I woke up feeling sad. Really sad.
That’s the thing about grief. It comes in waves. And when you think you’re in the clear, it rears its’ ugly head.
I’m not grieving a person per se. Or maybe I am. I’m grieving a mix of things.
The 2019 and 2020 were 2 years of pure hell, and I’m still feeling the repercussions in my mind and body. My mind is still in “flight” move, constantly looking for the next thing that’s going to flip me on my head. It’s like I’m constantly trying to prepare myself for battle. (they call this PTSD)
My body is still seeking a healthy set point. After being under so much pressure and stress, my hormones and cortisol levels and nerves are still messed up. And I can workout and eat healthy as much as I want, my body is still trying to protect me by holding on to some of the weight that I put on, after having starved myself for months (not on purpose. The anxiety was so bad I barely ate and was exercising non-stop because it was only thing that gave me some reprieve).
The pain has faded. But some days, the wound feels raw again. Flashes of memories. Pangs of sadness of things that I miss.
But then I second-guess myself.
Were these memories real? Were the emotions real? Was ANY of it real?
That’s what happens when trust is so deeply broken, and when you are so deeply hurt by someone you trusted your life with. That’s what happens when promises are broken, and the person you are meant to spend your life with chooses to walk away.
You see, the grief that I am still feeling is for a relationship and a life that I used to have. A life that I thought I wanted. A life that I still, in some ways, deeply want.
I wanted to be married. I wanted to be in a happy relationship. I wanted to grow old together. I wanted to cheer each other on in our goals and dreams. I wanted us to travel the world. To learn together. To become better versions of ourselves.
None of that came to pass.
Looking back, it’s hard to tease out what memories are real, and what was a fantasy that I created for myself. Was the love real? Or was I convincing myself because I felt like I would be nothing without him?
I still struggle to this day, because in some ways, I was lied to and made to believe that it was my fault. That I had to lose weight and be more feminine to be more loveable and to be good enough to be intimate with.
I was made to believe that my anxiety was too much and pushed him away.
I was made to feel as though I had to make myself small because there were consequences if I pushed back.
The fear of loss was so great in me that I tried to mould myself into what I thought would make him stay.
And in the end, he didn’t stay. He didn’t want me. He didn’t want the marriage.
He wanted her more than he wanted me. He wanted his career more than he wanted the marriage. He wanted his freedom more than he wanted my love.
And I was left with the broken pieces of a dream of life that he is now living out, without me.
But then, once again, I question myself. Did I really want those things? What did I truly want? And what am I holding on to? The last few years, things have gotten so much better. Even though the pain is still there and I still have a lot of shit to work through and heal from, I’m still happier than I was. I feel like I have the space to breathe and be myself and not feel so goddamn ashamed all the time. Ashamed of my anxiety, of my personality, of wanting more from a partner, of wanting more from life.
Grief is a funny thing. And it becomes even more complicated when you’re driving a person and a relationship.
I never really got any closure. Or a full explanation. Or a full apology.
To be honest, I don’t think he’s even aware of half the damage he did to me. The indirect and subtle comments that sent the clear message “You’re not good enough.” or “Be better.” or “I don’t trust you’re capable of helping me or being my equal.”
He will never know how deep those wounds run, and how much healing I have to do. Because to this day, I am ashamed of my anxiety, of my body and of my dreams.
I need to let this shit go. I’ve already come a long way. But days like today remind me that I still have to dig deep, unearth the shit that I need to heal so that I can move on fully. Because I know that life is too short to waste it on someone that doesn’t care. Or maybe he does. Maybe he did. Who the f*ck knows anymore.
