Wake Up to Yourself
Now Playing: Foo Fighters, 'Avalon'
Another confessional diary piece... it's personal. Deeply.
I felt really shit, lonely and unwanted when I went to bed last night.
I'd failed for the third time in a row to get to see Toulouse before he returns to France. I was jealous of how much support he'd given ex-DH and not a little paranoid that he really preferred not to see me. By phone, I felt he'd been very judgemental and unfair about my treatment of ex-DH. Why can't I be civilised about it. Why make such a scene. He'd implied the party on Friday had been an excruciating experience for all present because I was creating such an atmosphere. I gave up on the conversation and cried myself to sleep, because :
whinge1. it's not true about the party;
whinge2. it's unfair that all ex-DH's friends decide I'm the nasty villain of the piece, and therefore unclubbable;
whinge3. if she hadn't been the architect of the icy atmosphere at the party, she wouldn't have apologised for it to me;
whinge4. true to form, three hours sleep a night means that negative comments make paranoia kick in.
If Toulouse is reading, I hope he doesn't stop just there, because thankfully, this morning I woke up to myself a little. Toulouse has been feeling pretty ill, and he's stuck himself slap in the middle of a bad situation, with not much of a way out (as has Duch, incidentally). He must be sick to death of trying to defend me to ex-DH, and, defend ex-DH to me. Poor bloke. It's a big, messy, break-up. Both of us are going to do things that are indefensible, and that, too, is part of the process. Don't get caught in the crossfire, Toulouse.
So, I talked obliquely to him today, deliberately trying to focus on chatting about religion, culture, France, films. He sounded so relieved. And so, in a way, was I. (Of course, then poor Duch got it in the neck with a three hour phone call, but hey, real progress is always slowly made.)
Nothing's the worst it can possibly be, not till you're dead and dusted. I'm not going to pretend I've not been feeling miserable and down - but you know what? Eventually it's going to hurt less. So it's repetitive? That's because the emotions are powerful, and they're all too real. It seems uncivilised? No, uncivilised is hiding what you feel from your best friends, pretending you care about them without allowing them to care about you.
Remembering the good bits should hurt, perhaps.
It's not the hurt that I want to forget - it's the repetition, the going over and over things in your head, the panic. Just hurting is part of a spectrum. It's the same spectrum that lets us feel that kind of all-encompassing absorption in another person that makes you look at them for days and not want to turn away. That makes you lose your job rather than climb out of their bed, because money doesn't matter. That full investment in being in another human's personal space, that makes even sharing beans on toast or their closeness on a riverside bench a rich experience. That total full body ache when you're near them, because you so want them to look at you. The shivering thrill you get when they might touch your arm. The way you can give them your whole attention, unblinking, unwavering. That absorption in another that allows you to 'know' when they lift one finger to touch you at five in the morning, because you were lying awake all night just to experience their presence, their nearness, their smell. Some people never feel this kind of love. The need for someone that makes you press for full body contact, as long as possible, when they say goodbye. The knowledge that they're drinking in every detail about you. The full physical intensity of being enthralled by someone - not bored, not marking time, not merely being sociable, or amused - but fully loving someone - it's amazing.
You're fool's gold lucky if you get that once, I think. I've loved six people now - fully, properly, generously enjoyed their presence. I've felt them consume my attention, and draw me away from the world.
It's amazing, and it comes from the same store of emotion as the hurt. From now on, if I cry, I'm not pitying myself - I'm experiencing life as it's meant to be lived. Not alone, through people. With the lows that prove the highs. The hurt is precious - I don't want to give it up speedily. It reminds me of my huge capacity for loving other people. It's not an end, it's a reminder. Life goes on.
Armed with this new positivity, I rang the ex-DH and told her it's high time she got her own place, instead of staying with Duch, that her inability to grasp the full range of her choices was a choice in itself, that all her high drama is unreal, and it's time for her to move on.
No doubt that hurt her horribly - she slammed the phone down. Again I'm the villain. But I loved her, and someone had to say it.
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