Stage Three: Going down on the Titanic
Hit the iceberg one month and a few wee days ago, and am now clinging to floating debris trying to keep my head above water. Dido may go down with this ship, but the f*** if I'm going to!
I've been suddenly stricken with paralyzing fits of sobbing for the last two days. One of which had me pacing the tiny hallway between bathroom and livingroom, feeling as though I was going to pass out. My pet rabbit watched me with concern written all over her fuzzy face. I'm sure she was prepared to punch 9-1-1 for an ambulance with her paw if I suddenly dropped to the floor and was unable to open a package of romaine lettuce.
Other times, at odd moments, I feel as though I'm being rammed in the chest with the business end of a baseball bat. Like finding the jam sessions the ex organizes listed on a web site. He ain't sittin' home at night. Bam! Or being invited to a co-worker's wedding shower (I'll be the token sad sack who was jilted by her fiance, you know, the one everyone gives this LOOK of mingled pity and gory fascination, like they're looking at a car wreck). BAM! Seeing a couple of the street suddenly stop and put their arms around each other and look into each other's eyes. That used to be us. BAM!!!
I don't know what's wrong...I preferred being infuriated. It was exhausting, but at least I wasn't crying so hard that I was drooling down the front of my shirt. Ugh. I miss the sappy emails with puppy dogs in my work mailbox in the morning. I miss the goofy calls just because he wanted to say "I love you." I miss cuddling up against him at night with his arm around me.
Who says love is just the icing on the cake?! It's the whole damn cake, if you ask me. Even babies fail and die without love. Careers are wonderful, success is great, having "your own life" is fantabulistic. But would you want all of this on a desert island? Would any of it make any difference if there was no one to share any of it with?
None of this is not to say that I wouldn't crucify my ex upside down if given half a chance. Suffering is good for the soul, especially when you damn well asked for it. But that doesn't mean that, once I got my own back, that I wouldn't want to be with him again. On MY terms, of course. I may be sentimental, but I'm not stupid. Yeah, I love him. But here's to day 32 of me maintaining silent running.
If anyone has a life jacket, toss it on out here.
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