There is this song I heard a few years ago by an indie artist, a great songwriter, and my favorite line is;
"Its so sad when people you know become people you knew..."
The evolution of relationships, summed up right there. It isn't likely that I'll ever have a conversation where I'll say "Oh, yeah, I knew *enter ex-husbands name here*" but, that doesn't make the evolution any less real.
Because I did know him. But, I'll never know him again. Not the same way. He will now always be someone I knew. Past tense.
Past.
I used to think the past was what would keep us together. So much history. So many shared memories. For me, those kinds of things matter. They are important.
I forget that being sentimental isn't as romantic as I like to pretend it is. No one else will ever care about my memories the same way I do.
The things I know. And the things I thought I knew. Funny how they are the same and yet so drastically different.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Sticky & Stinging
The most curious thing about divorce is that it doesn't actually kill you. Even though you feel like you are going to die every minute for weeks. Months. Years, even.
When that pain finally starts to subside you are left with a sticky residue on your soul. I call this mess: Uncertainty.
Uncertainty has a sting all its own. Dark and sharp and hazy and powerful all at once. It creeps up on you slowly and then slices through any new ideas or moments of peace so swiftly it steals your breath.
And you suddenly find yourself on a street corner, or standing in a room full of people, or in the middle of a conversation, shaking from head to toe. Stunned at the aching in your soul. Wondering why the hell you are doing whatever it is you may be doing. Wondering who could possibly care about what you've just said.
Yes, Uncertainty will haunt you long after the lonely has passed. After the worry of what to say when someone asks what went wrong has lifted. After the stress of starting over from scratch has become familiar. Uncertainty will be there always. After you meet someone new. After a good job has solidified. After life begins to establish a routine.
You can try to banish it. Fight against it with positive thoughts, encouraging actions, and happy intentions. But, like I said, it is sticky. The goo runs deep into the crooks and cracks of your very being. Some crevices still unhealed by the passage of time. Stinging.
The sting keeps you up at night. Eyes heavy, mind slushy with the repetitive question running on a constant loop; What the fuck am I doing?
So foggy. So confused. So uncertain.
When that pain finally starts to subside you are left with a sticky residue on your soul. I call this mess: Uncertainty.
Uncertainty has a sting all its own. Dark and sharp and hazy and powerful all at once. It creeps up on you slowly and then slices through any new ideas or moments of peace so swiftly it steals your breath.
And you suddenly find yourself on a street corner, or standing in a room full of people, or in the middle of a conversation, shaking from head to toe. Stunned at the aching in your soul. Wondering why the hell you are doing whatever it is you may be doing. Wondering who could possibly care about what you've just said.
Yes, Uncertainty will haunt you long after the lonely has passed. After the worry of what to say when someone asks what went wrong has lifted. After the stress of starting over from scratch has become familiar. Uncertainty will be there always. After you meet someone new. After a good job has solidified. After life begins to establish a routine.
You can try to banish it. Fight against it with positive thoughts, encouraging actions, and happy intentions. But, like I said, it is sticky. The goo runs deep into the crooks and cracks of your very being. Some crevices still unhealed by the passage of time. Stinging.
The sting keeps you up at night. Eyes heavy, mind slushy with the repetitive question running on a constant loop; What the fuck am I doing?
So foggy. So confused. So uncertain.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Unsatisfied
I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be satisfied with my life...
I have a very bad, and possibly creepy, habit of looking at pictures of other peoples lives and being sick to death that my life didn't turn out that way...and the even more strange, and possibly even creepier, thing is that I don't web-stalk people I know, it is always someone that someone else knows...someone I've heard of but, never met.
Most recently it is an old girlfriend of my ex-husband. And when I say old girlfriend, I mean high school. I've never met this woman in my life. Although, I know he used to talk to her when we were together and still might.
But, her pictures show a beautiful woman, beautiful kids, beautiful husband. A beautiful life.
That's the illusion though, isn't it? No one takes pictures of the ugly moments in life. No one takes a picture in the middle of an argument, a tantrum, no one wants to show the world a bruise blossomed in anger or the shards of a broken heart.
It's been over a year and I'm still struggling with the idea, the fact, the absolute truth that my life will never look the way I thought it would. The absurd false moments that show me and him, side by side, happy as happy could be...I don't get any more of those.
And God help me, I want them. The honest truth is that, despite what I know logically, I ache for him...still. Always.
Berating myself about this is pointless. I've lost the battle. I lost it a long time ago. And while I am certain that any fake-happy-quick-take-a-picture-of-this moments are far behind us, I cannot stop the tears that well up or the dull pounding in my ears or the quiver of my heart, still so unbelievably broken that it lies in a shapeless heap inside my chest.
I gave him my soul. And while I continue to hear the endless mantra of "time heals all wounds" I know deep inside that plenty of time has passed. I know now that it will always be his. I'll never recover it. At least not enough to want to freeze moments in time and show them to the world. Any pictures of my future will never resemble the past I so desperately wish I could reclaim.
And so, I will continue to look at other peoples lives. I will continue to mourn what I will never have, what I never had.
And I will continue to miss him. Every. Single. Day.
I have a very bad, and possibly creepy, habit of looking at pictures of other peoples lives and being sick to death that my life didn't turn out that way...and the even more strange, and possibly even creepier, thing is that I don't web-stalk people I know, it is always someone that someone else knows...someone I've heard of but, never met.
Most recently it is an old girlfriend of my ex-husband. And when I say old girlfriend, I mean high school. I've never met this woman in my life. Although, I know he used to talk to her when we were together and still might.
But, her pictures show a beautiful woman, beautiful kids, beautiful husband. A beautiful life.
That's the illusion though, isn't it? No one takes pictures of the ugly moments in life. No one takes a picture in the middle of an argument, a tantrum, no one wants to show the world a bruise blossomed in anger or the shards of a broken heart.
It's been over a year and I'm still struggling with the idea, the fact, the absolute truth that my life will never look the way I thought it would. The absurd false moments that show me and him, side by side, happy as happy could be...I don't get any more of those.
And God help me, I want them. The honest truth is that, despite what I know logically, I ache for him...still. Always.
Berating myself about this is pointless. I've lost the battle. I lost it a long time ago. And while I am certain that any fake-happy-quick-take-a-picture-of-this moments are far behind us, I cannot stop the tears that well up or the dull pounding in my ears or the quiver of my heart, still so unbelievably broken that it lies in a shapeless heap inside my chest.
I gave him my soul. And while I continue to hear the endless mantra of "time heals all wounds" I know deep inside that plenty of time has passed. I know now that it will always be his. I'll never recover it. At least not enough to want to freeze moments in time and show them to the world. Any pictures of my future will never resemble the past I so desperately wish I could reclaim.
And so, I will continue to look at other peoples lives. I will continue to mourn what I will never have, what I never had.
And I will continue to miss him. Every. Single. Day.
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...
Who's the worst of them all?
Ever have one of those days where you just can't look at yourself in the mirror? Where just the thought of having to meet your own eyes sends a shiver of disgust down your spine? I've been having more and more of those days...it's starting to become a concern that I've gotten so uncomfortable with the things I've done and the person I am.
I say concern because I don't really feel guilty or horrible about myself, I just know on a logical level that what I'm doing is wrong. And the fact that I can't look at myself. In the past I would have emotionally flogged myself but, now I just can't seem to work up any kind of emotion. I don't feel anymore. It is like someone pumped a gallon of Novocaine into the cavity where my heart used to be. I'm numb.
Except when I think of him. The zing is less powerful, the throb less painful but, they are still there, still alive. But, fading not so fast.
If my tear ducts weren't cemented over by indifference I might cry at the thought of losing even that tiny connection to him.
I know he would be shocked at me these days. I'm certainly not the girl he first met all those years ago. Nor am I the one that he left not so long ago.
Ever have one of those days where you just can't look at yourself in the mirror? Where just the thought of having to meet your own eyes sends a shiver of disgust down your spine? I've been having more and more of those days...it's starting to become a concern that I've gotten so uncomfortable with the things I've done and the person I am.
I say concern because I don't really feel guilty or horrible about myself, I just know on a logical level that what I'm doing is wrong. And the fact that I can't look at myself. In the past I would have emotionally flogged myself but, now I just can't seem to work up any kind of emotion. I don't feel anymore. It is like someone pumped a gallon of Novocaine into the cavity where my heart used to be. I'm numb.
Except when I think of him. The zing is less powerful, the throb less painful but, they are still there, still alive. But, fading not so fast.
If my tear ducts weren't cemented over by indifference I might cry at the thought of losing even that tiny connection to him.
I know he would be shocked at me these days. I'm certainly not the girl he first met all those years ago. Nor am I the one that he left not so long ago.
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