I'm laying in one of two empty double beds in a sterile, institutional hotel room. It's 1 a.m., and I have so much work to do, but I simply cannot summon the energy to work on it. It feels oddly surreal to be back here, this place that I called home for two years. I know the streets so well that I can drive them absentmindedly, my brain still working on automatic mode.
I saw my old cats this evening. One is topping out at a whopping 24 lbs. and the other a "svelte" 19. They look so drastically different from my two new kittens. Then there was the inside of my old house. The drastic changes as well as the blatant reminders that some things simply never change. When I first moved here, I was full of such hope, such excitement. After tomorrow, I doubt I will ever be back. This place does not (on the whole) hold fond memories for me. I wish I wasn't here at all, but things had to be taken care of in person - and now that chapter will be completely resolved. Time to move on without looking back.
I picked up the last of my belongings from the house that I wanted, and in the stack of DVDs was the one that came with my follistim pen. He laughed and said "well, in case you decide you want to try to have kids again..." My breath caught in my throat and I was silent.
Sometimes, you can't say the "right" thing because no words, no matter how eloquently strung together would fit the situation.
I thought I would feel more passion, not in a romantic sense - but just in terms of scale of emotion. I feel rather hollow instead. Empty. Depleted.
I still want good things for him. I want happiness, love, health and good fortune. All the things that we couldn't seem to make last for the two of us.
I will be so glad that it's finally, completely over. And yet, there is a part of me that as happy as I am about that - is sad too. I failed. I'm afraid of failing again.
I think I need to go to sleep.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Stranger in a place I once called home.
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6 comments:
Packing up and leaving is one thing. Having to go back and really pack up, all under the watchful guise and helping hands of the one you're leaving is another. I've done it. A has done it. It's the nicest and worst feeling ever, as everything is a reminder, as you know that that door is closing forever.
And even when you want it to, closing a door is a painful thing.
If you want to vent, I know every inch of how you're feeling, and I'm sorry, babe.
Oh, I was going to comment, but Twisted has said it better....
I'm glad you didn't tell him about your pregnancy. That helps you move on even more.
I'm sorry about the transition, but you sound like you're taking it so well. He screwed up and you're triumphing.
BTW, congrats on the bar!
Oh, April. Even though so many wonderful things are happening, they can make times like this seem that much more painful. I hope you both can heal and not regret the growth you had as a couple.
I know. It's tough, and entirely weird.
Hang in there. There are fabulous things to come.
I don't wish good things for him. I wish for him to get exactly as he deserves in life. Should he suddenly decide to seek therapy for his abusive and asshole habits, or perhaps for his obsession with women who are far too young for him, I might concede and wish one good thing for him. But probably not.
You didn't fail. You grew.
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