Deja Vu

I had/am having a bit of an anxiety attack. I feel like I've traveled back in time. It's the middle of September and I'm smack dab in the middle of the break-up. Right in the throes of it.

I just came home from the walk-through of almost my apartment in Brooklyn. It was still the same lovely apartment. It was still blissfully quiet on my block. There were still tall ceilings and front lawns across the street and lots of storage space, just like I remembered.

But leaving the apartment, I started to have pangs of regret. By the time I was back in Harlem, I was practically in tears. What have I done? This is a huge mistake. This apartment is just too far away.

Away from what became the question.

As I walked into my current apartment, which is actually Ex's apartment, the answer was, away from him.

I don't want to go. I really don't want to go. I want to stay here until he comes to his senses. I want to unpack my boxes, restock the bookcases. I love Ex and he loves me. He told me so Sunday. That's gotta count for something, right?

Never mind that his love language is totally incomprehensible to me...and that he's completely unwilling or unable to speak mine. Never mind that he didn't just break my heart, but he spit on it. Never mind that he wants me out of his house the day after the closing. Never mind that thousands of my dollars will be lost if I back out of this purchase. Never mind that buying this apartment--on my own, with no financial help--is one of the biggest events of my life.

I just feel like it's September 12th all over again.