It's a strange term really, as it invariably refers to the motionless act of changing a way of thinking, a change of heart, a time when one part of your life draws to close and another chapter begins.... but you don't physically move anywhere! My "movin' on" moment came very recently.... my ex came to town.
I cannot find awful, cruel or bitter words to say about him, after all he is responsible for some of the happiest times in my life, but following his recent visit, a relieving sense of calmness overtook me, which I believe is called closure.
You see girls and boys, our relationship had fairytale beginnings.... we had worked together for some time, but my shyness and his fear of me had meant we'd never really spoken. Then at the Staff Christmas Party our eyes met over a swathe of drunken, sweaty bodies, and we knew, (aha you're seeing the fairytale part, sucking up the Disney of it all?) we knew it was meant to be. A beautiful romance ensued - well, after someone told me he was in fact 2 years younger than he'd told me, he'd gotten over his crush for the Assistant Restaurant Manager and I'd threaten to break up and of course, I'd recovered from meningitis - yes then the beautiful romance began and all but ended 6 months in. It was after that, that my past caught up with me, a lifetime of abusive, distrustful male role models had taken their toll and I became obsessive, needy, jealous and generally very ill. Our relationship turned into an addiction - it was something we needed, rather than wanted - and without him I thought I would die. The turbulent addiction continued on for 5 long volatile years, until I cracked, booked a 4 month trip to South Africa and decided enough was enough. He decided that he "couldn't bear to be without me" and so booked flights and a 12 month working visa to New Zealand - yes the obvious choice!? We knew things were done, but never admitted it, we flew away as single people, but didn't admit it to each other.
His own neediness shone through, and within a month he'd met someone new. I dabbled, but my trip was about something different, the oh so cliche "finding myself".... and I did, and I liked it. I found a career that I wanted to pursue, a group of friends who taught me that I wasn't actually half bad on my own, and most of all I found my spotted kitties.
I returned home to an ice-cold soggy Heathrow with a lighter head but heavy shoulders. Unconsciously I carried this weight around for a further three and a half years, occasionally meeting up with him during his biannual visits back home. But *this* time it was different, something clicked.... the handsome, kind-hearted guy I'd always loved was still there, but he'd lost his spark, he didn't make my heart race or my stomach flip anymore.... it was a sad moment, but a good moment.... I'd finally moved on.
|My main man Rupe-doop|