It's that kind of day, the kind of day where you feel like you could just fall asleep and it wouldn't bother you if you never woke up. At least for a long, long time.
It's the kind of day that starts with you rolling off the couch you've been sleeping on remembering that you made a dinner date with your parents you don't want to keep, because in the end, they're going to tell you all about what you need to be doing to secure your future, when all you want is to focus on getting to your next bout of sleep.
I love my parents, but sometimes, they just don't know when to quit. They aren't going to save me from the heartbreak or the uncertainty or the feeling that my world is spinning out of control, and that they continually try is even more frustrating. It's like having someone intrude on your own private world. They know what's best for me, they tell me. Hell, no one knows what best for me. Not even me.
My moment of solace in this lament is that I have a long conversation with one of only two people that seems to bring light to my day at all lately. Only she's having the same kind of day. She's just now beginning what I started months ago: the initial heartbreak that comes with realizing that things will never be as they were. The blast to the self-esteem which continually screams, "Why wasn't I good enough to hold it together?" And all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright, that we heal, that we go on. It just takes so damned long.
I decide to advance the project I've been working on for her. It won't make the hurt any better, but maybe, just maybe it will show her that someone cares. That she's loved. That she's not alone. Hours later and I have all the materials I need, but lo and behold, it's time for that dreaded dinner date with the parents. Being at their house is surreal. I'm not in the mind frame to take their advice, but what really strikes me is the normalcy of the household. Husband and wife who've been together for over thirty five years. They have two grown children, a house in the country, two dogs and a cat. That was the dream wasn't it? Till death do us part? Since when did the vows become such a disposal phrase?
I can accept that my ex-wife fell out of love with me. Hell, I've since fallen out of love with her. But what about all that other stuff? That's what I'm really grieving for. There's no family in my future, no anniversaries, no fun get-togethers over the holidays. I don't get to help my future kid with his or her homework. I don't get to go to recitals or sporting events or whatever they want to do. And that writing career I wanted? What's the point? So I can be happy in my loneliness? People tell me this isn't the end. They say it's a new beginning, but how am I supposed to see a brighter future when I can't even see beyond tomorrow?
I talk with my friend again before dinner. She grounds me. She makes me realize there are still beautiful things in this world. Still some people with a shred of common decency. It hurts me to see her in such pain.
I leave about an hour after dinner with dad making one final offer to drive me to the DoL office so I can file for unemployment this week. Hell, I have to make sure I get out of bed, er, couch tomorrow, much less get out later this week. When I get home, the other person who brings light to my day is also having a breakdown--that kind of day. It seems silly at first. She's worried about her weight, but I've known her long enough to know that's just the in-the-moment thing. Too much has been building up, and her weight gain has broken the proverbial camel's back. She tells me she wants to give up on life. It all feels like a crushing weight on her. I want to hold her too.
Why can't I save the people I love? For the same reason my parents can't save me, I guess. This is life, the opposite side of the coin from the butterflies we feel in our stomachs when we first fall in love or the elation of a personal victory. This is heartbreak and crushing defeat and when we confront it, we wonder why we ever live at all or when, if ever, we'll be normal again.
Well, I'm learning day by day how to deal with it, and slowly but surely, it is getting better. We can't lose hope, any of us. Life is pleasure and pain--balance must be maintained. It's just making it to the other side of the cycle again. Well, I'm making it, dammit, and I'll drag my loved ones kicking and screaming with me if I have to. I love them too much to let them go. Even if it is that kind of day.
It's the kind of day that starts with you rolling off the couch you've been sleeping on remembering that you made a dinner date with your parents you don't want to keep, because in the end, they're going to tell you all about what you need to be doing to secure your future, when all you want is to focus on getting to your next bout of sleep.
I love my parents, but sometimes, they just don't know when to quit. They aren't going to save me from the heartbreak or the uncertainty or the feeling that my world is spinning out of control, and that they continually try is even more frustrating. It's like having someone intrude on your own private world. They know what's best for me, they tell me. Hell, no one knows what best for me. Not even me.
My moment of solace in this lament is that I have a long conversation with one of only two people that seems to bring light to my day at all lately. Only she's having the same kind of day. She's just now beginning what I started months ago: the initial heartbreak that comes with realizing that things will never be as they were. The blast to the self-esteem which continually screams, "Why wasn't I good enough to hold it together?" And all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright, that we heal, that we go on. It just takes so damned long.
I decide to advance the project I've been working on for her. It won't make the hurt any better, but maybe, just maybe it will show her that someone cares. That she's loved. That she's not alone. Hours later and I have all the materials I need, but lo and behold, it's time for that dreaded dinner date with the parents. Being at their house is surreal. I'm not in the mind frame to take their advice, but what really strikes me is the normalcy of the household. Husband and wife who've been together for over thirty five years. They have two grown children, a house in the country, two dogs and a cat. That was the dream wasn't it? Till death do us part? Since when did the vows become such a disposal phrase?
I can accept that my ex-wife fell out of love with me. Hell, I've since fallen out of love with her. But what about all that other stuff? That's what I'm really grieving for. There's no family in my future, no anniversaries, no fun get-togethers over the holidays. I don't get to help my future kid with his or her homework. I don't get to go to recitals or sporting events or whatever they want to do. And that writing career I wanted? What's the point? So I can be happy in my loneliness? People tell me this isn't the end. They say it's a new beginning, but how am I supposed to see a brighter future when I can't even see beyond tomorrow?
I talk with my friend again before dinner. She grounds me. She makes me realize there are still beautiful things in this world. Still some people with a shred of common decency. It hurts me to see her in such pain.
I leave about an hour after dinner with dad making one final offer to drive me to the DoL office so I can file for unemployment this week. Hell, I have to make sure I get out of bed, er, couch tomorrow, much less get out later this week. When I get home, the other person who brings light to my day is also having a breakdown--that kind of day. It seems silly at first. She's worried about her weight, but I've known her long enough to know that's just the in-the-moment thing. Too much has been building up, and her weight gain has broken the proverbial camel's back. She tells me she wants to give up on life. It all feels like a crushing weight on her. I want to hold her too.
Why can't I save the people I love? For the same reason my parents can't save me, I guess. This is life, the opposite side of the coin from the butterflies we feel in our stomachs when we first fall in love or the elation of a personal victory. This is heartbreak and crushing defeat and when we confront it, we wonder why we ever live at all or when, if ever, we'll be normal again.
Well, I'm learning day by day how to deal with it, and slowly but surely, it is getting better. We can't lose hope, any of us. Life is pleasure and pain--balance must be maintained. It's just making it to the other side of the cycle again. Well, I'm making it, dammit, and I'll drag my loved ones kicking and screaming with me if I have to. I love them too much to let them go. Even if it is that kind of day.
And I totally recommend Public Enemies.