I take morning runs now. I come back from today’s exhausted, but invigorated. I can’t believe I’m saying that. Those words don’t go together, at least they never did for me. Running was always one of those things I’d see other people doing on Instagram, #running, #morningrun, #feelingtheburn. I used to scroll right past those posts, thinking the people in them were special kinds of lunatics for waking up before their day started, so that they could get all sweaty and wreck their feet before work. But now I run every morning, and now I’m on my way to Starbucks to refuel. Morning exercise is part of my regimen—the homework my new therapist gave me.

Oh, I have a new therapist! I left the Elvis doctor I was seeing after Brandon and I took our break. I did a lot of things after we took our break. I’ve never been the most organized person in the world, but the best thing I did was to make a list. I did it old school—a black, Bic pen on yellow note pad paper, and I taped it to the board in my kitchen that I never use, as a daily reminder of my goals. Some of them were long term goals, but some were immediate changes that I know I can make now. Abby and Carla came over and helped me. We did some research, found a lot of contacts and websites online, and we searched out things to help the symptoms of depression and anxiety. I called it my Getting Better List. Here’s what I put on it:

1. Exercise every day
2. Meditate every day for ten minutes
3. Eat better
4. No drinking
5. Write in a daily journal
6. See my therapist twice a week
7. Avoid toxic people and toxic situations in my life

It’s a pretty generic list, but I’ve been trying to do everything on it, and so far it’s making a difference. There’s no ‘cure’ for what I have, but everything I’m reading from people who’ve gotten better say that these things take the edge off, and so far, I feel like a better version of myself. It’s not perfect, and I sure as hell am not perfect, but I’m starting to see the me underneath all of the emotional debris. My new therapist is great, the complete opposite of the other people I’ve seen. I can see why he isn’t for everyone, but I love that he’s a no-bullshit, get at the heart of the matter kind of guy. That’s just what I need.

When I get back to my place I see another delivery sitting outside my doorstep. Brandon told me when we agreed to this time apart that I’d hear from him, but not in a traditional way. I didn’t know what he meant by that at the time, but I found out only one day later. He’s sent me something every single day since we’ve been away from each other. Sometimes he drops something off at my house, and other times I hear the knock of a delivery man leaving a box from any number of places. Literally every day there’s something else.

This week has been some of the coolest things. On Monday it was flowers, but not just any flowers—it was three dozen lilies, my favorite flower, in all different colors. On Tuesday it was a book he found about dealing with your depression through Yoga. On Wednesday he sent me some old pictures of himself when he was in college, and a handwritten note about what was happening in each one. They’re not just gifts—anyone can buy a simple gift. They’re things he knows will make me happy, or make me feel better, or help me know more about him. And it’s those things I love the most. His first gift was a keepsake box—a big, hand-carved wooden box that he had delivered. Inside there was a note that said,

I have to say, I was terrified when we started this experiment, even though it was my idea. I honestly thought he was going to break up with me within a week—that some normal girl would scoop him up and he’d send me a text telling me to forget about this dumb ‘taking a break’ thing we were doing. That was my insecurity whispering in my ear like it has a tendency to do. At least it wasn’t screaming like it usually does. But after I got that first package from him I knew that he was in this with me, and I started shifting my mental energy from worrying about us to fixing myself.

Abby was a huge part of that. She went into full best friend mode, and she really didn’t owe me anything. I had used her as a crutch in the past, she was right about that, even though I didn’t think of it that way at the time. But as soon as I told her about the situation with Brandon, and that I was trying to follow her advice to make my life better, she jumped in without any hesitation. She did research, read books, found websites for me, and even helped me shop for the best foods for my gut health! I owe Abby forever, and not just for the past few weeks, but for a lifetime of dealing with my shit with minimal complaining.

When we started this, Brandon asked me how long. I didn’t have a good answer, and maybe I still don’t. There was no timeframe in my head, just a goal—get better. It’s been two months, and it seems like an eternity without him. I love his gifts, but I miss him so much. It’s me keeping us apart, but I don’t want to rush into anything too fast and screw up all the progress I’ve made. There’s only one person who can help make this decision for me, and she’s waiting at Starbucks for me. I’m about to walk in now.

“Hey!” Abby waves enthusiastically and I see her out of the corner of my eye.

I see two drinks sitting at the table she’s waiting at. “Hey. Did you order for me?” I see two drinks sitting at the table she’s waiting at.

“I did. I’m like the man in a 1920’s movie.”

“Then that would make us a lesbian couple, then?”

“Whatever works. You could do worse.” We laugh and I take a gulp. She knows my drink by now. I always order the same thing — hot, venti caramel macchiato, extra caramel. There’s nothing like getting to those last few sips at the bottom where all the caramel is hiding. The warm sweet feeling in my throat is comforting. I’m running a lot but still not totally in shape, so I’ve been panting half the way here. The coffee feels good going down. “How was your run? God, that still sounds so strange to say to you.”

“I know, right? And good. I’m still getting the hang of it. I feel like I’m spastic, like Phoebe in that Friends episode where she runs all crazy.”

“Who cares how you look?” she says. “You’re doing it. That’s amazing. Think about yourself doing this six months ago.”

“No way,” I tell her. “Hell, two months ago, even. If you asked me to go for a run?”

“You’d have laughed. You might still be laughing at me.”

“Right. But it helps. Everything on our list helps.”

“Your list,” she says, correcting me. “You’re the one doing the work.”

“But I never would have even made a list like that without you. Listen, Abby, I never said this to you, but you were right about how I treated you before. I didn’t do it intentionally, you have to believe me on that, and I’m so sorry. From the bottom of my heart. I was selfish.”

“I love you. You know that. I’m always here for you, no matter what.” Best friend goals. “But I appreciate you saying that, and I’m so happy to see that you’re doing well.”

“Better,” I correct. “I’m doing better. I still feel all of those feelings. I still have all of those thoughts. They don’t go away, but I’m starting to see them for what they are, and that helps me to put them in their place.”

“Well that’s great news. And I guess that’s all you can hope for. Recovery is a marathon, not a sprint, right? There’s no magic cure.”

“There sure isn’t. And please don’t mention any running metaphors right now, my feet are still killing me.” We both laugh and sip our drinks. I’m glad she accepted my apology. Part of my recovery isn’t just healthy eating and long therapy sessions, it’s also about making amends to people I’ve hurt, and being a person that I can be proud of. And there’s no one I want to make amends to more than. . .

“Brandon?” she asks. “I don’t mean to bring him up, but what’s going on with you two?”

“He’s been around,” I tell her. “Just not physically. He lets me know he’s thinking of me, always. He’d drop everything and be at my door in a second if I asked him. It’s me. I’m not sure I’m ready yet.”

“Be thankful that you have a man who’s willing to give you that much space, just so you can get better. Do you know how rare of a quality that is, Lia? Imagine most men taking a two-month break with no dates, no sex, no time together—and now imagine that man not cheating or breaking up with you.”

I actually have thought about that, a lot. It still amazes me that he’s out there, waiting for me, talking to me without talking to me, hoping more than anything else that I get better. I won the lottery when I met him, I’m just worried I’ll mess it up. And I feel bad that I haven’t been there for him and all the things he’s said he was going to work on, but I think that these were journeys we had to make alone. But I miss him. I miss him a lot. His touch, his voice, the way he smiles at me and chases all of my demons away. I miss all of it. I want to see him again.

“Maybe it’s time.”

“Well, only you would know, Lia. Trust yourself for once. If it’s time, then let him know.”

After coffee, I walk back to my place. I’ve had enough running for one day. As I do, thoughts of Brandon and me occupy my every thought. I think of a million pros and cons, a million reasons to not reach out yet, but something inside me still tells me it’s right. I don’t know. When I get home, I see an envelope taped to the door of my apartment. It’s just sitting there—a white envelope with my full name on it, TALIA, written in block letters with a Sharpie. I know it’s Brandon who left it because he’s the only one who calls me that. This is the second time I’m coming home to a letter from a man I’m seeing. I hope this reads better than the first.

I take it off the door and go inside. I don’t take my shoes off, or go to the bathroom, or anything else I’d normally do when I walk in the door. My heart is racing when I see my name. I love that he leaves things for me, and that he’s thinking of me, and I love that he was here. I open it up like I’m unwrapping a present, and inside I see a handwritten letter from Brandon. I don’t waste any time. I open it and start reading:

Talia,

God, I miss you. I can’t say that enough for you to truly understand how much, but outside of breathing, eating, and working on myself, missing you is all that I do with my time now. I trust you’ve gotten my special packages, just as you’ve gotten this letter. Those gifts weren’t bribes, or ways to convince you that we should be together after our break is over. Those things are me—expressions of how I feel when I can’t tell you in person. Some of them reminded me of you, some I just thought you’d like, and the others were ways of telling you about things I’ve been through in my past without having to tell you over dinner or something. I hope you’ve gotten them all, and I hope that you see them for what they are, and that all of my little ‘presents’ mean something to you.

I don’t know exactly what you’ve been up to these couple of months, but I’ve been doing some soul searching. I finally sold Alexa’s apartment. My parents even helped. I reached out to them, after not speaking to them for so long, and we had a talk—a real talk, like ours was that night we started our little experiment—and even though things aren’t perfect between us, we squashed some of the guilt and anger we all had over Alexa’s death. There’s a still a long way to go, but we took the first steps, largely because of you.

You know that I’ll give you as long as you need—forever, if forever is what it takes. But I miss you, and I hope that whatever you’re going through, that you let me be a part of it soon, and that I can be with you again. Be in touch soon.

—Brandon

I don’t realize there’s a tear that’s formed until it’s dripping down my face, hitting the beautiful letter in my hands. The tear hits the ‘d’ in his name, and the black ink starts to run, downwards towards the bottom. I pull it away because I don’t want to ruin it, I want to save it forever, and I know just the place. I read it one more time, just so I remember his sweet words, and then I fold it back up before putting it in the keepsake box he got for me.

I’d been hesitating to see him, mostly out of fear that I wasn’t ready yet, and if we went back to exactly how we were before we took the break, that it would end in disaster. But now I wonder. Maybe I’m being crazy and living in the past, when I was the ruiner of everything good in my life. Part of this whole thing is trusting myself—accepting when things get better in my life. I’m going to do what all those people used to recommend that I do back in high school and college when I had a big decision to make — I’m going to sleep on it.

I spend the rest of my day relaxing, and doing a few things that I need to do for work. After that I make myself a healthy dinner, eat, and take an evening walk to burn some of it off. After my evening meditation, I watch some TV— a few Netflix shows that I started and never finished, and then I decide to go to bed.

When I wake up I’m going to make a decision about Brandon and me, about us, and I’m going to live my truth.