Dammit, Dammit, Damn It All

Not a good day. Not at all. Today, right now, I just want him. I miss everything about him. The him I knew, the him I loved. The him that is lost, gone, not available, not mine, vanished. I can’t make my brain function, my emotions are definitely in the driver’s seat today. Damn. My heart hurts. It HURTS. I’m shaky and cold. I can’t keep any food down. I keep leaking tears everywhere, and it just fucking hurts. Such bullshit.

I want to know WHY? And there is just no answer to that question, no answer at all.

My heart is bleeding.

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So Far, Time Is Not On My Side

My son and I spent several hours playing outside today, which was good for us both. I feel like the world’s worst mother for how distracted and despondent I’ve been lately. I’m generally a person who loves to laugh, who loves to see the humor and absurdities in life. SInce I fell, plummeted, crashed, had my still beating heart ripped violently from my chest, I have barely managed a smile, let alone an honest burst of laughter or joy. I know it is affecting my son. How could it not?

I manage bursts of anger at him, the him who broke my heart, the him who promised me things he had no right to promise, the him who dared me to believe, waited until I did and then left me standing here bewildered and alone, but so far I’ve been unable to maintain them for very long. Again, perhaps it is a time thing, or perhaps it’s just that I’m not an angry woman in general, I don’t know. The anger I do manage to work up is fleeting. It’s not enough to sustain me.

From where I am sitting, curled up on the sofa, I can see into the room I use for my art studio. The piece I was making for him is still there. I have no idea what to do with it right now, so there it sits. It just makes me sad. I keep hoping the urge to paint something will hit me, and I’ll be inspired and strong enough to go in there and paint over it. Someday it will, I suppose.┬áNot today, though.

I feel very wistful about what could have been. I wish this had all been different, ended differently, NOT ended at all, no lies, no deception, only the love I thought we had. I still miss him. I don’t WANT to miss him, to miss someone with no respect for, well, I don’t know if it’s completely fair to say no respect for women in general, but at least no respect for two women in particular. But I did truly love him. So I do. I miss him. It’ll pass eventually.

Dan Jimenez, Adrian Jimenez, escritorio1978

Why?

My thoughts just keep endlessly looping. Non-productive, self destructive, depressive thoughts. Why? Why . . . everything? Why can’t I find and keep what I want out of life? What is wrong with me? Is it too much to ask for more? To want more? Am I wrong to want passion, to want love, to want someone who GETS me?

I MISS him. I miss the idea of him, I miss what we had, what I thought we had. Which we didn’t, clearly. Or, we did, but it wasn’t truthful, so it, what, doesn’t count? It certainly felt real to me, counted to me. I know that much. I feel stupid. And gullible. And foolish. I don’t even think it is all about him anymore. I mean, yes, I miss him. That’s quite obvious. But he’s a liar, a deceiver, a possibly not wonderful person. So, I think perhaps that I miss the idea of him more than the reality. Or the prior reality over the current one. I miss what it was when I was living it, and I miss the promise of the future, of having everything I wanted.

My grip is slipping. I can feel it slipping. I have to focus.

Disillusionment

Apparently while I slept, my subconscious began to entertain the possibility that he is simply not a good person. That makes me sad. As a matter of fact, I’m just kind of sad in general this morning. Although, it seems to be mixed with a bit of resignation as well, so maybe that’s a good thing.

I’ve been thinking about the things he said about his wife when she was in the guise of “the ex”. That is his phrase, not mine. The ex, not my ex. He also called her “the bearer of my child”. He never used her name. Which at the time I didn’t give much thought to, assuming that what he’d told me was true and she’d kept the impending existence of his daughter from him. I could understand a bit of resentment existing. But thinking back over things with the knowledge I have now, his dismissive attitude towards her is disturbing. This is a woman he was deliberately and consciously cheating on. They lived together the entire time he and I were together. So that means that during times we stayed up late talking, she was there. Everything he said to me, did with me, promised me, during those talks, he did while she slept in the next room, gestating their child. Every day she assumed he was hard at work earning their livelihood, he was doing it while spending every single moment with me, while planning a future with me. That’s just wrong. There’s no way to spin it any other way. And honestly, it makes me angry. How dare he treat a woman he professes to love in that way? How could he? How could he treat me the way he did, someone he also professed to love? But even more so how could he treat her, the woman he’s been with for eight years, a woman he married, a woman who carried his child, in such a completely heartless way?

So I’m back to my dilema. I want to keep the idea of him as a man who made a serious mistake, but who is a decent, caring and kind person in general. I want this, I think, because I don’t want to admit that my ability to tell a nice guy from a lying jerk is so seriously flawed, and also because I’m scared that if I go down that road I will turn jaded and lose my belief in love and a true and passionate man existing somewhere for me.

It’s really just insanely frustrating. And I guess I’m still at the point where I believe that he did mean the things he said to me. But I’m also willing to admit that he has an impressive capacity to compartmentalize the different areas of his life. Last night, she said she didn’t believe he could love two people at the same time, and that therefore one of us was seriously stupid. And yeah, I’m willing to admit the possibility that it’s me. I’ve said that from the beginning. But I’d rather neither of us was stupid, that this was just an unfortunate thing, that they fix things, really and truly fix things, not merely stay together unhappily, and that I move on, happy and wiser. So that’s what I was getting at, with choosing to believe that he did love me. A decent man, capable of love, capable of fixing the gigantic mistake he made and remaining true to his wife, that’s a good thing. A manipulative sociopath, not a good thing and not at all worth staying with. The first is fine and understandable for me to have fallen in love with, the second is not.

I feel like screaming, I really do.