December 16

 
December 16, 2016, was the day she came back into my life. In the following two years, I've seen a whirlwind of changes.

I was so happy she was back in my life. As of this writing, she is not in my life anymore. Of all the changes I've seen in the last two years, this is the saddest. I thought once we started talking she would never be out of my life. It's okay, though. My life has taught me to live with the lack of things. And it was too good to be true anyway.  

There was a change that took place in me on a recent Sunday. I sat alone in my apartment and something broke in me. It was a giving up. It was a letting go. Whatever you want to call it. I realized something that I should have seen before but didn't. 

Stepping back and looking at the carnage from two divorces is sobering. If I could have done anything to help any of those in pain, I would have. What I didn't see was that I was perhaps the one most affected, the most destroyed, the most hurt by the process. It may be unfair to gauge what others are going through, but let's look at some of the facts. 

I don't have a support system. I don't have someone or something there to help me or support me 24/7. Everyone else does. They all have their families and friends, their community. I'm traditionally a loner, so I don't have that. I've disowned my family, if I can do such a thing. Not only have they done nothing to help me through this process, but they've also taken the side of my ex. No one tells you that people will turn on you when you get a divorce. It's one of the most unwarranted and evil things about getting a divorce. My family has only heaped more trauma on top of my divorce processes. My friends ... well, I don't have any friends. But the few I've talked to have been distant and more than one questioned my judgment. I've been worried about everyone else, but they have incredible support structures, friends, and family. They have not felt the aloneness, the barrenness as I have. 

I don't want to dismiss anyone's pain. I'm acutely aware of the suffering they're going through. Whether you drown in two inches of water in your bathtub or in the depths of the ocean still means you've drowned. Hurt is hurt, however it comes. But, the healing process is easier when you have support. If you accept it. However, I've been on my own. I don't have my kid around to brighten my day. I don't have friends who check in on me or take me out of myself for a while and engage me. My family has never been there for me. In fact, I keep them at arm's length so they don't compound my pain. It's sad when you avoid people who should be helping you because they just hurt you more.

I know, poor me. I made these decisions. I have to live with it. And I will. My healing may take longer than everyone else's, though. I recently read an article about how men handle divorce. Most do not attain their previous level of happiness, even if they remarry. I'm sure this is not something unique to men, but perhaps we're more susceptible. I think it has to do with our culture and how we're allowed to grieve. We don't fully heal because we don't fully grieve. 

I've been worried about how everyone else is progressing without taking stock of how I am progressing. I've neglected my own process. I've done myself a disservice. Maybe I had to initially deny my pain in order to build up the emotional energy to eventually grieve. I bought myself some time to prepare for the inevitable falling of the house of cards. Well, on that recent Sunday, the house of cards fell. 

There is something in me telling me now is the time to let the whole thing cave in. To just let it happen, as it seems I've been holding it up even as the wind picks up and the earth starts to shake. No one is ever going to be there for me. I know this because no one has ever been there for me. I've always had to be the responsible one, the one who keeps the world from falling apart. And now a voice is telling me to let my shitty little world fall apart once and for all. 

It's time to let go of what I want and just have what I have, whatever that may be. My desires haven't changed, but my acceptance of what I have has changed. It's only healthy to say, "Okay, I can't have what I want. Let's make the most of what I have." 

So, here I sit on the second anniversary of the day she came back into my life. It's a different feeling from that day. If I could go back, I'd remain silent. Not for me, but for her sake. I don't like the effect my life has had on hers. I repent of it daily. She deserves so much more than what I brought about. I couldn't be any sorrier. This isn't an ordinary anniversary observance, this is my retrospective, so it has to hurt a little. Only it hurts a lot. 

She has been one of the most amazing things to happen to me. It couldn't have happened with any other woman because there isn't anyone like her. When I think I could have a woman like her, I'm wrong because there is only one. Even though I'll never see her again with my eyes, I'll see her in my dreams. Even though I'll never hold her again, maybe I can touch her in my wildest thoughts. 

It feels like I'm once again on the tip of an iceberg, trying to sound the depths of this thing, trying to fathom how it will ever be conquered. It's in times like these that my faith grows. I know that great pain can bring about great growth if one allows it. A heart that has been wounded is still capable of great love, maybe more than it could before because it knows the cost of love. But it has to allow itself to suffer and heal and grow. So I will let it.