Leaving on a jet plane

It is not at all surprising that I'm not feeling great this week. Or last week. My man leaves this week to go back to San Francisco, after 9 weeks with me. It's sad, and I know I have the 'right' to be sad, because this is one of those times where sad is 'normal'.

My problem though, is not the normal level of sad that other people feel when their partner goes back overseas for an indeterminate amount of time, it's the potential for sad so bad it knocks me on my ass for 3 weeks and prevents me functioning like a human.

The last two times we did this, after I left San Francisco, and the last time he left here a year ago, it came after two weeks of solid depression to the point I was nearly unable to function. The two weeks before I left San Francisco I was almost totally incapable of getting out of bed.

I'm terrified of that happening again. Terrified of being unable to get out of bed, unable to eat, unable to work, unable to think of anything other than how wrong it feels to not be in the same country as my guy.

I think about all the things I'll get back to doing when he's gone, to try and make myself feel better. I'll start working out again, not because he prevents me doing that, but because I'd rather be with him for the time he's here, than spend 75 minutes o a treadmill. I'll start eating better again, not because he stops me eating well (the exact opposite in fact) but because I like to not think about portion size and skipping dessert when he's here. I like trying new food with him, and I don't care that it's making my cholesterol sky rocket. I'll be able to save money faster just because I'm only feeding one, which obviously halves the grocery budget.

These are ridiculous thoughts, because of course they don't even come close to making it ok that I sleep better when he's here. And I'm less afraid of life, because I don't have to face it alone when he's here.

I am terrified this time, more than the other times, of having to go back to living on my own again.

All the other times he's left, or I've left, I've come home to someone. I had a housemate to distract me from the terrifying aloneness that I feel when he's on the other side of the ocean, and this time I don't have that.

Thursday is getting closer by the day, and him leaving is awful and heartbreaking, and not the worst of what I'm feeling as the time gets closer. The thing that really has me in a tizzy is coming home to my empty apartment, my empty bed, empty fridge, empty closet, and no distractions to get me through the 15 hour flight until he's on Skype.

I fear what that 15 hours is going to do to my sanity and the shreds of emotional control I've built up over the last year.

Have I built up my sense of self and internal control enough to survive Thursday's heartbreak?

Guess we'll find out.