Over two months since I last posted anything. It’s not surprising. You know that saying, “If you don’t have anything nice to say…”? I don’t have any words to share. I’ve tried several times, pulling up this page and typing into the blank space. But it was never anything I could share. I don’t mind sharing pain or struggles, as long as there’s something more, anything else. I have nothing more right now. And I don’t usually just pour out poison with no humour or hope to dilute it. I don’t like to just scream into the void like this, but maybe, if I let the scream out, I can start to turn down the volume on the screaming inside for a little while.
It’s not that every day is a misery. Some days are good, and many days are fine. I’m making slow but steady process with my French, and it appears I will likely qualify for a full-time immigrant language program, hopefully in the next few months. But I keep fading back into a dark place, a place where I fear I’ve lost myself. I keep hoping it’s just the long, cold winter. But it doesn’t feel there’s an end in sight. The warmer days (well, until lately) and the melting snow (well, until lately) that promise spring’s approach don’t seem to lift my spirits. If there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, its rays fail to reach this deep.
I’m the heaviest I’ve been in 9 years. That’s a big part of it. And I know what to do about that, how to change it. I’ve done it before, time and time again. But I can’t seem to get started. Or, if I get started, I soon stall out again. The meatsuit I’m trapped in is weak and cumbersome and repulsive to me, and I can’t seem to find the will to make the thousand little decisions it takes to change that.
I followed my love into this life. A love like I’ve never known. A love I can’t even imagine losing. I still can’t imagine losing him. But I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll fade away completely. I’m losing me, and I can’t seem to get a toehold to stand my ground and try to get me back. Sometimes, I don’t even want to. I just want to be numb. I want to sleep. Usually, when I’m asleep, I’m okay.
I’ve tried to articulate this, but I don’t know if he really understands. My sister is the only one I know who I’m absolutely sure understands. Every day, I wake up in a war zone in my mind. Every day, I swear I’ll win the day’s battle. Once in a while, it’s the truth, but I never win the war. I’m so weak. I’m always tired. I lose and lose and lose again. I wonder how many losses it will take before the war is over, before I can’t even remember that I once wanted to win. Nothing is easy, except doing nothing, which just lands me right back here again.
Perhaps I could hang on, maybe even gain some ground, if I knew I was hanging on for something. All there is for me is him. So I hang onto him. And he reaches out and holds on to me. He holds me so hard, and he feels so strong. For the moment, he is strong enough for both of us. But he’ll wear out eventually. He can’t be my only lifeline, no one’s that big. And when he stops holding, there will be nothing left. Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I almost wish he would let go, that my neediness and outbursts would finally sour the love he has for me. It would still break me, but at least once he let go, it would be over for him. I wouldn’t have to bear bringing the darkness into his world, as well. At least I could finally just BREAK, instead of trying and failing, scrabbling for purchase, only to slip back down again. Sometimes, when I keep losing and slipping further down, it almost feels like rock bottom would be a relief. At least then I wouldn’t have any further to fall, wouldn’t have anything left to lose.
He leaves again in May. I’m not sure I can do another month alone. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I can’t. I feel so broken, so faded. And then I feel so guilty. I have so much, or at least, I could have so much, if I could just find the strength to reach out and grab it. And I see others who keep a brave face when enduring so much worse. When I’m deep in self pity, and then I see a post from a friend about watching his son come into the world via skype, I feel like such a weak little shit. When I see a friend post about her children missing their father, I feel so selfish and small
I’m TRYING to try. I’ll post this, and then work on some of the mounting chores here at home. Not sure how far I’ll get, but I’ll try.
To those reading: I don’t want your pity, or your sympathy, or your assurance that it will all be okay, or even your empathy, because “we’ve all been there before.” I don’t want it, and in fact, I’m not sure I can stand it.
I’ll be okay. Or I won’t. But here in the dark, it’s my space. My love is drawn into the dark with me. It’s crowded enough with him in here. I can’t stand to have you try to join me, too.