I was going to blog about something else tonight. Something about Matt that made me mad, and that would have been good, progress, etc. But instead, let's backslide a whole lot and listen to me throw a temper tantrum, shall we?
I have not been able to, in the last 18 months, been able to remove the pictures of Matt and I off my Facebook profile. It is comforting to me to see them there, and it pains to to think of removing them. They have comments underneath them that mean so much to me and validate that yes, we really did have a relationship and that time really did exist and happen and meant something. They were posted during a time I was innocent of all of his wrongdoing. And when I look at them, I see that. It would break my heart to take them off because it would be just one more step, if not one of the last steps or erasing our relationship. A relationship that meant more to me than any other that I had ever been in. A more profound, emotionally-connective relationship than I had ever known. I was with my college boyfriend for three years. Matt and I were together half of that time, and yet, it meant more. No one ever made me feel the way he did. The way he did about myself, or how I seemed to "be" in his eyes. Or our connection. No one. I question that connection a lot- or I used to, but through therapy I am close to being okay with saying that that connection was real and not imagined or faked. Things that really frighten and upset and devastate me. If nothing else, it was real for me. That means the world to me.
I don't want to lose that relationship. I want an emotional partnership like what I thought we were having. I want that closeness. That is what my ideal is. I won't let any one touch that. I won't let you demean it. Because it hurts ME, it harms ME when you do. Not him. It hurts ME.
Lately I have been speaking to someone who may be able to help me with this situation. I don't know if I will do anything, but it's another course of action I can take. Considering my options means another small explosion of guilt, and feelings of betrayal towards him (the "him" that I knew, not the real him) and overwhelming feelings of missing him. Albeit, so much less intense than they used to be. I think of the Matt that I was with as if he is dead. To me, his soul is dead. I think I can say that now. And if we look at this in a really whacked out logical way, he is. He invented a soul of a man who was the perfect man for me. Everything I wanted in a partner. And then, he made that man go away to a place where he could never come back. He ceased to exist. He "died." A man with a face like his and a body like his walks this earth, but it is not him and it never will be. My love, my best friend, the man who I thought I would be with forever is gone. And nothing can bring him back. That is death, isn't it? He can't ever come home to me. And that's all that matters.
And my heart will forever ache for him.
But every day, a little less.
While I was struggling with these new feelings, and these new options of moving forward with my situation, I wrote a comment under one of the pictures. I wrote I missed him every day. In the picture he is looking at me with this great expression and I love it. To me, I was just talking to him, and I can do that. If I thought I could get on my knees in my room and pray to his soul I would. But the problem with my story, is that his soul never really existed to begin with. I can't like, so many people on this earth who have lost their loved ones, pray and talk to God or talk to my loved one and say how much I miss them. Because he is not there. He never was.
And the difficulty of me finding ways to handle my grief continues. He is dead but he is not. I want him to come home, but he can't because he is gone. He was here, but he can't ever come back. He existed, but he didn't.
I want to scream.
I have a new friend on my FB, and I went through my pictures to make sure there wasn't anything too incriminating (lol, just kidding) in my pictures and noticed someone else had noticed I had left this comment under my picture. An old friend said that I should delete these images and I should move on, and it upset them that they were there and that they wanted to stab him over and over every time they saw the pictures.
I told her to mind her own business, vented a little, and then explained in a little more detail about why I don't delete them in a private message.
But I shouldn't have to. They are mine. And when I want to, when I am ready, I will take them down. It is my choice. Just like the cokes in the fridge, the love letters behind my armoire, and the engagement rings on my refrigerator. When I am ready, they will go. One by one, my home is beginning to evolve into a different state of being than what it was when Matt was here with me, but it won't happen until I am ready for it. You can't force me, and if you try, I will run and hide and crawl under my bed and cry until I can cry no more. You may have expectations about how I am supposed to behave, but that is YOUR STUFF. Not my stuff. And I can't "get over it" for YOU. Because it's not about you. It's about me. I have gotten such nice messages lately from wonderful commenters saying how proud they are of me and how much progress I have made lately, and it has meant so much.
Have you ever seen Sleepless in Seattle? Do you remember when they get Tom Hanks on the phone with Dr. Marcia and she asks "What are you going to do?" And he says, "Well, I'm going to get out of bed, and breathe in and out, all day long.... And maybe someday I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed, and breathe in and out all day long..."
You don't know my path unless you've walked on it. Through a commenter, I have now finally found a few that
HAVE.
How does telling me you want to stab someone I loved so much help ME? He can't read it. That doesn't hurt HIM. It only hurts ME. Don't tell me these things. It just makes me regret being so open with my story... and I haven't been that open to begin with. And I still feel like I have been too open. I wish I could just talk to strangers instead. With the exception being that woman who wrote me the nasty letter last year. Still haven't written her back. I wish I could provide more support to those of you that have reached out and written me but I'm still so needy so much of the time, and still so hurt. A couple of new commenters came out lately and I tried to comment back but your profiles were private so I couldn't. (Cathy and Life Happens )
Shortly after everything happened
I wrote THIS blog post, writing basically what I wrote here. I shouldn't have write these things. Why can't my feelings just be respected?
The most important, meaningful, supportive response I got from anyone was from a total stranger a few days after I found out. I sent her, I think a short message, explaining what happened after we had a confusing facebook exchange, and within a day received these:
It says, "You are loved. And by many."
I still have the card and envelope sitting by my entry way. That's what I needed from people. And still do.
I had never met her before, or heard her voice when she sent it to me. She just
did it.
The chocolate didn't hurt either... Speaking of, I could really go for a Cadbury bar right now. Siigh.
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