Regret. Man, its a terrible thing. Heartache. An even worse emotion. Both intangible and inflicted somewhat by the self. At the end of the day, we are willing participants, we make the choices to enter these contracts, to act on emotions, to be the mover of our bodies. And somehow, it still seems like these outcomes are out of our control. But they are not.
I have experienced true heartbreak twice in my life. I think I have loved more than that but true, aching, will not go away, heartache, twice. The first time I was 18. This feeling of emptiness, cavity in the chest, complete devastation was foreign and I finally understood what motivated songwriters, poets, novelists and artists to create the works that describe this feeling. After reflecting on this, I got to thinking. Is heartache worse the first time or when you are older and understand the brevity and extent of its destruction (excuse me for getting all Carrie Bradshaw on you and yes, I have been watching old episodes of SATC It has bled over if you can't tell)?
Because I am in the present, experiencing this again, I have to go with that it is worse when you are older. Yes, the first time is earth-shattering and almost just as devastating. But knowing its depth, the length and weight of it, makes it much harder when you are older. For I know it. I understand it. And I know that it really never does go away. At least it never did for me. And I am pretty sure, this time, it will not go away and it is even harder.
The reason is because I still love this man and he still loves me. Last time, the man rejected me and did not want to share his life with me anymore. So to move on was my only choice. This time, I am tortured with the truth that it isn't love or the fact that we both don't want to be with each other, it's that we both do. But, if we are honest, know that being together is damn near impossible at this juncture and probably not right for me. Okay, it's definitely not right for me. And, its easy for me to blame his wrongdoings on his disease. The scapegoat opening more space for rationalization. Or better yet, irrationalization. Give in to it, I do.
The fact I was with someone else last night haunts me. I feel the need to be with my love. To feel him again. To have him hold me, tell me everything is okay. So I gave in. I let my heart think for my mind. I gave into the regret, the pain, the emptiness and let him come over. Somehow, I keep telling myself I can ween myself off him. Bit by bit, and eventually, I will no longer need him. Baby replaced by his real name. Hugs to pats, kisses to hand holding, my gaze to a glance. Then hopefully to nothing. I know this is dumb. I know this is wrong. I know this is setting me back. But I cannot let go and I do it anyway.
When he leaves, he texts me that he loves me. He even texts me some hours later, in bed, saying he loves me again. One would think that knowing he loves me should be enough to ease the steps forward of moving on. But it just holds me back. Still in his arms, still in my heart. I love him. He loves me. And that is okay. What is not okay is that I am not moving forward at all. I am still in the exact same place. Even though he is so far, no longer sharing a home, or even a life, he is still very much right here, in my heart and still in our home. I wish I could just stop loving him.
No comments:
Post a Comment