I feel sad and lonely, hate the nights and too much free time, think obsessively about contacting him regardless of fact that I know that would only prolong the anguish.
I can't cry. Oh, once in a while I'll break down, shed a few tears, but not the ragged sobs that I know are lurking somewhere inside of me. I can feel them like a weight on my chest, but they won't come out. I think I would feel better if I could cry.
I think about moving away all the time. Moving somewhere with a slower pace, a more affordable housing market, a new social circle that doesn't include anyone it hurts me to see. Portland, Oregon has captured my attention with it's funky craft scene and so-much-cheaper-than-here rents. It's an escapist fantasy right now, that's all. If I do anything it won't be for a while, but right now, having an escape to dream about helps.
I'm not angry anymore. I know he's struggling with things that have nothing to do with me and doing his best to stay afloat in the midst of a sea of past and present hurts. I know he's trying. I believe that he will prevail. I believe that he will someday be able to allow himself to be the incredible man I saw in him, the one I could never convince him existed. But I have no idea how long that will take. Or, honestly, if it makes any difference to my future, to our future, to to whether there's any hope of an "our" for us.
Things I'd pushed aside surface. The almost certain fact that I would have ended up here, in the SF bay area, trying to be myself and, possibly, raise a family in the midst of a culture that- honestly?- is starting to disgust me. I am not cut out for this fast-paced wealth-driven landscape of BMW's and million dollar houses. I question the point of saving for decades to send children to Stanford to ensure that they will be able to continue on the same path themselves. Marrying someone with a similarly impressive degree. Buying an insanely expensive home. Hiring immigrants to landscape the yard and congratulating themselves on keeping the lower classes employed. Sitting comfortably in church and learning about proper study of scripture while homeless people die on city streets not ten miles away.
I want to live humbly. I want to be constantly reminded that I am no better than anyone else. I want to erase barriers and build bridges. I don't know how to do these things, yet. But I know that I am being led. And I want to be willing to sacrifice whatever I have to in order to follow. I don't know that I could have chosen that sacrifice if I'd had a choice.
So how I am? Not well, not whole, not happy, but able to see the path I have to tread in order to reach those places. I have an incredible network of friends who have made these last few weeks as joyful as they could possibly be, under the circumstances. I've been embraced and held up, both literally and figuratively. I've experienced the arms of God in the only way humanity is able to: through the love and support of other people. I don't want to be here, but life is what it is and being what it is, I wouldn't wish the sad away, because failure to mourn for something lost would mean a lack of feeling worse than sorrow. And being that I am here, I am convinced that I am as well as possible. I know I could certainly be a whole lot worse.
Still, this is hard.