Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Strong Lady

I used to think that strength was an easy thing. After my mother died, I for some reason, was the solid rock while everyone around me melted. It feels now like the only reason I couldn't, wasn't capable of melting, was not because of strength. It was because of weakness.

Every moment, every wave of terror and sadness, is better than the last. I left him and I know that I'm right. I know that I've wanted to do this for a while. And I tried. I fucking. Tried. But, it's hard to uproot your life and start over. It's not something you can easily explain to anyone. Like death, it's one of those times where no one will ever truly understand the sadness. The overwhelming, overwhelming sadness.

Everyone says, "We're so glad you're safe, he was hurting you, you're not who you used to be." But you know what? Fuck that. Fuck that. And you know why I say that? Because I know it's true.

But it doesn't matter.  Saying that I know that. Because I do, but fucking hell... it is hard to make yourself actually believe that it's the truth. You make the most ridiculous excuses... for him, for yourself, for everything. Oh, he only yelled at me because I did something wrong. I did something wrong. I did something wrong?

I come up from upstairs, break open the door and throw myself on the rocks outside because... because I have to. I let out two desperate breaths and spit runs freely from my mouth. I do not notice. All I care about is that I want to go home. Take me the fuck home.

This is not where I belong, this is not where my dog is. But I had to leave him too. Because? Because I wasn't allowed to. If I had been allowed to do or be anything we wouldn't have wound up here. My dog. MY dog. My fucking dog. I hold him as he asked for my keys and I said, "Everything's going to be alright. Mommy loves you. I'm going to be back for you," and he licked my tears, sat in my lap, and let me hold onto him like a goddamn crack addict. I breathe, and it rattles around inside my chest, wondering where it came from and who it is. This breath has no business being here, and it should leave me the fuck alone.

You know what's shitty? It feels worse than my mother dying. I built this life up, and now it's just gone. It's gone now. I loved so hard, and we silently knew it for years....but never admitted it to ourselves. I had the first real conversation with him in years, the day that I finally pulled the trigger. He said, "You haven't been in this for months. Have you?" and I said, "No, I haven't. But you knew that." It dropped like a bombshell, but it felt worse than that. It felt like I had taken a deep gasp in, but it wasn't air I was breathing. It was an overwhelming sadness that seemed to say, "You're alone now. All the fuck alone."

When you have one best friend in life, who has isolated you from all your other friends, you don't think you have anyone to turn to. I lie in this unfamiliar, strange smelling bed and sob hysterically. Why won't anyone just take me home? No one will take me home. I call and call and call. Sometimes he answers and tells me he wants me to come home. That our family misses me. Other times he won't answer... but you know what? Apparently that's ok because he apologizes afterward. I'm so alone I'm so alone I'm so alone.  And then the friends start with their, "You're not alone," nonsense and I think to myself, yes the fuck I am.  It's not you, it's not me, it's not personal... but I really need my best friend right now. But GUESS WHAT?! He's not there, as usual, and yet I keep making excuses for him in my heart.

You make excuses in your heart and to your family. To your friends. You make excuses to legitimize his behavior, and to yourself for still having forgiving feelings. Most of all you try to convince yourself that these feelings you have are fine, that you are on vacation, that you accidentally packed all of your dog's toys and medication because you are silly! and you forgot that he wasn't coming. But flashes of reality hit you about 30 times a day, about how your life is over, and that Maggie... Maggie... As you knew her, is fucking dead. You just don't want to admit it yet. Because admitting it means that you're willing to accept responsibility for being a total fuck up.

Probably the embarrassment and the shame... it's a close second from the crushing loneliness.