Another month on

April 9, 2013 § 1 Comment

I am supposed to be writing about Nic tonight, but my heart isn’t really in it.  I’m tired and it seems to be exceptionally humid tonight, even with the windows open.  I am sitting here in gym shorts and a singlet with a thin slick of sweat shining on my skin.

It seems fitting that the last time I really wrote about Nic was a month after that one night and I’ve almost timed it nicely so that this lot of writing is two months after that one night.  I can’t believe it’s been almost another month.  I can’t believe I haven’t written about him for a month.  I can’t believe all this happened so long ago yet here I sit, still shaking my head.

Adam asked me today how I was going, specifically with regard to Nic.  It’s the first time he’s mentioned it in weeks and I had sensed that he hadn’t asked me outright if I was still thinking about him because he didn’t want me to lie to him.  So I told the truth and said he still crosses my mind every day and as much as I push it out of my head or resolve not to think about him or “it” today, invariably something will always remind me, if only momentarily.

In truth, if I can get through three or four hours without thinking about him in some aspect, it’s a quiet sort of achievement for me.  But every new day is some small step away from him and a step back towards my husband and that’s what I focus on, that’s what keeps me going.

I have been avoiding writing about Nic thinking that I just needed to allow myself more time to let it go and get over it, for it not to mean anything to me.  The problem is this doesn’t appear to have been particularly effective; the bigger problem is that I don’t really know what it means to “get over” him as such or how I am supposed to do this.  How much time is supposed to pass before I wake up one day and feel nothing for him, about what happened?  I wrote this epic post, Love for life, the other day about all the significant relationships I’ve had and about how the impact of them doesn’t ever leave you, not really.  So what does it mean to “get over” him or how it made me feel or how it changed my life?

I feel strong on the outside.  I can get through the majority of a day with a smile on my face.  I continue to feel more and more connected to my husband.  I can concentrate approximately 85% of the time I’m at work.  I haven’t written or spoken about him in a month.  Do these things, alone or combined, mean I am getting over him?  Perhaps.

But whilst I feel strong on the outside and I can get through the majority of a day with a smile on my face, if I was laid out on an autopsy bench my insides would have a different story to tell.  My insides give me away every time.  Even when I think I am doing so well because He Who Must Not Be Named hasn’t flickered through my mind in six whole hours, my insides give me away with their griping, wrenching and aching.  My insides are the protestors who refuse to be subdued and the more I swallow all the grief and frustration down into my body the more my insides revolt, demanding to be heard, loved and soothed.

I have struggled through the last month thinking that not writing about it will somehow help, that I need some sort of clean break (what a ridiculous concept..) to allow myself to start healing.  This is self-pyscho-babble-lingo to say that I was trying to run away from it, sweep it under a rug, stick my head in the sand, whatever over metaphors I can come up with.  I thought if I could avoid it and ignore it, that if I didn’t fuel it with my own constant curiosity and need to know everything, that it would eventually burn itself out, die a natural death and I and my life could return to some form of normalcy.

And how’s that going for you?  My subconscious asks sarcastically with some imperious look on her face.

Yep, totally shithouse, but thanks for asking.

More on this later.


§ One Response to Another month on

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