Friday, May 06, 2005
aftermath...
Holy shit I am depressed.
I cannot remember ever wanting to cry to a bad cover of Coldplay's The Scientist, but I sure as hell did tonight.
It is done. Over. The fantastic, unpredictable 5 year adventure with a man I love more than anything is finished.
I have never felt more alone.
Devastation is a nice word, but it doesn't come close to an apt description. A nuclear explosion is a nice metaphor, but it doesn't really cover the feeling of a heart shattered into pieces much too small to put back together again.
Evidently, rhetoric is of very little help.
Just try to imagine your entire adult life. Imagine all the places you have been and all the things you've experienced. Then imagine that 90% of those things are wound up in someone whose life you can no longer be a big part of. Better yet, imagine you're climbing a mountain and your arm gets caught under a huge boulder. You know that you can either hack off your own arm with a pen knife over a period of several hours and survive, or you can die, intact, on the mountain. Not much of a choice, is it?
Imagine a part of yourself torn away while you're fully awake and conscious. Actually, don't imagine. I won't wish that kind of pain onto any of you.
It was a mutual decision. It is no one's fault. No one cheated. Neither of us hates the other. In some ways this is worse, because I want to be with him infinitely more than I want to do what may be best for both of us in the long term. I cried for two hours straight last night. I don't understand how on earth I made it out of bed this morning, much less managed to do the things I did today.
I fear I have made a horrible mistake, but what I fear the most is that I have made a decision that I have no choice but to try and live with. I have no experience doing this. None. And so I panic every few minutes and I have no idea how to make myself okay again.
Don't call me. I think I'm only working well in writing. Email is good. Words are good. But it's a lot of excrutiating effort to conduct a conversation in person or on the telephone. I will either fake it or lose it, neither of which I wish to do publicly at this juncture.
I am not writing this to gain your sympathy. I am writing because on some small level it helps. And because typing hurts less than talking, both of which hurt less than thinking.
Sorry if you were expecting fun and games. There won't be any around here until I dig myself out of this rather sizeable hole.
Dig up, stupid! Dig up!
-N
p.s. Bloggerland is sometimes a very lonely place.
