My Old Apartment

There is still a lot at my old apartment. Despite the hours packing and moving and the moving truck and relatives it didn’t all get packed let alone moved but I have some time to work on that. Today was going to be one of those days. My plan was run out to the old apartment load up the car with stuff and then head to the new apartment and drop it off before running a few much needed errands and then returning to my sister’s. The idea has my stomach in knots.

My new place was to be the start of beginning. I specifically kept in mind JR moving here with every apartment I looked at. It was going to be “our” home. Not my place that he visited like my old place. Him being a chef, I took into consideration the kitchen. And space was an issue, I wanted enough room that he could bring all of his stuff with him and it really be “our” home.

Now none of that matters. My new home is the start of a beginning. The beginning of being without the man I love.

The old apartment which I was more than happy to get rid of now has more meaning. He cooked for me in that kitchen, we played video games in that den, we slept on that bed (I even have a new mattress). Everything tangible I have about him is in that place.

That’s a big part of the problem with a long-distance relationship. There was so little “tangible”. Now that I am the other woman I find myself flooded with doubts that we really existed at all. Letting go of that apartment is letting go of the one thing that says “yes he was here”.

Going back there, especially to move stuff out, is painful. More so than I’d like to admit. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that today.