Birthdays, Barrels, Beginnings

Last year, I weighed 45 kg. While others were shocked, I was pleased. A benefit from the whole ordeal. If I had had a blog back then, it could have been titled, “How to Successfully Lose Weight Through a Toxic Relationship.”

I don’t smoke, I barely drink alcohol, and I try to live healthily.

Two months ago, I moved out of our shared sublet apartment and left the city, and my partner, behind. I spent the last five weeks in Switzerland, where I got to take care of a little dog. During that time, I practically locked myself inside, cried a lot, did self-therapy, and started calling friends I hadn’t spoken to since the beginning of the relationship. I only went outside to walk the dog. I felt miserable. I fluctuated between the impatience to rebuild my life and the grief and guilt of having left my life companion. My body and soul showed symptoms of withdrawal—he was my drug. 

Now, I sit on the balcony of my hotel in the Black Forest, and feel a strong craving for a cigarette. I buy tobacco, roll one and pour myself a glass of red wine. If I’m going to suffer, I might as well do it properly.

The nicotine poison flows through my body, making it heavy and numbing my pain. For a moment. Then I feel sick. Poisoned, just like I did during the years of the relationship. Yet I keep smoking. Why am I doing this? To cover up the pain? Pain is my daily companion. It falls asleep with me and wakes me up. It stands before me in every quiet moment. I know I must go through it. It could take months or years, and will it ever end? Right now, that seems unimaginable. Which pain is better: the one I might be able to ease, or the one from the relationship, which will never end as long as it exists?

I feel so nauseous that I can barely walk. I take a hot shower and regret the cigarette. The nausea has replaced the pain for a moment.

Tomorrow is my birthday. The last two I spent with him. Each time he organized a weekend, far away. Just the two of us. No friends. 

I’ve been asked several times where and with whom I see myself spending that day next year and how I want to feel. But I have no vision of it. Without him, my life feels gray and sad. How do I want to feel? For once, truly happy. A feeling that seems impossible for me at the moment.

The evening before my birthday, I meet a few colleagues at a restaurant in Freudenstadt, the "Marktwirtschaft". We order steak. Normally, this wouldn’t be my go-to place, but I give it a try. What I get, however, exceeds my expectations: a small rotisserie with the steak hanging from it is placed in front of me. Below the spit: a small tray filled with sugar and rum. After the waitress sets the alcohol on fire, she indicates that I should turn the spit for about five minutes. My colleagues and I look at each other a bit unsure—will this actually work? But indeed, after five minutes, a perfectly grilled piece of meat is before me. Normally, I have a hard time eating a whole piece of plain meat. Yet what I taste that evening surpasses all my previous steak experiences. The meat is so tender and perfectly seasoned that I finish the entire thing in no time. It comes with mango mayonnaise, herb salt, and other dips. Whether it is the event-like nature of it all that makes the self-grilled meat taste better, I can’t say. It’s irrelevant, though, as I’m sure after that evening: it is and remains one of the best steaks I’ve ever eaten. So, if anyone ever finds themselves in Freudenstadt, you should contact the “Marktwirtschaft” beforehand to order “Burn a Brettle” as the dish is only available by reservation.

As absurd as it is, I still hope for a call from him the next day. Maybe because it still feels like I’m on vacation, and we’ll see each other again soon, not as if we were truly apart. But the call doesn’t come. Instead, a short message. “Happy Birthday". That’s it. No wishes, no further sentences. Just “Happy Birthday.” It hurts. Especially since we’ve been talking again more these past few weeks. Am I not worth a call to him? I assume he knows exactly how it triggers in me. That my thoughts will be with him all day. And they are. Now that we’re no longer together, I must be a stranger to him. I try to push these thoughts aside. I’ve given myself a gift, staying in a wine barrel at a vineyard, and I’m going to enjoy it.

I arrive at Privatweingut Schmidt, a beautiful vineyard surrounded by grape-covered hills. Before checking out the barrel, I take the time to explore the area.

I choose to walk to a nearby village to climb a castle ruin, but most of the way is along a busy road. When I reach the hill, it starts to rain. Staufen is a cute little town with colorful houses and lovely shops. However, I can’t manage to appreciate its beauty today. I had hoped for a peaceful time in nature but instead I feel lonely. And then I give in to my inner urge an ask him for a call. My body relaxes when I hear his warm voice, but soon I realize I don’t want to share anything for him to judge. He’s traveling by train through Eastern Europe, the trip we had planned together a year ago. He had considered buying me a ticket. I wonder if he thought the breakup was just a whim and a ticket would bring me back, or if he’s testing my reaction to see if we might get back together.

I think about how, if he weren’t who he is, I would have loved to go on that trip with him instead of spending my birthday alone in the rain. He talks about a possible life for us in one of the countries he’s exploring, as if scouting for our future, and for a moment, I waver, considering going to him.

My inner voice speaks up and warns me. In theory, it sounds great, but in reality, he’ll tear you down as soon as something about your behavior doesn’t suit him. He’ll judge you the moment you open up to him. I can’t be wanting that. And I don’t. But the connection to him and the longing for him are so strong. For the beautiful moments we shared. When we were just together. Without stress, without the fear of what might happen next, or worries of everyday life and the pressure to survive.

“I still believe our struggles caused things to be the way they were.” he says, “but now, seeing each other would be too soon. We need to learn to love ourselves first.” I’m surprised by the awareness and clarity of his words. Hope begins to grow inside me, as if he really understood everything, and with time, we could meet again. With new stability.

Back in my wine barrel, I end my uneventful birthday with a bottle of delicious Muskateller Secco and a snack platter meant for two—but everything tastes so good that I eat it all by myself. The bed fills the entire room, and I can spread out freely. Lately, we could barely sleep next to each other—he tossed and turned, blaming me for my bad mood, when I could not sleep, which kept him awake. I imagine how nice it’d be to share this moment with him, but in reality, we’d probably argue and sleep in opposite corners. I spread myself out as much as I can and in this very moment I’m grateful to be alone and to have the space all to myself.