no matter whether that friend is moving away from you
or coming back to you.
I am really struggling. I don't think I have ever been in so fragile a state for this long in my life. last week I thought I had turned a corner into something that looked like recovery, but then this weekend I had to lock myself in several public bathrooms to cry. today at work I burst into tears four times, each time prompted by someone's kindness, just asking how I was doing today. trying to work through this is slow torture, but there's nothing else I can do.
I don't know how to heal this tremendous heartbreak. I'm doing all the things you're "supposed" to do: staying busy, asking for help from my friends, making plans. tomorrow night is boozetues; wednesday I'm lunching with the librarians, and then floating that night. friday is barn night, and then I'm volunteering for a certain someone's hood to coast team, because I had already offered to do it and did not want to back out, knowing how hard it is to come by volunteers. (your team is disqualified if you don't provide 3 volunteers -- or if your any of volunteers are no-shows). I'm watering the garden. I'm brushing the horse. I'm working on my budget.
I need a break; I'm exhausted. but when I get home, alone with my thoughts, all I do is cry. it doesn't matter if I'm just sitting here or if I'm unpacking or watching TV or what. a coworker says, "maybe you should just go there, maybe you should just cry until your body is done with it," but my gut feeling is that the crying is like digging a hole; I can't seem to get back out of it. there is no done with it. instead, I just cry until I fall asleep. in the morning, depending on what I've dreamed, there is a momentary respite before the fog descends again.
it's a fine line between assessing what happened and dwelling in regret, and I don't know where I fall in the spectrum. my greatest sadness is how often I think, "I wish I could tell him this," or "I wish he could see this," or, most poignantly, in the moment before I remember, "we should do this together!" I regret all these moments because the feeling -- that I long to share my life with him -- is all he wanted all along. here it is, babe. I'm sorry it's too little, too late.
and how I regret ever feeling that I was friendless. if it weren't for the profound love of my friends, I would probably not get out of bed. what an idiot I was, for closing myself off and then feeling sorry for myself. and for not ever realizing that scott was my best friend. I never thought of him in that way because I've never had a boyfriend be a best friend; that's what your girlfriends are for, you know? but now, without him, I'm bombarded by all the things I want to tell him, to ask for help with, to laugh about. it feels like a double loss.
now we deliberately have no contact. it's this that is so hard for me; the not knowing. is he okay? how is he doing? did his workload calm down? is he sleeping, is he eating, does he miss me too? does he have hope, or is he closing the door on this life and moving on? I don't know; I can't know. I pick up my phone probably fifty times a day and think, "just one text message," but I put it down again. it is maybe the most difficult thing on earth to stay silent, to not reach out. even this blog feels like a transgression. one calming word from him and I could go at least a week without crying. and yet. I have told myself that this is the true practice of love: to love a person in the way they need, not the way you need. but right now, it's the hardest thing on earth.
I know what I'm supposed to do now. I'm supposed to be sociable, get my work done, fix up the apartment, work out my budget, deal with my problems. I'm supposed to learn my lessons. I'm supposed to sleep and eat and read and breathe and move on. I am really trying; I am trying harder than I can say. I have
internet, indulge me. I'm so sorry that this blog has ground to a halt, but there it is. this is my life right now. I have nothing else to say, except I wish I had known how much I loved this--
-- and I wish I could get it back.