Alone Time

“Are you coming tonight?”

I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes. Mariana stared at me with a look of eagerness, a look that hurt me to make disappear. She’d asked this question the past month about twice a week, each time a little emptier than the last. I didn’t blame her. I hung my head, a head so heavy on my shoulders, and weakly shrugged.

With that, she pursed her lips, tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, and gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “Just let me know if you’re ready, Molly.”

The idea of being ‘ready’ seemed unattainable. 

Breaking up with Dominic was one of the most painful things I’d ever endured. Never in my life could I imagine the pain that comes with saying goodbye to a long term partner, and the relationship we tirelessly worked to build together. This entire month was one of complete and utter despair. I was a negative mass of energy that did what it was supposed to do, but saw no point in it.

Mariana saw this. She saw my grief. She stayed with me the night we ended things, and the following few nights. I couldn’t bear to be alone, even more so in current times, and she knew it. We sat in my dim living room, illuminated only by the street lamp outside, and uttered no words. No television, no music. What I needed was another soul in the room, cradling in it what was left of mine. 

Those nights were some of the darkest nights I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. The dust stirred in the light peaking through the blinds, giving a thin coat to the surfaces of a room I no longer cared for. This room was now haunted. He had claimed this space by filling it with futile memories. Memories of the nights where we’d laugh over a game of cards and a few too many glasses of Chardonnay, memories of running my fingers through his thick, sandy hair while watching Survivor. 

These broke my heart more than the times of struggle. Reminiscing about these peaceful moments only reminded me of the current state my life was in.

But one memory pulled the trigger.

One evening, one gut-wrenching evening, consumed me wholly every time it invaded my thoughts. The evening where we sat on my velvet blue sofa, chatting about how we would spend the night. He contributed little to the talk of plans. The soft light of the sun’s setting glow made the room airy, almost dreamlike, looking back. White wainscoting wrapped around the perimeter of the room, just below the pale yellow walls, a color Dominic insisted on, and still remains in a now olive green room.

Alarm bells went off in my head. Something was wrong, this I was sure of. So I pressed the matter. 

Before a word could be spoken, his face gave it away. His expression is forever ingrained in my mind.

“It’s… I don’t know how to say this. I don’t think this relationship is what I want anymore.”

My heart disintegrated. If it wasn’t pounding in my chest, ringing in my ears, I would’ve thought the fucking thing gave out.

But that’s all in the past. Just as the version of me before that evening is.

*

People would call me the life of the party, once upon a time. I was always equipped with an enticing story, a clever joke, or an ear willing to listen. These were things I never saw in myself, despite those around me telling me otherwise— I only saw them once they vanished.

My energy was drawn from the people around me. I’d make every effort to go out whenever I was able to, hanging out with friends at the local watering hole, or maybe grabbing a cup of coffee. Of course, Dominic was by my side in a majority of those excursions.

Our inseparability was apparent to everyone who encountered us. In some way, I felt that my inability to be alone created an unhealthy dynamic. My identity had been placed within his, and his within mine. 

I no longer knew what I needed. Did I need to try and go out with Mariana, surrounding myself with people? Or did I stay like I had each night of that month, succumbing to my unmade bed the second I returned from work? 

Any conversation I’ve had since that evening has left me feeling like a broken record. Without a second thought, his name escapes my mouth. It’s as though I have to talk about it until it makes sense, but it doesn’t. Shutting out the world was easier than boring people with memories of my partner. Ex partner. 

Never in my life had I spent such a prolonged period of time in a state of isolation such as this. The idea of enjoying alone time had always baffled me each time I entertained it. But what slowly crept up on me was that, every so often, alone time was pretty okay.

When you recharge through other people, sacrifices are always made. You won’t get to go exactly where you want, as you have to take into account the desires and opinions of your friends. Or with Dominic, I realized that I was so concerned with his wants, I’d often suppressed my own. Rarely was there a sacrifice on his end, partially due to my submissive nature, but partially due to his selfishness. The food we ate, the music we listened to, the shows we’d watch, the nights we’d get together. It was all according to his schedule, catering to his needs.

Alone time had helped me come to this conclusion. I am submissive in nature, and had grown accustomed to constant compromise. There was never really any pausing to consider what it was I wanted. It wasn’t that I planned to dismiss the feelings or opinions of others when I eventually began to see people again. But, next time around, I would also ensure that I wasn’t silencing myself.

This has revealed to me that heartbreak is productive, in a way. I learned what my needs are, and what I required from myself to heal. 

I see the person I once claimed to be, someone labeled extroverted and social, someone who created connections and genuine camaraderie. Introversion was, in my mind, a personal failure. With this, I was presented with an unsettling truth. It was an effect to a worrisome cause. 

To be alone was my personal hell. I did not like the person I was, nor did I honor my needs. I became my own afterthought. The worst person I could ever spend time with was my own self. This was more heartbreaking than any breakup ever could be.

Reaching for my phone, I finally felt ready. Mariana’s contact popped up, and I typed out my message to her. 

“Hey. I think I’m gonna stay in tonight.”

Sent.

So, as the sun began to set, I eased into my couch. I turned on the television, instinctively going to Survivor. I hated survivor. Always have. I made my way to Cheers, and clicked play. A smile made its way across my face, a face I hadn’t seen with expression in a month. 

I’d go out sometime soon, I was sure of it. Tonight, however, I had plans to stay in with my favorite person.