In Which I've Been Listening to Gotye On Repeat...

and don't care about my audience.

I haven't heard from J since March 24, the last time he responded to an email, the one in which he said he couldn't accept half our tax return. He can't face me, talk to me, deal with me, handle me. He can't respond.

I understand it, I think. No, no I don't because I'm not him and I don't know his feelings. I assume it's because he's hurting and it's too painful. Or maybe he's angry? The truth is, I don't know why he can't interact with me but I know it's because I've left him for good. I have to hope that he's OK based on the fact that I emailed him after the 24th of March to let him know I transferred money into our joint account for the Verizon bill and that money has been withdrawn. I cling to that and am somewhat reconciled that I'll have a once monthly reminder that he is OK as I'll email him each month with the same subject line "I've transferred money into the joint account for the Verizon bill" and I'll monitor said account to see that it has been withdrawn.

I'm angry with myself and, I don't know, the universe maybe, that whilst I know I forfeited any right to hurt and upset when I made the final decision, I still feel so torn up inside. I know what my role in this is and yet I can't help but be incredibly sad and angry about it. I'm not angry at J, not at all. I'm just angry. I go about my day and deal with things, all things, in my life, but I have this ghost or shadow hanging over me all the time. This desperate feeling because all I have left of J is silence. It's a constant reminder of the hurt I've caused him.

I don't think he wants me to feel like this. Again, I obviously don't know what he wants or what he feels, but I have known him for nearly eight years and he's neither cruel nor malicious. So I don't think he'd clap and be happy to know that the wife that kicked him out, the wife that said "divorce" feels... feels what exactly? Sad. Devastated. Worried. Wrecked. Terrified. Guilty. So, so guilty. I don't think that would make him feel good at all. I don't for a moment think that his silence is a way of getting back at me. But I suppose, if it is, I'd have to say well done.

Every so often it deluges me, just as MS used to. I remember breaking down out of nowhere and wondering "when am I going to get used to this inevitable thing that has entered my life? When am I going to stop freaking out? Stop crying about it? When will it just be a part of me that I can deal with and not think about constantly?" That's how I feel about J and our break up. I remember the relief I felt when I finally told him that it was just over, relief because I was finally honest and we could start moving on without clinging to something that was no longer there, the spider webs where a foundation once stood.

It's "funny" because I used to tell him that if we ever split up I could never be his friend as we were never friends to begin with. No, we actually dated and then were boyfriend and girlfriend before husband and wife. Now I'm facing that reality from the other side. I can't imagine or comprehend a life where I don't know him, don't talk to him, don't have an idea of what is going on in his life. It isn't even about wanting to take care of him anymore. I just like the guy and I want to know what he is up to.

And I completely understand and appreciate why I don't get that and why I have no right to it. I understand that, just as I understand that I have no right to feel sorry for myself as this was MY decision, but that doesn't take away the pain that I feel and it doesn't help me shutter my emotions. It still hurts, very deeply and almost continuously. I don't talk about it with my friends or family because I feel ashamed and selfish to admit to these feelings when, again, it's my doing. I don't even really allow myself to think about it too often because it just makes me angry at myself for being weak, selfish, childish, and awful. Make your bed and lie in it without bitching about what you've created.

But it's there, he's there, every moment of my life.

Inside Outside

I feel disembodied and floaty today. I see my limbs doing things but don't necessarily feel them as they go. I feel like I'm in somebody's body, looking through her eyes and working her arms and legs like a puppeteer. It's disturbing and I don't like it. I was OK this morning when I ate ice cream for breakfast at 7 a.m. But now that I'm at work and I've eaten a proper meal, I just feel detached and disassociated from myself. I was standing in a friend's office, telling her about what happened last night and I realized I couldn't really feel myself. Even as I wiped away the tears that I embarrassingly let slip, they didn't quite feel real.

I never noticed how childlike my desk here at work is. I have all manner of objects on my shelves, including a stuffed lady bug that J got me. His name is Larry and he holds my bosses receipts so that I can remember to do his expense reports. I have random gifts from the stalker that I haven't gotten around to throwing out yet. There are cards from various friends for various occasions, and toys I brought from home. There is even a stuffed animal cat named Five, sitting in a dark recess where only I can see him.

How can one be so childish and feel such tearing, ripping, gaping pain? How can one be so childish and hurt so maturely?

I told him last night that it was over, that I didn't have any romantic feelings for him. I eventually went home and sobbed. I've cried twice at work today, once at my desk, holding it back fairly successfully, and once in my friend's office, unable to save face. My friend told me that I can't be responsible for J's emotions and I can't go around collecting people to help and fix like baby birds with broken wings. I know that. I also know that I did the right thing, telling him last night rather than putting it off.

But all the knowing in the world doesn't make me feel better at all.

 

Nothing or Everything or All. At. Once.

Those who are truly close to me understand that there are two parts of my personality that are fairly overwhelming. One is that I'm intense. I'm hyper and type A and I clench my toes and my hands throughout the day. I'm also just an intense person to deal with. My BFF, K, put it quite nicely to a mutual friend saying "all things Cat are intense" meaning not just one thing or one circumstance, all things. And that is true. I've realized that over the past few years and I even warn people about it. When I have a direction from someone to get something done I want it done right. this. fucking. minute. I will track you down in the office to find out the answer, even if it can wait a few days. If I'm tasked with putting together a lunch or a meeting, I will not stop freaking out about the details until everyone has come and gone. It's just how I am, for better or (more likely) for worse.

The other aspect of my personality is that I tend to live in fast forward. This is the proverbial blessing and curse, all in one. I feel the pain and grief of things incredibly deeply and quickly and it consumes me; but I also move through it quickly and bounce back. I think it is a coping mechanism from when I was smaller and things went to hell. But if you decide to friend me in the real world, you'll find that we'll either become close or realize we aren't going to be friends quite quickly because I, myself, become consuming. We'll start talking about all sorts of things and before you know it, you'll begin asking "how could we have become such good friends so quickly?" It's because that is how I work and that is all I know. My whole life I've had people, upon first meeting me, say "I can't believe I'm telling you this."

It's an interesting way to live, I suppose. I am very briefly in the moment and, as on Sunday, I'll think to myself "so this is what it feels like." I'll try to hang onto the sensation and the emotion so that I can burn it into my memory because I know my subconscious is already working to move past it. On Monday I was an utter wreck, crying at work and in the car and when I went to bed. The next day, whilst I had the puffy eyes and clogged feeling of having wept, I was perfectly capable of functioning and going about the things that had to be done. I felt the emotions, the sadness, the grief, but it wasn't consuming me like the wildfire it had been. I'll never forget how I felt when J and I realized it was over, but I'll never be able to describe it with the poetic language that the great authors do because I was unable to savor it.

You can see these things about me if you stroll through my archives. One moment I'm stressing out every day because I don't know if I've gotten a job. All of a sudden I'm bitching about the job and drawing pictures. Or I'm scared shitless about an impending answer to what is going on with my health, the next I'm laughing and joking about something inconsequential. These past few days I've been writing about my breakup, the breakup, and just now, walking home from the store I thought about writing about how three cars in a row all had one headlight out.

It isn't that I'm racing to get past my feelings for J. Those will be with me for the rest of my life. But I want to get past the bad and get to the next place, where things are good because we are friends and happy because we don't have the weight and burden of the responsibility that comes with being in a romantic relationship. I think J really felt he had to take care of me and watch out for me because of the stupid shit I do, like get drunk in public or make an ass out of myself or stay up late or eat like a child. And I felt like I had to take care of and watch over him as well. I'm not going to say why because for one, I recently found out that he sometimes reads this and for two, the same reason I never say anything too personal; it may have happened with me but it is personal to him and it is not for me to lay him bare for all the world to see. When it is between me and J, it is more his business than mine. It is only right that way. And I love and respect him too much to ever do such a thing.

It isn't that black and white of course. It took years for me to come to terms with one of my illnesses, probably in part due to the type of illness. And I will most likely still have my moments with the MS. And I certainly did not just start having these feelings about J. K can attest to that because she's the one person I really spoke to in real time. She is also the only person who never asked, when I said it was over, "are you sure?" because she knew, because she'd been there. If I were lazy or didn't know her better, I would say it was because she's been here. But she hasn't because her situation was different, necessarily. And she's known me for nearly four years. She is also the only person I did not have to tell "he's a good guy, don't hate him" when we first separated, because she knew. She knew how much I love him and admire him and she knew that it was not some unforgivable thing that had happened.

Because K and I became friends without any external force. What do I mean by that? Firefly is my best friend in DE and we first met when I dated a guy and ended up semi-homeless. I was 19 and she served as a surrogate mother before we became girlfriend. With K, it was just, well, we were friends. She was going through something, but it was the end of it, not the beginning. So K knows me and she is safe and I can trust her. She can attest to everything I've said because she's been along for the ride. Thank god for that. I don't know how I could deal with it if not for her. Because she knows that I've been unhappy for a long time. She knows that I don't just run hot and cold but that I do, actually, honestly, have feelings and that I sit with them for ages. It's just the burning that takes hold of me momentarily and then passes.

The best part about this aspect of me is that I get through the intensive pain quickly. The worst is that I don't get to hold on to bliss for long and I never get excited about anything. Because getting excited ruins it and puts it in peril. I think I've said it before, that the last time I got excited about something was 14 years ago when I went to try and get my license. I failed. Since then, I could never get excited about anything about because it would fall through. Going to England? Couldn't be excited till I got there. Traveling anywhere? Not till I get there. The prospect of a new job or promotion? Not till I get the word from human resources. Even a good weekend that is promised? Not until it begins.

But I'll take it. I have to as I have no choice. And if it will protect me and help me continue putting one foot in front of the other as I continue to grieve for what I've lost, for what I've caused, I'll fucking take it.