Chapter 2
In Between I
These notes were meant to help my soul heal. To help my broken heart. I took a path that turned wild, bordering a crazy crave that hurt many faces of me and some other people in between. Perhaps through pain we heal, although someone else’s pain works too. It ended up being a one sided story of us, two people brought together by our own choices. Is a wonder, this becoming.
In the great scheme of things I am magic and insane and perhaps a dream. These journal pages bring me some pleasure rereading at times. There is no straight stream to my entries. There are memories and dreams and bits of pages I added chaotic and often insufficient. There are chapters of me, scattered bits of life. Like I dreamed them all, surprised, although reading backwards I would know them to be loved truths that touched me by luck.
Smirk. Smirk. Sight.
Breathe
August 2018
Days.
I lost count of how many have passed
Nights. Lost many of them too. Don’t remember much. It feels like nothing has been going on and my life is on hold since we stopped being us. I am heart broken. I am pieces and bits and all the glue of the world can’t put me back together. Is that what love is supposed to be like when it ends? Our love stories are short journeys that begin in the middle of the bigger one we take? Like detours? How are some so lucky that they last their entire lifeline?
Some bend in the roads. Just one of many. Imagine a small wave inside another. Then our little boat gets lost in this vastness. We become so distracted by small encounters that we forget to enjoy the endless blue oceans around us and keep our eyes only on the other little boat in front of us hoping to reach to hold it close, scared a wave may slide it away in thieving swirls, taking our paradise away.
Chasing that illusion, that memory. It doesn’t make it better, for a while it keeps us from feeling the waves from tasting the breeze, from becoming one with the blue around us, just staring at the little wooden boat that for a moment in the vastness of these waters made the journey feel less lonely. I got high on that feeling because what high and what intensity one gets from desire and how easy it is to forget about the magic of all other things around and everything that we are when we get stuck in a little lustful obsession which for a while becomes everything.
If we are lucky it lasts our entire lifetime. Or else we detach, die a little in the middle of the story, break down with the next wave. I wasn’t that lucky this time around.
I can finally breathe and it hurts a little less. Except when my body, naked, craves the hold of hands, the tenderness of a love I used to have. Then loneliness hurts me. Hits me like a hard wave of bricks and I cry again. I remember myself to exhale very slowly. It slows down my pulse and the rushing thoughts. Breathing, as basic as love which is simpler than desire, yet that piece of everything that leads to it. Love is instinctual, desire is premeditated. Contradict me if you will. I haven’t been touched, desired, held, in a small eternity. There is nothing to premeditate, there is nothing to anticipate. I am exhausted in a world of men who are clueless and emotionally impotent.
Yet I have a large share in this fall apart from us. We barely touched these past years. I would wait excited for him to return home, him being my now dear ex husband, but when I had him near, I would in an excited shame mixed with lots of guilt, wait for him to leave. He was disturbing my peace in a way, my balance, all of it. How could love dissolve into this? What triggered that anxiety? Now that I am thinking whatever changed in me awoke restlessness in him, made him uncomfortable, agitated.
I guess we both became strangely detached, trying to dictate some things just to get a reaction from the other perhaps, or just to hear me be mean as in a punishing way for this detachment. I would deliver cruel words then I would regret them. I remember without even trying to recall the memory.
“I kissed someone, he called me from Hawaii.” It feels like a lifetime ago. It also felt like a punch which my mind tried to rationalise as I exhaled.
“Is ok,” I said, my heart feeling strangely funny. “I kissed a gay guy once way before we were engaged, a gay guy but...”
“I did more than that.” Subtitles in his guilted voice, “and I want to do more.”
My hands are shaking while holding the phone. It feels like a dream now.
I don’t feel the need to justify myself. Here I am. Survived it. More than a year ago I didn’t think I’d make it. I didn’t even have the mindset to think of the future.
