“It didn’t have to end like this.”
That thought just keeps swirling around in my brain. I think the grief is setting in, the loss, the mourning and even some regret. And he still doesn’t call. To check-in. To check-up. Nothing. The last thing he told me? He was going to date other people. (Too much information, thank you. And none of my business.)
I have vacillated between loving Mr. Love-A-Lot and having deep gratitude for him to hating him for how I felt he disrespected our relationship by his words and his actions. (Of course, my perception). In those moments, I feel betrayed by what he told me over and over again compared with the way it ended.
Now, do I really hate him? Of course not. Do I think he was lying to me? At the end, perhaps. But, in his mind, probably for good reasons. Oh, how we rationalize love.
Today I finally cried. I left him over three weeks ago and today I could barely maintain through the day. Every thought of him put me in a puddle. Every memory betrayed me and the knowingness that this, in the end, was the right path for me to take.
I probably cried today because I finally allowed myself to get angry yesterday. Anger is always a cover for hurt but sometimes we have to get angry before we allow the hurt in. Today the hurt is big, enormous, gigantic.
These are all the feelings that have moved through me today…I am hurt. I am sad. I am disappointed. I am angry. I feel betrayed. I feel like a fool. I feel stupid. I hate him. I love him. I am grateful. I feel clear and hopeful and calm. I am all over the place, up and down and all around. And I love him.
I realize he probably feels betrayed too and hurt and sad and angry and stupid and all the feelings I have. We just have different stories to go along with our feelings.
The story I tell myself is that he always told me, over and over again, that we were going to be together always. And yet, when we hit a bump, a hard merciless bump that triggered both of us big time, I felt (my perception) he made a bee line for safety and comfort. He had only one solution and I couldn’t agree with it. I gave him others but to no avail.
He is probably telling himself that I’m stubborn and independent and scarred from my parents death and I’m sure he is telling himself he tried to love me but….and who knows what follows.
I do believe that it didn’t have to end this way. And I also realize that it ended the way it needed to. In Fearless Loving I start off the book by stating: Love is messy. Oh, yes…I can say that again.