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A Bad Day
A Bad Day
I started out by cleaning up the Halloween decorations that were still up. Yes, you read that right. My ex put them up for Halloween, and even though some Yule decorations went up as well, she never bothered cleaning them up. I know, I could have cleaned them up myself, but decoration is her thing. She put them up, she should have to take them down. It's only fair. Especially since she goes overboard IMHO.
But I cleaned them up because I was sick of them.
Only underneath the big paper witch on the bathroom door were our Yule photo cards from years past. There we were, together, happy, and I couldn't help getting choked up.
And so when the Halloween decorations were all put away in the basement, I started taking those down as well, trying hard not to cry the whole time. And then I went and took down the frame with our wedding pictures. And I just can't stop crying.
It's just not fair. She's the one who broke my heart. She's the one who should have to deal with this.
And I thought I was over this. I mean I still care for her as a friend, but I don't love her anymore. I've let her go.
So why can't I stop crying?
A part of me wants to smash the frame and the glass and the photos and then burn the remains and then jump on them and smash them some more and then douse them in gasoline and burn them again. I just want to vent so much rage on those photos of us happily together.
But a part of me hopes that one day I can look at those pictures and not be in so much pain, that I can just remember the joy that was there and fondly think of her as the second woman I ever loved (romantically).
So I just took them down and put them away. And cried.
I tried wattering the plants to distract myself, but that didn't help. I did the dishes (which didn't take nearly long enough, now that I'm doing that chore and washing them regularly, instead of weeks apart) and I thought I was almost done crying. But then I turn around and there are the roses that I gave her for our anniversary, still in their vase, all dried up, neglected and forgotten, yet still the most beautiful roses I've ever seen.
They had meant so much to me when I found them. I had thought, hoped maybe, that they would mean something to her too. It was why I had chosen them for her. I knew even then, on November 16th, that something wasn't right. That the spark was nearly dead between us. I had hoped that we could revive it somehow.
But I realize now that was always the problem. I wanted our marriage to work, to be something special, because I loved her so much. But she didn't. Sometime she just stopped caring, and she'd been pulling away more and more since.
I'm hoping that if I get in my car and go out to do some grocery shopping that I can stop crying. I hope that my aversion to being seen in public like this is enough to make it stop.
But it's been a bad day, a very bad day.
I loved her so much. She meant the world to me. And it hurts. Not so much that she's leaving, but that she just gave up, that she's still just giving up, running away. She bottles everything up inside and doesn't face it. She just runs away. And I fear for her because of that, because at one time I lived like that too, and that's just no way to live. I want her to be happy, but how can she ever even so much as love herself with so much acid of the past burning away at her inside?
Yeah, I'm in pain, but I know that I'll get over it. I know that somehow I'll find the ways I need to let the pain out, and in so doing, to let it go, piece by piece, until all I'm still holding on to is the love. But I worry about her. Something is wrong there, so bad that at times it seems to pulse off of her in waves, but she doesn't face it. She just hides in her room and runs away. I know that I'll be fine while I know that she's okay, happy even. But I don't know how I'd handle it if she weren't okay. Even though I've let her go, I still love her in my own way. She'll always be a part of who I am, even when I grow long past her.
And it hurts to think of how happy she once was, we once were. I don't know why it hurts. Maybe I haven't let her go as much as I think I have, even though I really feel like I have. Or maybe it's just that seeing something as special as love die should hurt, should always hurt, because it's such a rare and precious thing, and such a loss to the world when it dies.
It's just not right. Life shouldn't be so much about dealing with pain. Where's the joy? Where's the love? Life should be about love.