In a post from October 2009, right before Becky and I started dating, I said that I’d never again make the mistake of censoring my blog based on who reads it. This is tough when what you want to write about is doubting your relationship, and the person you live with is who you’re marrying in five months.
My Gaba moved to Seattle (damn his evil heart for leaving) after ending a seven-year relationship. He got together with TheOneTheyCallB after seven months. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him, and they’re getting married next month. In fact, seeing pictures of the beautiful engagement ring is one of the things which kept me from proposing (damn his decent-wage-paying job for delaying my happiness).
Getting together fairly quickly has led to its share of problems for Gaba and TOTCB. What those problems are, I have no idea. Early in my relationship with Becky, TOTCB and I shared some correspondence. I wondered how things would work for me. I worried I was suppressing pain under the glow of new love, I worried because of warnings against rebound relationships.
TOTCB made a comment like, “Gaba and I went through a lot of that at first, believe me. It wasn’t easy but we got through it.” I wondered, what’s that about?
Well, now I know.
The saying goes, Sing like no one’s listening, dance like no one’s watching, and love like you’ve never been hurt. Now that I can think straight (and by that I mean it feels like I’ve stopped drifting through a storm and picked up my oars once again), that last part is proving more difficult than I ever thought it would be.
Every misunderstanding feels like the end of the world. Complicating matters, I also can’t talk about them for some reason. Something as simple as, “When you joked about_____ it made me feel _____” is like trying to lift a building. I don’t even know how to begin a task so impossible, let alone have the tools or strength to accomplish it. So the tiny (usually imagined) slight festers like a splinter. It festers and it poisons my thoughts.
My head belongs to someone else, someone I dislike intensely, someone who only sees faults everywhere he looks, be it the mirror, his life, or the woman he loves. I develop a lump in my throat, pounding around the base of my skull, and pressure in my chest. I doubt everything. I doubt her love. I doubt mine. The world feels like a bluish-black swirl of pain, sucking me down into it’s pit. I want nothing more than to curl into a ball under my desk, or inside a closet, anywhere dark, enclosed, and hidden.
I can’t get over my divorce, for some reason. On my divorce post, I said there must be a finite number of tears you can shed over someone. Either I was wrong, or I had more tears to shed.
Well, I can’t afford a shrink. All I have is Sweet.
Bear with me.