I left the house. Just once. A friend’s son had a birthday. I went even though I was terrified he and she might be there and I can’t see that look on his face. Not yet. That look of mild disgust and shame that he had ever even pretended with me and that hint of relief that he won’t even try to hide because, let’s face it, if anything the last 316 days have told me, it is he doesn’t care. He never did. The person I loved was a fiction.
That’s an unsettling thing to realize about yourself. That you were so stupid you loved a make believe person. And the worst bit is that in another reality, that person is real and another you is happy.
And you’re this.
I haven’t slept in about 36 hours. I’m curled up on the loveseat watching the snow fall, and thinking about how reality is ruled by perception, and how sad it is to look back and realize that so much you believed in, about family, friends, self, the world, was as much a fiction as Santa Claus or Jack Skellington and what else is a lie you told yourself just to make yourself keep breathing?
My demons are all I have for company most nights, and their whispers linger even as the light chases it all away.
My Person, who is just as amazing as Christina Yang on Grey’s, told me that her boyfriend, who knew me from before, can see how different I am from how I used to be, and how sad it is, and that it’s obvious why it happened, and that he’s worried. Which puts me back and forth with the whole ridiculous “shame” issue that anyone notices me and what a disgusting creature I have become, to realizing what a blessing it is to have anyone at all care about me.
I’m finishing with a timid stab at something I used to do to former journals, which is add a song link to the end of this blog post. Rhett Miller, “As Close As I Came To Being Right”. I found it through the podcast Wits when they did their crossover with The Thrilling Adventure Hour. Rhett, the artist, was really well spoken and seemed so cool and funny and quirky, and then he sang that song, and the words just hurt so much and felt so True.
“I thought you were the wind
That went through this house again
I thought you were the moon
Lightening up these empty rooms
I thought you were the sun
Shining down on everyone but me
I thought you were the night
And that’s as close as I came to being right”
I’ve resigned to knowing that I will never not miss him, and that I might rebuild that wall using meds and therapy and trying to convince myself that I am better than that situation and he isn’t worth it, but behind it will still be the raw-edged wound of sorrow, and no matter how many times or how loudly I could proclaim he isn’t worth it, every cell of my being screams that I am lying to myself.
“I thought you were the night… and that’s as close as I came to being right…”.