It’s finally over. A decade in the making, it ended before it even started. In truth, the past several days have been difficult. The only thing that has kept me relatively sane is an emergency stash of meds. It has allowed me to numb myself in ways that I needed. As much as I love the euphoria, it’s not a place that I can stay for very long (not enough meds). I know, it’s arguably a coward’s way to deal with (avoid) some of the stresses of life. But sometimes you have to do what you have to do.
Life is never as we expect it to be. And although some paths are clear, others are much more mired. For the first time, last week I admitted publicly (on my podcast) to have still been in love with someone from my past, wait for it, who isn’t my husband. What I will say before finally putting this to bed and burying it deep is that it’s been a mind-f@$k for a decade. I loved this person entirely and gave of myself freely. He was the one person I felt the most connected to on more levels than anyone else. For me, and apparently me alone, there was just something extraordinary. Odd I know, given the brevity of our physical interaction. All I know for a fact is that if someone is unwilling to tell you how they feel, are willing to string you along and play mind games, they don’t see or appreciate you for who you are. Their inability, to be honest, doesn’t make you less of a person, just a little bit more broken and worn for wear.
When we move on in our lives, it’s not as though we shed everything from our past. My loving one person, those feelings don’t just move to the next person when it doesn’t work out. However, this is now at its end. After a decade of catch and release, I received the final rejection, the final blow. The connection that I felt in my core we shared was confirmed to be one-sided. It was all a lie. I was nothing, I am nothing, I deserved nothing. I was wrong.
I cried for a moment. I’ve already cried so many times before. I slept. A lot. Friday, Saturday and Sunday, I slept for as many hours as I could, pushing down the pain, trying to hold on. I’m too old for this. He is now blocked. I will no longer look curiously to see if he’s reached out to me, looked me up on social media. When I put the last block up today, it was for the very last time. Curiosity killed the cat, and in this case, I’m the cat.
That last piece of innocence that I held on to is finally dying. I feel it physically, my brain starting to change, my heart shearing itself. I am sad to see it go, that part of me being so old, fundamental to my core. It may not be for the better, but we all have to do what we can to protect ourselves. Gone is the person who believed in Santa Claus. Now a shell, I learn to accept that some experiences in life, some of the people we interact with can take from you something so precious that when it’s gone, you are very different on the other side.
Is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? For me, I’ve unequivocally confirmed that it is the latter.