Obsess. Scream. Pull my hair out. Wail like the shitty little puke that sat at table 45 did today when his waffles didn’t get put in front of him as soon as he sat down. That’s what the past few days have been like. Context is important but I’ll spare the play-by-play for now. The short version is that NB subliminally (no, I’m not crazy, he really did) reached out to me, because of course he fucking did. So I then wrote him a calm and collected message to tell him I thought it was unfair/cruel and that he had until mid-August to speak actual words to me before I blocked/deleted his number and changed my own. I guess She got ahold of his phone and somehow my address, and we had a lovely impromptu chat outside of my house. I didn’t try to correct her or fight her or compete against her or plead with her. I listened, apologized sincerely and answered any question she had honestly.  She had plenty to say, obviously, most of which I anticipated and took as dignified as the Other Woman can in this situation. Apparently I am delusional and manipulative, and with my wily witchy ways, wooed him into my web. Like that alliteration or what?  So, basically, I’m a sorceress with a magic vagina who eats people’s partners for funsies. Yep. There’s the short version. 

Here’s how I’m not handling things. I’m still sober. That’s all I’ve got. I think a lot. I spend much of my time on the couch staring off into space. That’s it. Tonight I was thinking about feelings and how we describe them (or choose not to). I have a lot of opinions on what’s gone down lately, but I have a hard time expressing myself honestly. Sometimes we say things because we think we’re supposed to. They fit. They make people more comfortable. They sound better out loud to us, to them.

I say, ‘I’m working on acceptance. I want to get to the place where I can forgive him’. I’m really saying, ‘how could he do this to me? How could he not protect me? I was the only one on his side’.

I laugh at work and a friend says, ‘I haven’t heard that in a long time, you must be doing better!’ I say, “Yeah! Today’s an okay day actually”. I’m really saying, ‘the absurdity of what just happened to my heart makes me burst into laughter because there is nothing left to do’.

I say, ‘I guess it could always be worse, right?’ I’m really saying, ‘what is happening is far worse than anything I’ve ever imagined’.

These small conversations make me laugh and cry and rage. How do you handle the fact that the person that you held in such high esteem betrayed your confidence, privacy, and love without saying a word? You don’t. I don’t know how. Is it even possible?

I sit in my house, I go to work, I run errands, I watch TV and am learning to ignore the questions cycling through my head throughout the day. I try not to look over my shoulder at work and at home (I’ve been told I won’t be left alone unless I leave my job, and Vancouver).

I ask myself a hundred more times, ‘how could he do this to me?’
I say, ‘guess he wasn’t who I thought he was, that pile of garbage’.
I’m really saying ‘he owed me more than this.’
Ask another hundred times, ‘how could he fucking do this to me?’.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Betrayal, what a bitch. I’m an idiot, a naive little girl.

P.S. Rot in hell, you piece of shit.


Accept and Let Go.

I am meditating on acceptance. I don’t really know where to start. I guess I could go with ‘I can’t change a decision that was made by somebody else‘. So I’ll say that again.
I can’t change that NB chose to remove himself from my life. Whether it was by force, by choice, by blackmail, by whatever! I can’t do anything about it. The circumstances that surround it do not matter. It is what it is. There is nothing to do except embrace the facts of the situation. He chose a different life, and now that means things must change in mine. Just writing that make me feel a bit better.

I don’t have to mope or mourn if it doesn’t feel natural.
I don’t have to laugh and pretend nothing is wrong if it doesn’t feel natural.
I just have to be true to how I’m feeling and wait for it to pass.
That’s it. I think I can handle that.

When I was still drinking, I (vaguely) remember being shit-faced and crying because I hated what the NB situation was doing to me. I was lying on my kitchen floor sobbing into his lap. Snot everywhere (über attractive). He stroked my hair and told me honest but comforting things while I cried it all out. I remember saying that I didn’t care what choice he made but he had to make one. I said that frequently. Part of me did mean it, but the bigger, uglier part wanted him to choose me. So there it is, the thing that hurts the most to admit.

He chose to let me go, which means I have to let him go, even though I don’t want to. I didn’t want any of this. But realizing that I don’t want to let him go, and that I would have done anything to prevent it from happening doesn’t fucking change anything. It’s still the way it is, against my wishes sure, but that also doesn’t change a thing. The only thing I can do from here is keep living my life, albeit a little differently now.

No more making extra coffee on the days he’d pop by mid morning.
No more waiting to hear when he’s free, changing my day around to spend an hour or two together.
No more monitoring how much perfume I wear so he doesn’t leave the house smelling like another woman.
No more lonely evenings waiting to hear back from him.
No more staying up later than I should to see if he can steal away on the motorcycle.
No more secrets.
No more guilt.
No more waiting.

I anticipate feeling relieved someday soon. The confusion and struggles I’ve been facing in all of this makes me think of my first two weeks of sobriety. I was fucking terrified when I made the decision to never drink again. Firstly, I didn’t think I could do it and secondly, I didn’t think I would be the same person if I did (in a bad way). I didn’t know myself without the poison that kept me numb. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I didn’t realize I would wake up one day not long after making said choice, feeling that a huge weight had been lifted off of me, feeling like a more authentic me. It was the best decision I’ve made to date, I have no true regrets even on my worst days.

Perhaps a similar epiphany is on the other side of this pain? I really hope so.

What Is Left To Do.

It’s my Sunday. It’s overcast and spitting rain which means I won’t be able to zone out at the park today. I have little errands to run and some house stuff to attend to but it’s been a productive weekend for me so I’m procrastinating a bit. I went and got a physical yesterday, glad it’s done with. It was uncomfortable but quick, as they usually are. In-and-out in 10 minutes (hardy-har). I’d like to meet someone who really enjoys being probed by a stranger… Anyway!

I sent NB a message the other night before bed, after debating for some time whether I needed to or not. Turns out I felt the need to apologize for how things ended and to clarify a couple of things about our final conversation. I feel like it was the right call. Perhaps I was apologizing on behalf of him, knowing I won’t ever get the apology I feel I deserve. I’m creating my own closure here. Whether he responds or not is irrelevant, I said what I had to. I meticulously thought out what exactly I was feeling and pressed send once I knew I didn’t have ulterior motives in doing so. So here we are, over two weeks without communication at all. The days are passing painfully slow. I feel different than I did in the first week. I’m exhausted. And the sadness is now coming in waves. I crave even more alone time, and I’m sensitive to every kind of stimulus around me. I guess this is normal for a break up? I’m getting smacked with insignificant memories which hurt regardless of how ridiculous/unimportant they were. Swallowing how much I miss him is no easy feat. I feel like I’m drinking poison.

All that is left to do is start moving on, I suppose. Is progress measurable when it comes to break ups? I don’t feel like I’m making any. I’m still in shock. I’m still angry. I’m still wondering how I will ever get close to another person in that way. I’m not going to go on dating sites. I’m not going to be able to have rebound sex. I just won’t. I know myself. I can’t drink this away. I can’t fuck this away. I can’t work this away. I just have to feel it, I guess? How long is it going to hurt like this? How many more hours do I have to jolt myself back to reality and remind myself he isn’t coming back?

In other news, I’m booking my flights back to Onterrible for the holidays. I’m being forced to visit, as my sister is having a baby in October and apparently family members are supposed to care about that sort of thing. Last trip home I took was an awful time, so I’m hellbent on making this one better. I won’t be staying with my parents, which was part of the reason everything went to shit during my previous visit, and I’ll be sober! I hope the sobriety makes dealing with my insane mother a bit more manageable (although intuition tells me the opposite).

Speaking of sobriety, July 25th is my 3 month mark. Feels like it’s been years.

This Is Where I’m At.

I read the newest post from one of my favourite bloggers this morning and was (as always) struck with envy that she could just write, even when she didn’t know how or what to say, or have an idea in mind. That is something I struggle with daily. I wake up saying “I will write today” and then lose motivation when I realize I don’t know what I want to say, or how to begin getting to the point I want to make.

Today I’m going to do something different. Today I’m just going to write.

Continue reading “This Is Where I’m At.”

Everything Is On Fire.

Here’s a list of some things I know/fear/hate/question about what’s going on in my brain/life/etc. It’s all in point-form, because writing in any other way hurts too much.

  • I’m afraid that I won’t feel this way again.
  • I’m afraid it won’t be the same no matter what I try.
  • I know I will force myself to get through this.
  • I know I will force myself to move on to something new.
  • I know I will meet someone eventually, even if it means I’m old and exhausted from heartbreak when it happens.
  • I know someone will love me, too.
  • I’m afraid of how I will handle the fact that it won’t be him, not ever.
  • How do I swallow knowing we never had a chance?
  • Or that we did and he was too fearful to give us one?
  • Will this hole always be shaped like him?
  • Will he regret not fighting for this?
  • This is not my first serious relationship, nor my first love, but this one in particular has changed me.
  • I guess they all do to some extent.
  • He helped me get sober.
  • He believed in me.
  • That makes this harder.
  • I do know that I did all I could.
  • I do know I couldn’t have fought harder than I did.
  • The rest was on him.
  • I have to live with this empty space now.
  • I couldn’t have done anything to change this.
  • I don’t blame him.
  • I don’t hate him (even though I’m furious and disappointed and hurt).
  • I adore him.
  • I respect him.
  • I hope he finds whatever it is he’s looking for.
  • I haven’t forgiven him.
  • I don’t know if I will.
  • I should feel free but I am petrified.

76 days.

I’m alive and I’m sober, I just don’t know how to write just yet.

NB waltzed back into my life three days after pulverizing my heart into even smaller pieces than it was already in (three days after my last post), desperate to find a solution that didn’t include losing me. I told him I refused to be a part of his life in the way that I have been. I refused to take part in a relationship where all parties aren’t aware of it. I’m not a fucking mistress. I never wanted to get where we ended up, but both of us are to blame. I know this makes me a terrible human, I know. I fucking know. Anyway, I told him that it was time to make a move, in whatever direction he felt best for him/his kids/his life, and this past Monday, he told his partner he was leaving her.

I knew it was time for him to take a leap. I never pressured him to make any choice, I just told him it was time to do something. Anything other than what’s been going on. The weeks/months/years leading up to it were torture, and I had no idea it was going to happen the way that it did. No warning. No preparation. A few texts, silence, and then two phone calls this week that changed the course of my/his/her future.

Tuesday 10am: at work, anxious and waiting to hear something (ANYTHING) about what the fuck happened the day before. I never would beg for answers or beg to be kept up to speed, I told him I would give him space and to talk to me when he was ready. Obviously I was losing my fucking mind, but this is his life and I’ve got no business sticking my nose in it just because I’m involved. He calls. He explains that he told her he wasn’t happy, and he wanted to move out. He then told her about me. My name. Where I work. How it happened. How long it’s been going on. And mentions that I should expect a visit at work that day from her. Confrontation wasn’t something I necessarily feared, I more so felt so bloody guilty that I couldn’t help but stifle back a sob/gag/scream. He hangs up, after another remark about her going to the doctor to make sure she had no STDs (true story- albeit not a concern in this situation I do understand where she’s coming from… she doesn’t know me, why should she trust me or him)? It’s a bit of a slap in the face, but hey, what did I expect? He then sends a couple more hysterical messages to me, he’s extremely confused/distraught/upset, and says that he told her he wasn’t going to stop talking to me because of ‘feelings’ (or whatever the fuck he said) and that naturally infuriated her. Then, silence.

12:30pm: work is busy, I’m a server short so there’s two of us running around like assholes, the patio is full, and we have people at the door waiting to be sat. I had to have a frantic conversation with the restaurant owner and divulge everything. He knows NB, NB has done work for him in the past/they are friends. The owner is not too surprised (we spent a lot of time together at the restaurant and outside of it) but definitely concerned at the idea of NB’s partner coming in to the place and causing a scene/concerned for my mental well-being. I told NB he could give his partner my phone number and I would meet her after work if she wanted to speak to me. No response.

1:30pm: my cellphone rings as I’m bringing a tray of drinks to a table. I pass off the table on the other server/a close friend, run outside to answer my phone and the line is silent. I can hear him breathing. He then says ‘this is a courtesy call. you may never see or hear from me again.’ A few words were exchanged, he was cold and stoic and explained nothing. I was heaving with sobs and curse words, and said something along the lines of ‘you bastard. don’t come back.’ I then hung up on him, not that I’m certain he had much to say, and that was it. Radio silence.

I’ve been erased from social media, from his phone, from his life. I suppose in the end he made his choice, which is welcome… But being treated like I wanted this all to happen. Like I set this up and it was all some fun game to me. Like I was the one who showed back up in his life after breaking things off. It makes me fucking sick. Do whatever you want, dude, but don’t belittle what we went through together. Not to me. Not to her. Most importantly, not to yourself.

I found out today that on Tuesday after our conversation him and his family left for a 10 day ‘vacation’. He never apologized. He never told me what happened. He just disappeared, along with the past few years of my life.

So I am here, soberly trying to put out all the fires he/we set. I am here picking up the dust of what was once my heart. Judge me, condemn me, do it all. I made my bed, I know. But I love that man so wholeheartedly I don’t know how to make it go away. Trust me, I tried. For years. Platonic years. Then romantic years. And who knows how many more I’ll spend trying to get over it. I don’t know what else to say.

Hoping you all are having a better week.