I took an impromptu trip to Washington this weekend.
I thought it might help ease my mind and help me to stop thinking so much on you, on this…mess. And when that didn’t work, I thought that, at very least, I could bury you there since that was supposed to be our final destination.
And when THAT didn’t work (because every house had the potential to be “our house” and every playground could have been the favorite for our children), I came to the conclusion that I have to stop obsessing over burying the idea of you, of us. I have to bury parts of myself. The problem with this is that these parts are still very much alive.
I wasn’t perfect but I’m sure I’d mentioned that from the beginning. You weren’t either. You were insecure and anxious and, sometimes, those things would cause you to look for an emotional connection with someone that wasn’t me because I couldn’t see what you were thinking. I suppose you thought I wasn’t paying enough attention and maybe I wasn’t. But I didn’t always know what to look for. Sometimes, when I tried, it was the wrong thing. Which would just make everything worse. Sometimes I had to make a guess about whether or not anything was wrong at all because, I’d learned, even if I didn’t see it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. But it would be the wrong time or the wrong thing still and I’d feel almost as lost as I do now.
I enjoyed the friendship aspect of us so much that I think I forgot to nurture the other aspects too. But there were things at play that I couldn’t control. I tried to do better but I would get lost in my own stressors. Or the fact that after we’d spend a whole day laughing and joking, I still couldn’t figure out why you’d be grinding your teeth that night.
I promised I would pursue a solution and I did. I suggested the same for you but…I’m not entirely sure where that went in your head. And now I see things I’m not sure were actually there to be seen. That day you told me, “You’re strong.” Every day I’ve asked myself if that was your first attempt to go. If that was your way of trying to reassure me that I would be okay and I didn’t notice.
Somehow, up until your things weren’t here anymore, I was sure this was just another moment we were having. Deep down, I still knew we would get through like we had been. I thought it would be different because I had a solution, I had a plan. I just needed a little more time. I was certain we would make it because I was certain about you. All those times I told you that what I saw with you was more than I had seen with anyone, I meant it. I still mean it which means that now, I can never have it.
And I’m so lost. This weight on my chest and this lump in my throat do not waiver. You’re in every dream and I’m so afraid to sleep because waking up is getting to be too difficult. The worst part is that I’m almost certain that you’ve convinced yourself I don’t care. I didn’t make the grand gestures to stop any of this. But every second of every day I’ve been so internally conflicted that it’s physically sickening. Should I have hit my knees and begged you? Should I be giving you time? Should I be giving ME time? I thought that all the things I told you, the things I meant, would be enough to let you know that this wasn’t what I wanted. And perhaps I’m still in shock that this is what it’s come to. Sometimes, I want to tell you all these things. Without interruption or defense. Just…tell you that this wasn’t something I was able to handle with nonchalance. But I don’t know if I can get past it. The ease with which you went away. The hurried manner in which you wished me the best to be on your way.
I have watched so very many people walk away. People I handpicked to be there in the way I allowed them to be, a way most people aren’t allowed, because they didn’t trust the reason they were there to begin with. I just want someone to trust me. To understand that when I love, I love with all I am in all the ways I can. I don’t know how to handle being told once more that it isn’t enough. It isn’t always what others may have pictured. But it’s all of me. It’s the best of me. And there are no words to describe what it feels like to be told that it’s not up to their standards. I die a little more every time.
And now, I’m faced with something more. Something I would have imagined we thought of fleetingly when we said “no matter what”. Part of me hopes that this is worst case scenario, because maybe the rest of this would have been worth it. Better that you folded your hand here than there.
Maybe it’s easier to be told that everything I have isn’t good enough before I’m no longer everything I have.