My hands still held fast to the brim of the kitchen cabinet door as I stared at the fluorescent green bowl I needed to grab. It seemed so important a moment ago, but now, I could not think past the booming pain I was feeling coming from my right temple. I was speechless. It had happened again, and I had allowed it. I brought my free hand up to touch the painful area, only to feel a more intense immediate release of fresh pain.

"See, why do you have to be this way?" he said in the background.

"Why can't you be descent?"

All I wanted was a bowl.

12 years ago, as I sat next to this man drinking coffee and talking for hours, I would have never imagined our history together would be one of torment, pain and anguish with a sprinkling of happy moments. That afternoon, as my carefree 19 year old feet played with her loose slip-ons, I felt like we were destined to be together. He was european, mysterious, clearly tormented, and dark. I could make him happy. Back then I had no idea that happiness is not something you get from others, but something you find within yourself.

We had our typical college romance of walking each other to class, studying together, helping each other with essays and papers. And our relationship went from one pastel colored roadblock to the next, just like the game of "Life". We moved in. We graduated. We got married, We had babies. We did as we were told. And as this life progressed, I had to bury deep within me the one who I truly was. I was an artist, a rebel, a woman who never wanted to get married and wanted to travel the world selling art and writing stories. But with time, my thoughts were his thoughts, my desires were his desires. And the routine of being alone together became the natural state of things.

But as summer turned into fall, my sleepy state withered. I became aware. I could see that the state of our relationship was only causing harm, and with that awakening I knew things would never be the same. I could no longer be a wife, his wife. I had to be me.

I have realized there are several stages when ending a relationship. First, there is the realization that something is wrong, then the acceptance that there is in fact something wrong. Then comes the processing and comprehension of what will be. And finally the voicing of the end, the proclamation of the death of the relationship.

I have gone through these stages and am now in a new stage, that of picking up the pieces and beginning anew, not only with the schematics of my life, but also of rediscovering who I am, who I was, and my utter truth of self. I am in the stage of questions, endless and what seems at the moment forever questions. What will happen? What do I want? Who am I? Will I be alone forever? Will I be okay with being alone?

It is difficult, and even more so when you find yourself in a foreign land with two small children, unable to return to your family. All of this fear swept over me as I sat on the cool ground of my kitchen. The green bowl turned into a shapeless blob as I looked through my tears. I knew I had made the right choice, and now all I had to do was pack the bowl in one of the many cardboard boxes, and start on the unknown path that awaited.

And as I go through the journey of rebuilding, I will be writing about my discoverings, happenings, aha moments, and downfalls. I know I am not the only one to go through this, but these are my truths of such a life occurrence. So I hope you follow along and keep me company.

Now on to the next step, moving out.

Continues on the 23 of June.