This is clearly one of those moments: like a hot coal of a day you would rather not touch. I come to write in clear desperation and thus know I would be better off not writing from the position I am in. But writing gives me something to do with the feeling. The feeling is like someone took a giant ice cream scooper and carved out my chest. Or has a giant boot sitting on to of it pushing it down.
My (now ex) sister-in-law called me to tell me that my (now ex) has “a girlfriend” he introduced her too, that already knows the family and that I am the only one who doesn’t know. She told me they met, that she my sister in law was drunk and so was rude to the girlfriend. That the girlfriend was defensive and said among other things, “well he sleeps in my house every night.” Funny how she told me a long ass story of their “altercation” (in words) on the block that had many highlights but I only remember that line. That and the fact that he calls her a cute nickname.
Why are we this way? Why do we do these things to ourselves? This is not a man for me, this is a man I asked to leave my house in November, after 7 years of trying to work shit out. This is a man I couldn’t take back given the choices he has made—or not made. None of what I just said changes or is changeable because this man has a girlfriend who sleeps with him every night and whom he calls a cute nickname. And yet, the mere writing of the words I just wrote fuck me up something crazy. Crazy. She’s probably cuter than me too… Why are we this way?
All I think about now is that my man, the person that loved me now does my things with another woman, from sleeping with her to watching tv to taking a shower. To having breakfast after partying all night. To driving around in the city. All I think about is that the things that I have missed and cried about, the looks I don’t get anymore, the hands that don’t touch me anymore, and the care in his voice I don’t hear anymore, “she” gets. Or I should say, he gives her. There is no more excitement about seeing me, no antecipation of coming home to me, no desire that belongs to me—there is no more me in his life. He walked off first from the place I’m standing at: I don’t have a boyfriend that I sleep with every night and call nicknames.
Worse yet, I can’t even get a boyfriend. I recently have been so depressed and pathetically missing him—so in denial really, about the true reality of what our relationship was, that I had resolved to not even try to date other people. I tried for a half second and it was a total mess, I am a total mess and have been. And my ex has known, because I have spoken to him about it—to make matters worse. I can’t date other people anyway, I thought. I still love him, there’s no point. I’ll just wait. For what? Oh for the feelings to subside and for me to feel like myself again and what not. Curiosity killed the cat, ok. What did waiting like a dumbass do to the cat?
There is so much wrong with the way I feel right now. I find it odd that I actually feel physical discomfort in my chest and stomach. It is very hard to stop tearing up. Very hard. It was very hard to deal with my son this morning. Morning was very hard generally. It takes superhuman effort to not think about it. I feel humiliated, but not even that much. I wish I felt a lot more humiliated and angry and scorned and what not—instead of just profoundly, endlessly, devastatingly hurt.
The thing is, that he had someone was obvious to me in the way that he changed in his dealings with me, independent of the separation. It was obvious there was a cessation of something in the way he regarded me. In my panic it just felt like "he doesn't love me anymore." That idiotic and that precise a statement was literally scrolling past my insides on a regular basis--at each interaction. How something could be obvious and then totally devastate and shock you, I don’t know. I guess in the end when you lose everything, you like to hold on to the idea that you were special and irreplaceable, right? Or something like that. Something very childish like that—or not childish, just basic. Just "deep inside".
Fundamentally, you need to have the centrality of the person in your life reciprocated by them holding you at the center of theirs. But that’s not how relationships end, they end by shifting the centers and blowing everything up. Of the two people, I just happen to be the one unsheltered when it blows up. But thankfully, somewhere under all this stupid hurt, even
I know I’m not SO special that it won’t work the same for me as it does for everyone else:
This is going to hurt like hell for a long time and then less so and one day, not at all.
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