Broken Hearts and Rainy Days

My heart hurts. I’m not thinking about it, though. Which is a lie. But I’m trying. I was doing really well, but I seem to have regressed a bit. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such an emotional person. Maybe. I don’t know. I suppose you have to have the lows if you’re going to have the highs. I do love the highs.

I wish that I could turn my brain off sometimes, just to get a moment or two of peace. Beautiful silence. The voices in my head need to shut the fuck up for a bit, they really do. It’s pouring rain, or I’d go sit on top of my mountain. I might do it anyway, and just stay in the car. The view isn’t as spectacular, but it’s still there.

My heart hurts.

Anger Is Necessary, Yet Hard To Maintain

I spent a notable amount of time earlier today actually feeling angry. I haven’t really had much actual anger yet. A few brief flashes of irritation, and one burst of sad anger, but that’s about it. But no, today, I was mad. Unfortunately, it was still that sort of angry where, even if you have the focus of your anger around to yell at, you just end up crying. Which is what I did. Cry. Driving around, crying, wanting to yell at him, yell at some version of him, both versions, I don’t know.

My Dan vs. Adrian theory works for some purposes, most specifically it gives me a little bit of mental and emotional leeway in terms of dealing with my own levels of stupidity and gullibility. Which may or may not be a good thing, I don’t know. I’ve been saying that a lot lately. I. Don’t. Know. I’m sick and tired of my own damn self, I’m sure everyone else near me is nearing critical levels as well. WHY am I having such a hard time with this? How long does it take to get over heartache? Do you get over it, or are you just changed no matter what? I think you must just be changed no matter what. It’s not like I can go back to being the same person I used to be.

I’m just legitimately, and I think rightfully, angry at him. I wonder what his thought process was, why he thought it was an acceptable way to behave. Did he EVER slow down and consider my feelings, his wife’s feelings? Or was he solely thinking of his own pleasure, his own distractions, his own wants?

I want to throw something, or stomp around like a child, kicking chairs and doorframes. Part of me wants to somehow, someway, be able to impress upon him the seriousness of what he did, and the very real consequences, the real lives he affected. I want to stand up and scream “I matter, dammit! You had NO right!” But then I also want to be fine, be not in pain, not devastated, not someone who still cries, still hurts. I want to say fuck you for what you did to me, and I want to mean it.

It’s OK To Feel The Way I Feel

Maybe there are certain things that are fine to be sad about, fine to mourn, and certain things that are not. I don’t know exactly, I’m more trying to explore a thought here. Is it possible to separate what happened from the person who caused it? Is it possible to have a broken heart, to have a spirit and a soul which need time to heal, time to grieve, and yet NOT give more attention than required to the person who caused my pain?

I think I’m struggling with whether the difficulties I am having are giving too much, I’m not sure of the exact word I’m looking for here . . . power, significance, leverage to him. Him being a person who perhaps or even definitely does not deserve my care, my time, my emotional outlay. Although, it’s like there are two versions of him. The version I knew and loved, who inexplicably morphed into the cheating asshole version who lied to me, lied to his wife, generally behaved in a despicable manner. It’s like the evil him rose up and killed the him I loved, the him that was kind, considerate, funny, smart, passionate and loving. The man I loved no longer exists.  And yes, I know some would say that the man I loved never actually existed in the first place, simply because he was actively lying and omitting, but I don’t know that I agree with that. Reality is subjective. I believed him, loved him, trusted and respected him, and he existed in my life, in my version of reality. I think that is a reasonable thing to mourn.

Again, I’m not exactly sure what, if anything, I’m going for here. Just an aimless exploration of my current thoughts, I suppose.

 

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. Not 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

I Believe In Love

Positive thinking only lasts for so long, it seems. I wish that I could turn my brain off sometimes. Or at least manage to control the thoughts racing round and round within. Steer them in the directions I’d prefer them to go. Even my attempts to meditate only end with me frustrated and less relaxed than I was before. Toss in my natural tendency towards insomnia, and it all adds up to a sad, exhausted and overwhelmed version of me that is trying to make it through the day today.

I keep thinking about how I screwed up when I replied to his wife’s most recent contact. I realize I shouldn’t have used the “L” word to describe my feelings on the time he and I spent together, because it grabbed her attention and completely distracted from my actual point. I should have said something more along the lines that I’m choosing to remember our time together for what it was, for what it seemed to be. When he and I were together it was truly wonderful, and I’m choosing to remember it for what it was at that time, because I think it is better from both of us if he can remain someone who is worthy of having been loved (by me), worthy of being loved and staying married to (by her) . Something like that, more vague, I guess. Well, technically, I should never have replied to her, but, yeah. Hindsight’s an amazing thing, huh?

I’ve rambled about my “is he a good person” dilema enough, I imagine. I’m still not sure of the answer, although I have a rather annoying suspicion that it might be closer to “no” than “yes”. And that is a seriously scary thought, let me tell you. Maybe it doesn’t even matter, I don’t know. It certainly doesn’t change anything that’s happened.

As I said, by inadvertently hurting his wife with my thoughtlessness, I caused her to lash out at me and try to cause me more pain, whereas before we’d had the wary but respectful to each other relationship of two wounded women. I feel very bad about that.

The way she chose to try and hurt me was to say that he never loved me. Which, really, is all I would have ever expected her to say. I was legitimately surprised that she’d even admitted in our earlier conversations that he had feelings for me. To drive home her assertion that he never loved me, she said that he’d been emailing a couple of other women during the time we were together. I actually knew that. He’d talked about it with me on at least two occasions. (Yes, I’m aware he may have lied about the nature of the friendships, but still, the point is that this wasn’t a surprise, thus robbing it of any actual impact.) And even if these email exchanges were wildly inappropriate for a man in an allegedly faithful relationship to have been participating in, there’s pretty much nothing that trumps the complete and total omission of a WIFE. A few possibly naughty emails is supposed to cause me any pain at all, relative to the icy cold knife in the heart feeling that comes from learning that the man who repeatedly and poetically professed to love me, truly, deeply and ferociously, and to want an always sort of future with me is married? And to someone who actually assumes he loves her, is faithful to her, all the things that a proper marriage should be?

Did he love me? Yes, I think so, as much as he is capable of loving anyone. Did he love me enough to be truthful with me, to have an honest relationship with me? No, he didn’t. He couldn’t, because he had a wife. Would he have loved me still, had he not had a wife? I don’t know. I’d like to think so, but maybe the thrill of cheating heightened things for him. Maybe my complete obliviousness to his deception was a turn on for him. Who knows?! I have no idea. I know that the words and feelings that I expressed to him were actually how I felt about him. I loved him, deeply, truly and ferociously, and I did want and expect to have a future with him. In the end, maybe that is all that really matters. His deception and mistakes only reflect negatively on me if I let them do so. I believed in love, and I had hope. I fail to see how that can EVER be a bad thing!

A Moment of Weakness

For whatever reason, I logged into my other account earlier today, the one I mostly used to talk to him, the one I deleted all our letters from. I wasn’t even expecting anything to be there, but there was. There was an IM waiting for me. I admit, my pulse raced, my stomach dropped and my hands went all numb and tingly, even though logically I knew it was going to be from his wife and not him. And it was. She wanted to know if I’d gotten the answers I needed from our final conversation. She said she didn’t know, because he’d deleted the transcript. There was something else about hoping I had what I needed to move on. I don’t have the exact words because it didn’t get saved for some reason.

I sat there and stared at it for a VERY long time. What to do? Reply? Delete? Cry again, because why not, it’s what I do anyway?

Ultimately, I replied. Smart? Who knows! Not me, I know that much. Here’s what I wrote:

I don’t know why I logged back in today. A moment of weakness, I suppose. I haven’t used this account since he and I talked. So I hadn’t seen this message, [her name]. I told him I would not contact him again, but perhaps responding to an overture is different, I don’t know or really care, to be honest. He’d said he was going to delete our conversation, but I didn’t actually expect him to do it. It went as I expected, with no answers whatsoever. He wouldn’t admit to having loved me and he wouldn’t admit to having callously manipulated me, even when I showed him the door to walk through. So I’m forced to make my own interpretations, and I’ve chosen to believe that he did love me. I’ve chosen to believe this not only for my own sanity, but because I meant what I said before. I want the man that I love to have what he wants out of his life, and he wants you and his daughter. Therefore, I want him to be a person who is worth staying with, and someone who is capable of genuine love is worth staying with. Someone who is a callous manipulator is not. So, for those reasons I believe that he did love me and he does love you. Anything less is unfavorable for my future, and for yours.

I am a fighter, and I am actively fighting to get over this entire experience. Hopefully unscarred. It remains to be seen if I will be successful, but rest assured, I plan to be. I’ve deleted everything he ever wrote to me, every picture he ever sent me, every song he ever said represented our love. It is all gone. Other, of course, than the fact that it is all burned into my brain, but I can’t do much about that. I’m assuming time will help. I even made a blog where I can wallow in my sadness and hopefully get it out of my system. I can write random things about my struggle to heal myself, and hopefully connect with people who have managed it themselves. I am fighting. I know you will be glad to hear this, and hopefully he will be as well.

I hope very much that you are making progress in your own healing. I’d love to believe that I was not indirectly responsible for a failed marriage. I wish you well, [her name], and him also. I’m still guilty of wishing desperately that things had actually been as he said they were, where you were just “the ex” and he and I were in love. I can’t be sorry for that, and I am trying to view it as a sign that I will eventually be able to love and trust someone again.

Now I’m off to spend some time with the one man whose feelings I am certain of, my son.

Again, I have no clue if this was a good idea or not. I’m kind of thinking it just is what it is. More neutral than anything. I’m not expecting a response, by any means. It did finally occur to me, from this contact and from remembering things she’d said during our earlier conversations, that she actually thought there was a chance he might “pick me”, so to speak. Or more specifically, not pick her, that would be more accurate. I hadn’t realized that, and I’m truly sorry that I didn’t make it more clear to her that that was not an option. I will not interfere in a marriage. Would I take him back, at some point in the future, if they are unable to fix things and a true separation occurs? Right now, I’d have to say yes, I would. But that is way more my problem, and presumably something that will pass as I recover from the damage done to me.

I listen to the jumble of thoughts in my brain, only a tiny, tiny portion of which are making it out into this blog, and I am confused. How can I truly want him to be happy, want he and his wife to fix their relationship, and yet still want him back? How can that even make any sense? I do see that most of what I want to happen, what I would make happen if I had some sort of reality-altering machine, is just fantasy. Magical thinking, things that can never be. I can’t alter reality, no matter how much I would love to do so.

I want him, love him, miss him. How do I get over this and still keep my belief in love and souls and destiny and true love intact? Is that even possible? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl

Come on, save my soul,

I need some sugar in my bowl

I ain’t foolin’

I want some sugar in my bowl