It’s Over

August 21st, 2003

It had been building up for awhile, I suppose. The feelings that weren’t there, the feelings that I tried to create, out of air and breath and all the things that are abundant in this world. The feelings that would allow us to be happy together, to build a future, and grow, and love each other. But no, it just wasn’t there. And I was so scared of what might happen. Afraid of getting back to where I was two years ago, because you and I both know that *that* was embarassingly ugly. There’s never an excuse for behavior like that.

So I went back and forth, wondering if it could work, wondering if maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough, if I wasn’t giving enough. The last time this happened, I spent a year regretting the decision. I spent a year feeling so shitty about myself and the future that I had enabled. And in that time, I told myself that if I were given a second chance at it, I’d do it right. I’d hold it carefully in my hands and never let it fall, crashing to the ground.

And I did a pretty good job at that. It didn’t crash on the ground. In fact, it barely even fell. It was set down on a table, and before it could really get to the point where it was broken and dismembered, I picked it up. I examined it. I looked at all its faces. All its lovely edges. Some were still sparkly, full of love and treasure, but most were dull. They don’t shine anymore, and I’m pretty sure they haven’t in quite some time. I even tried to buff out the hazy spots, but to no avail. The more I looked at it, the more foggy it became.

I was confused.

And I stopped writing.

Not only did the writing stop here, it stopped in the several notebooks I have laying around the apartment. Just picking up a pen to write a simple sentence down became too much trouble. Because there was only one thing that I had to write about, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I wasn’t ready to think about it, and I definitely wasn’t ready to tell you all about it. Writing it out makes it Very Final. Very Real. To write about it when I really wasn’t sure was a sort of betrayal. He didn’t know what was going on in my head, and for me to share it here – no, I couldn’t do it. So the pages here went blank. My hands got fat and lazy from not writing, and my insides got sick, full of pain and unrest. And yes, I suspect my brains have started to turn into mush.

After enough time mulling, I started to talk about it. I’m no good at talking about it, mostly because I’m way too dramatic about things, and I’m tired of being The Girl Who Loves To Talk About Herself. But as someone so gently pointed out to me recently, we are what we are. And friends are good. Living away from home, it’s hard not to have the comfort of familiar faces, especially when you’re as anti-social as I am. But miraculously there are people who care.

So here’s the deal: Sunday night it ended. For the last time. The lease is up November 1st. It looks like my November vacation home is turning into Moving week. And that sucks a little, because I miss home. I miss the ocean and the sun, and my family. But also I’m looking forward to closing this chapter in my life. It’s been going on for too long.

Not only is happiness on the horizon, it’s finally Right Here.