is. Apathy, lack of energy, emptiness, nothingness. That, and the feeling that she couldn’t breathe. The feeling would come over her all of a sudden; the terrifying, shocking realisation that she couldn’t breathe; that the walls were closing in on her. The doctor prescribed her medication; a heavy dose of anti-depressants and an even heavier dose of beta-blockers, designed to slow down the heart rate.
Sasha knew she found it impossible to move on. If moving on meant dating other guys, then she just couldn’t do it. What if she opened her heart to someone new, only for it to be stamped all over again?
She compared her break-up with Kirk to a car accident. If it was, then she was still suffering. Metaphorically, she was still in hospital, bed-bound with the injuries. She was worn down by heartbreak and depression. If this was what one break-up had done to her, what would happen if she had to go through another? What if the next break-up completely finished her off? If Kirk was an accident, the next break-up could be a fatal collision.
Sometimes she caught glimpses of other girls, walking hand-in-hand with their partners, making it look so effortless and easy. How did they do it? How did they dance from one relationship to another, seemingly unharmed, while she, Sasha, crashed and burned?
Sasha had tried other dates since Kirk – of course she had. Coffee dates here and there; episodes where she had forced herself to try to move on. But dates with other guys just did not compare with Kirk. When she looked back on those early dates with Kirk, she reminisced at their chemistry, their connection, the way they laughed and joked and talked for ages, the humour, the fun, the laughter, the sex. It was as if, when Kirk came along, Sasha’s world lit up. Where previously it had been black and white, now her world jumped into colour. The hotel stays, the romantic meals in restaurants, the sex. Everything was new and exciting. But then, when that was ripped away from her, her world quickly went back to black and white.
The attempts at new dates just didn’t compare. The guys from the online dating forum all asked the same monotonous questions:
• Where do you live?
• What do you work at?
What do you think of online dating?
It was worse than black and white. It was hell.
The depression settled down like a thick layer of snow. She’d had too many months of trying to move on and failing miserably. What started as feeble positive attempts to start afresh, settled into apathetic depression and the failure to progress.
Life, which was once multi-coloured, was now grey. There was no hope.
And then there was the horrible night of the tablets.
She just wanted the pain to stop. So she took a couple of tablets. The pain relief didn’t kick in quickly enough, so she took a couple more. Then a couple more. Then a couple more. It wasn’t that she wanted to overdose. Really, she didn’t. But, lying there in a heap on the floor, full of tablets, her head sank into a woozy heaviness that made her feel like something out of the movie Trainspotting; as though she was sinking down through the floor.
After that, she slept.
Waking the next morning, her eyes adjusted slowly to the sight around her. She was lying on the carpet. She was still fully clothed. Her limbs ached. Her throat ached.
Everything ached.
It was a moment of clarity; a lightbulb moment; as though someone had reached inside her and flicked a switch.
Enough.
Enough is enough.
He has done enough damage. Too much. Are you really going to let him make you suffer like this? Are you going to make yourself this depressed? Is it really him that is making you feel like this or is it you who are allowing yourself to feel like this?
Enough!
She needed to do something, anything, to stop wallowing like this. She had to change.
And the only thing she had to change was her thoughts.
She decided to pray for him; like she’d do for a sick friend. Yes, he had treated her badly, but he was obviously a very sick person. He was full of fear and anxiety. His childhood had been terrible. His dad had abused his mum. He had a fear of relationships. He was just running scared.
She suspected that he had a drink problem; possibly he still had a drug problem. His emails had always come late at night, maybe when he was drunk or high, possibly when he was relaxed enough to reach out to her. And then, the next morning, in the cold light of day, in sobriety, his fear and anxiety would kick in.
She prayed for him every day, prayed to forgive him, forgive him for his fear and anxiety, let him go with love. She would have done anything to try to dislodge the iceberg of resentment that was causing depression in her.
The praying did help. As the weeks rolled by, she noticed that her resentment towards him began to melt, like a freezer left open to defrost.
Instead of feeling angry at him, she felt sorry for him; like pitying a sick child. The resentment had melted sufficiently by the time he emailed her again. It was in one of her moments of weakness that she found the email. What was the point of applying a filter to an email, if she went rooting around in the virtual bin to see if there were any deleted messages? It was the battle that went on in her head; ‘divert his emails to the bin’ and then, ‘check the bin to see if there’s any emails in there’. Ridiculousness, she knew. Insane, even. That was love. Both ridiculous and insane.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
I just found out today that my sister has been diagnosed with breast cancer. I am all over the place.
K x
Sasha stared at the screen in shock. Was this really happening? Was he really emailing her after all this time?
There was no apology; no, ‘I’m sorry for contacting you when I said I wouldn’t,’ no formal introductions, just splurging his news, his big news.
Sasha knew what would have been running through his head. He was in shock. He was distressed. He was reaching out to someone that he wanted comfort from. He was reaching out to her.
She told herself that it was endearing; that here he was, at a family emergency, and the first person he reached out to was her. The person he wanted comfort from was Sasha. The person he loved was Sasha.
Why wasn’t he reaching out to his new girlfriend?
Because he still loves me, that’s why, Sasha told herself.
Denial is a powerful thing, she thought, when she looked back at that episode. Denial had allowed her to tell herself all sorts of excuses for him; that and praying for him. The praying had softened her heart; melted it like butter running over a hot potato.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Oh Kirk! That’s terrible news! I’m so sorry to hear this! My heart goes out to you. Is there anything I can do to help?
Sasha x x
Yet again she had replied immediately. Honestly, she thought, she really should learn to play it cool. But cool jumped out the window long ago, along with her self-esteem and self-respect.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Thanks Sasha. I really appreciate it. Maybe I’ll jump on a bus and come up to see you one day?
K x
Sasha held her breath. Really? After all this time he was really going to land on the doorstep?
It was that dream she had secretly harboured all this time, that fantasy that he would suddenly turn up proclaiming that he still loved her, stating that he was sorry, that he had made a big mistake; that he hadn’t stopped loving her, that he would always love her, that he couldn’t live without her. He would then get down on bended knee and produce a huge ring and everything would work out perfectly, like some romantic novel.
Except that this wasn’t a romantic novel, this was life; her life, and all she had was an email from him.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Yeah, that’d be cool. If I can be a listening ear or any help, I would like that.
Sasha x x
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Okay, great. How about next Thursday?
K x
Again Sasha took a sharp intake of breath. Was this really happening? Was he really making concrete plans to see her? After all this time? Sasha wouldn’t believe it until she actually opened the door and saw him standing there.
But, true to his word, he emailed the following week, confirming that he’d meet her in the train station on Thursday lunchtime.