Too Close To Home
So.. last night I went in search of new blogs to read and I found several. One was somewhat new so I read back through all the posts this year (very entertaining dating stories). One I shared with a friend. One I saved for later to go back and read, because, well, to be honest – her story is my story, and I wanted to see what happened to her. Her about me page said it was all behind her now, a year later. It said that now this blog was about just her and her life, but the old posts were there. The past that mirrors mine.
I went back to her first post and read it. And seriously, it’s insane how much it felt like me. I could have written it. I certainly felt it. I have never written out what happened, or how I felt entirely, because at the time I didn’t want to believe it was real, I kept thinking things would go back. I was also maintaining the “privacy” since there are people who know those involved but don’t know the story.
She talked about his “calm” and his “zero feeling.” As I read her post, my heart just hurt, all over again. I remember that sound. The cold way he kept saying, “Let it go. Move on.” I think that’s what hurt the most. The emotional ice cube he became. And even while I cried, he didn’t show a single emotion. It was like he turned it off. He didn’t care. I could sob and he just stood there, almost like it annoyed him.
I’m sorry but after the ‘I love you’s’ and the ‘we’ll be together’s’ I think a girl is allowed to cry when you walk away.
Her second post mentioned that he became a person she didn’t know. Again, that’s me. How can you one day stand in front of me, proclaiming love and devotion, and the next be hard as a stone? Uncaring. Unfeeling.
When I got to her third post, I had to stop. I realized I was just pulling back things I had already moved on from. I’m ok, now. I still have my moments. I still think of him sometimes and miss him. That ache returns faster than I would like to admit. But I’m ok. I’m better off, I tell myself. I really am. He’s not who I was in love with. Not anymore. Maybe not ever, maybe it was always just a game to him.
Maybe someday I’ll write out more of the story. The way he stood in front of me, me on the 2nd stair, hands on his shoulders, begging for some explaination. I never got it. I never will.
Maybe I’ll tell all about the summer nights I’d take him dinner at work. We’d sit at the picnic table outside and eat and talk about life, our future, our dreams.
Looking back now, it’s like they say.. hindsight is 20/20. The things he chose to miss, the way he would start to distance himself, and then come back. My therapist told me I shouldn’t say, “I should have known” because, well how should I? And what good does it do to say that? The past is the past. What happened happened.
I guess the question is “now what?” Where do I go from here? How do I make sure to keep moving forward, and when do I stop looking back?