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I realize that there is almost a rose theme to these posts! Completely untended and my love of roses has nothing to do with my breakup being dumped. I realized that there is an important distinction that I’ve made for myself that makes me feel a whole bunch better about the situation.

I didn’t get to go through a breakup. There was no negotiation, no goodbyes. I was dumped. No wonder I felt (and sometimes still feel) like garbage.

This post was an important step for me. I felt a lot of guilt for the bridges that had gone unmaintained for years and posting this made me feel as though I’d put myself out there and tried. At least a little bit.

This is the last of the original “on being dumped” series. It kind of abruptly ended when I was focusing my time on making a new relationship work as opposed to mulling over an old one. But then again, it’s only been since the relationship that I’m in that I’ve been able to share so openly and honestly how I’m feeling.

But I promise you this, it won’t be the last. They just won’t come as often as they have the past couple of days. But now at least you are up to speed!

Originally posted: August 19, 2009

I’m trying to scan more photos as I’m trying to piece together my life between 1999 and 2006. I did a few scans when I first bought my scanner (the photo above included) but have yet to do anymore. The time between 2006 and today has also been rough.

I don’t for a second want to go back to when I was in this photo. Even though then, both of my grandmothers were still alive and I still got to spend every day with my family. My Dad was sick. I longed for adventure.

I didn’t have a Bachelors degree in Political Science, I certainly didn’t have a Masters degree in Canadian Studies. I hadn’t been a Senate Page. I hadn’t been a Parliamentary Intern in both the House of Commons in Ottawa and in London. I hadn’t spent 4 years gaining invaluable work and life experience as a public servant in Ottawa (August 24 is my 4 year anniversary of walking into the building where i currently work).

In this photo, I’d never been kissed, never had a boyfriend. I didn’t have two glorious cats who are the best roommates on earth. I had never met Him. I hadn’t met some of the greatest people in my life (I’d name you but honestly if I forgot one of you I’d not be able to forgive myself. If you wish you were one of the people I’d name, you are one of them). I’d not been to my little sister’s beautiful wedding.  I’d not be sitting right here right now writing this blog post.

I had never been dumped.

Being dumped was a terrible experience. Being dumped meant that all of the effort that I had put into the relationship and sacrifices I had made for that relationship didn’t matter. It meant that six years of compromises and shaving off bits of myself so that we could fit better together and so that our relationship could work didn’t matter. I was left sobbing in the middle of the apartment, not eating and just waiting after every time I heard the elevator doors open (my apartment is right beside them) that there would be a knock on the door and the words that would make the nightmare stop.

I felt as though I had done a terrible thing. I had sacrificed so many things for a relationship that was over with a note duct taped to my wall. I had sacrificed time with my family every time I went home to Manitoba so that I could spend time on the phone with him. I had sacrificed friendships to develop a relationship with someone I wholly believed was my best friend and who I believed I would be with forever. Which is how I justified the sacrifices. Because they were worth it.

I’ve learned something. I’ve learned not to sacrifice bits of myself that are important, because you never know when you’re going to have to go back and make six years worth of apologies for lost time. I feel so much guilt, sometimes it’s so overwhelming that I just try and ignore it. Other times I realize that though I didn’t really burn bridges that I’d be more comfortable about asking for help if the bridges were in better repair. So this post is dedicated to repairing bridges.

I have no idea who reads my blog. I barely know how to access my site statistics, I have no idea who subscribes to the feed. I know that I import the posts as notes into my Facebook account. I know that I get lovely comments on occasion from lovely people.

But if you read this and you’d like me to repair our bridge, please let me know. I’m right now trying to do the best I can but I’m spreading myself thin and getting overwhelmed. I don’t know what bridges were out there and who cares to reconnect. So if you read this and you want me to make you cookies or go to coffee or let you yell at me while I sit quietly, let me know.

For those of you who don’t want to let me know, I’m in the process of importing all of the blog entries I’ve ever written into this blog. For the longest time I have struggled with what I wanted to share and what I’ve shared. I figure at the very least that you all deserve to root through the contents of my last six years and see if there is anything good.

I’ve hung the big old “Under Construction” sign on my network of bridges people. Through the power of the Internet I hope we can get in touch.

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