This year I think I turned into myself. Really, it's who I always was, but I didn't have the confidence to carry her around. Through the grapevine that is my family's way of communicating, I learned that they think I have dum dum dum! CHANGED! It was weird to hear this, like a far-off thought that was slung my way from behind a barrier, meant to define me, categorize me, hurt me... I honestly don't care.
I went through a lot this past year. Sparing you the gritty details, I was essentially tossed to the wayside without explanation after three years of building what I thought was a castle with someone, but was actually a sandcastle. It's what I imagine great cinematographers feel like they can do when filming a miniature set, tricking audiences into thinking it's the real thing. Behind the scenes, we see if they'd just zoomed-out that it's not real. It's make believe. It was marvelous, but in the end, it's not feasible. You can't live in a sandcastle. So he crushed it, packed both our bags without telling me, and told me to go home.
My therapist loves my metaphors. What I'm saying is, I was dumped, and dumped hard. We had celebrated our three-year anniversary days before, him taking care to call the restaurant and tell them we were celebrating this occasion, them giving us two glasses of champagne and dessert. The actions of a man in love, I thought, and all romantic comedies would lead one to believe. Thanks to an overly shall we say "helpful" aunt, I had read He's Just Not That Into and The Rules and even Not Your Mothers Rules. If I wanted the things that conventional society says I want, then I knew what to look for and, more importantly, what to avoid. (Note part of my growth is realizing, um, I don't want what conventional society says I do... that's why I moved to Los Angeles to become a star. Cue the music!) Anyway, we had had a hard couple of days, but the ship was righting itself until I walked into his apartment, swinging by just to pick up some paint cans I'd left in his garage. I opened the door and before I could say, "Hello," before I could register sadness, toil, trouble in, well — it wasn't paradise, but aren't all relationships this way?— I heard the words, "I need to break up with you."
You know that feeling when your heart is beating fast, and you're wondering: is my blood outside my veins? Are my veins outside my body? Should I grab a pen, because this is too good to make up, and eventually I'll want to write about the person who made trust seem like a luxury I'd never known I had until it was gone? That feeling? That feeling where you're wondering, how did I let this happen? How did I not cut and run before he did? Aren't I worth something? Aren't I worth more than this? Is every self-help book lying to me about my inherent, undeniable value? Aren't I worth more than this moment suggests?
In the first few months after I'd wonder nightly if I had just not gone over that day, would we have worked it out? I'm glad we didn't. And this isn't all to say that every person who rids themselves of another person is pure trash, because that isn't true. I actually wish him nothing but the best. But, in sharing this I get to own a little bit more of my life. We are a combination of what happens to us, whether it's our own doing or the doing of others.
So, I guess I didn't spare you all the gritty details. There's a lot more to this — obviously more family, learning about boundaries and how I'm allowed to have them (What?! Who knew!? I did not. Irish Catholics don't love autonomy), and a bottomless pit of anxiety quantified by a black sphere holding space behind ribs for too long. That probably hurt the most. The metaphysical ambiguity was startling and, frankly, pretentious.
I started this with the intention of showing how I turned into myself, and this was a big thing that catapulted that growth. I'm grateful for it. I wish it didn't have to happen the way it happened, but it did. I've turned into myself in the way that only traumatic experiences can show you who you are. Spending time and money on self-care is worth it. These days I look at it like its making up for all the years where I didn't even think I was worth caring for. I didn't know I felt that way until I saw what I was and didn't recognize her. This year has been one of authenticity, speaking up, and setting boundaries to help me maintain my autonomy, then tripping, falling and getting back up again to do it over and over and over.
Anyway, one day we'll be dead. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment