So much for nothing to say. Angst and pain and loss make for an effective verbal laxative, eh?
I'm not gonna hide it. I'm not going to pretend I've kept my chin up and maintained a positive outlook. I'm a wreck. But I've had OK moments and down moments. I've been among the living, not holed up and refusing to eat or bathe. But I've been breaking down almost randomly here and there. Sunday was hard. Monday was actually relatively good. I think the tears only came briefly maybe half a dozen times that day. Yesterday was possibly the worst day so far for various reasons. Maybe the pattern makes me due for a decent day today. I've only broken into tears once so far this morning, right when I woke up (which I think has been the case every day since Saturday night).
I ache to my core for what was lost so suddenly. I don't believe it needed to be lost but understand, to an extent, why it was. It was a short-lived relationship, but we spent a lot of time together in that short span and made a lot of memories, and it was getting steadily better (I thought), and though I'd had doubts about whether we were right for each other in some ways or whether it could possibly last or whether family matters were worth sticking through, I had decided to weather those doubts because the essentials of a quality relationship were there, and most of the relationship was just beautifully uplifting, productive, and, I think, mutually beneficial. As I stuck through those doubts, they had begun to resolve, and I was feeling really good about where we were going and glad we were moving ahead healthily and slowly but fairly steadily. I had ample reason to believe he felt the same, but I may have been missing something. It seems odd to me that I'm so broken up over something I suspected might be coming, in a relationship which I considered walking away from a time or two myself. I think part of that is that I compounded my emotional investment and risk by sticking with it and discovering that my cold feet were probably fear of things becoming "too good" between us and knowing how much it would hurt if he were to change his mind at some point, which I knew was a possibility, and with the decision to see it through despite the risk, I made myself that much more invested...and vulnerable.
I feel like a newly-found "home" was yanked away. I felt "at home" with him from the beginning, a feeling which was increasingly and consistently present throughout the time we dated. That's a rare quality, I think, and one I value. The loss accentuated my worry that it will be extremely hard to find someone with whom I feel so at "home" who will want me back, especially for more than an experiment or stepping stone, despite whatever they say to keep me around while they're figuring that out.
I hope the many sweet, happy, laugh-inducing, thoughtful, meaningful, and touching memories I have from the relationship won't be lost in my confusion and anger over how he ended it, as I hope with fervor that they aren't looked back on with contempt or shame or dismissal by the one with whom those memories were so lovingly made. I fear that he will think of what we had as nothing but a passing fancy, a mirage, the silly playthings of a relationship which can't possibly fulfill despite what he told me during the time we were together. Had he not decided it wasn't an option for him, I imagine the kind of relationship and life we could have built as being something most people envy. I know that sounds overly romantic or silly to say after only three months, and that may be. But I can only hope that, male or female (again, a discussion for another post), I find that again.
I've fantasized about some future day, when experiences have been gained and theories explored and changes made, when we'll come back together and resurrect what we had with renewed perspective and commitment, but I mourn it all over each time I remind myself I don't at all believe that will happen. And part of me isn't sure I want it to, but that may be defensiveness, not wanting to be burned again.
I'm fighting a sense of betrayal, irrational though it may be, towards the many friends whom I've kept close who are part of the system which lured away the one in whom I was so invested, in whom I'd knowingly taken such a risk. I feel like they unnecessarily robbed me of my greatest hope for a meaningful relationship by framing it disingenuously with their theories, and I don't feel safe with them right now because of it. I know they aren't responsible for his choice to pursue something I didn't know he would find so seductive, but I still feel like they're implicit and know they will be the ones offering him support for having made "the right decision" and entering the "right path" (i.e. the one away from me), adversaries to a relationship which brought me such joy with someone I cared so much about. It's like battle lines have been drawn, and our abstract differences have now become concrete in a very real and personal way. And for now, I don't have the strength to "get over it" or step back from it and be objective. Yet my anger has, in moments, mingled with sympathy for his parents who probably struggled with similar feelings towards me when he chose to be with me in the first place and, in their minds, give up exaltation.
I feel like everything I'm doing in life absolutely pales in comparison to the development of a relationship like we had but more sustainable, so a feeling of not only homelessness but purposelessness has set in. I know I need to be productive and contribute in meaningful ways to society and to individuals in my life. I want to find meaningful work, preferably some that pays well, though pay seems ever less important over time, and I want to find meaningful and engaging opportunities for service and civic engagement, but I also have this overarching sense that there's not enough time in life to do everything I want, and if I had to choose one thing to accomplish, it would be to have a quality relationship with a great person and hopefully raise children or otherwise make a difference, and let the rest come into place around that rather than having to "fit" a relationship in somewhere. Feeling hopeless about being able to do that thing which matters most makes everything else seem piddly. But as I recover emotionally, I'll probably experience renewed drive to engage myself.
As I write this, I'm feeling increased hopefulness and motivation. I expect this feeling will wax and wane. I guess getting some things off my chest and putting thoughts in semi-coherent form helps with that, as does a full night's rest (though interrupted once) for the first time since the break-up, not to mention a couple of no-holds-barred emotional releases yesterday. I think I've hit the bottom and am on my slow way back up. We'll see. It's time for some changes, and I'm feeling ready to do almost anything at this point (disconnect from certain friendships in order to 'move on', pack up two suitcases and head to Europe for who-knows-what, jump into school somewhere, see a career counselor, date women to be done with all of this social pressure and self-doubt baggage, even *gasp* go to JIM just so people can no longer say "he can't credibly criticize something he's never been to" and because I expect it could be an interesting learning experience even if it has nothing to do with 'healing' masculinity or 'resolving homosexuality'(as I suspect), etc). And as they teach in places like Evergreen Conferences, it's best to act quickly while your resolve is fresh and emotions are high because that perpetuates the commitment and creates a sense of value before rationales and doubts (or valid, rational counterpoints) develop.
Maybe it's time to try being more...impulsive.