Exactly one year ago, I was discussing with my then boyfriend about our plans for New Year’s Eve. Ever since we met, we had spent it together. Well, actually, we started spending that day together ever since I could finally introduce him to my parents. But that’s another story.
The first time we spent it together was during a trip to New York. It was the most horrible trip ever. Nothing went right, but I had him. That made it all better. My family was also there and soon they became his family too. I knew there and then that this thing we had was something I wanted to have for the rest of my life.
I had heard a thousand times that you shouldn’t start a year with someone who you aren’t planning on ending it. I am not superstitious or anything, but I couldn’t help but find that phrase meaningful. I truly believed that I wanted to share the single most special night with him and my family because he had become my family, and I wanted him around forever. I wanted him around forever because that was how confident I was in the relationship we had built together.
Then one year ago we found ourselves facing a decision. Either he could spend Christmas with me or join me and my father’s family for New Year’s Eve. I didn’t want him to spend a meaningless holiday with me, but my father had never disclosed my homosexuality with his relatives, so I didn’t want to make things awkward either.
So we spent New Year’s Eve apart for the very first time in 5 years. Of course we texted each other throughout the evening. But it wasn’t the same: we weren’t together. Most importantly, I didn’t feel like we were together anymore. It was around that time when I started having doubts about us. That’s when I recalled that phrase and wondered what would happen to us in 2015.
Fast forward to today: we are obviously not together anymore.
I feel so alone. I did not only lose my partner, I lost a member of my family. I can’t blame that silly phrase or the tenths of chain e-mails I did not forward back in my teenage years. I can only blame myself. I lost my partner willingly.
I had done sort of fine throughout these months. There were very hard days. I cried myself to sleep quite a few times. But I had survived. I figured I would finally be alright. I wanted to believe I was doing alright. I thought I was slowly but surely healing. I knew I would never forget him, but I thought I would perhaps stop thinking of him and the things I would tell him and show him. I thought I was ready to move on.
Then tonight happened, and I’m clearly not alright. I miss him. I miss being with him. I miss who I was when I was with him. I truly miss him.
This is the second New Year’s Eve I will not be spending with him. I won’t be starting a new year with him. If that phrase holds any truth behind it, that means I will not be with him in a year from now. I will never be with him again.
And I hate myself for this.