In silence I sit and realize that half of my breath is absent.
The air enters my throat but doesn’t seem to completely fill my lungs as it once did. Something is missing.
As my thoughts attempt to follow the same path traveled for so many years the absence of full breath redirects their progress and brings them to the developing brick path that is being newly paved over a more solid foundation, I cannot go there anymore, all detours have been closed and the old path has worn away.
There’s a numbness to this pain. So many years, waste is a word that has begun to enter my mind as I look to where the new path might possibly lead and yet even that word is numb as it enters my thoughts.
It is real this time, it has a momentum that is pressing my sanity and my growth. And so I sit in the silence and know that this absence of breath is real, it is not numbing, it is empty and lonely and silent and curious all wrapped up together. It is real.
Today I woke up very melancholy. The day unfolded from there and I came upon a letter I wrote some where between 2013 and 2015.
This is the letter.
I have wanted for so long to see you love me,
to hear you love me,
to feel you love me.
My mind has so often tricked me into believing that someday, in some moment it would happen…the light would shine in your heart and through your eyes and the receptors would trigger in your mind and you would reach out for me and kiss me and hold me tight.
You would let me hold you and love you as I so desire to hold and love someone, for so very long now, you.
I can feel the beauty of your body and have waited for the moment when you could feel the beauty of mine.
This fantasy is at some of the deepest depths of my pain. I tried so hard. I wanted it so much and I worked at it with every ounce of energy and sanity I had.
I wonder if it will always live in me
and I wonder why it ever has.
We had a lot of life together, 20 years and it is now done.
It ends with such a huge hole of questioning… what it really was all about…
there really is nothing to show.
The way we lived…so apart… I was so lonely all of the time…never feeling good enough….honestly never being good enough.
I have spent 24 years trying to be something that I’m not.
My inability to be who I truly am around him, my authentic self, has led me to communicating in a very untruthful manner. I mean untruthful as my previous truth. The truth that I lived for the first life The truth of insufficiency. The truth of anger and manipulation. The truth of fog that my mind remains in still, but less often.
Not being able to be my authentic self with him created such a conflict within me. The only real part of it was that I could not be authentic with anyone else, but as I have grown into who I am I have been able to become true to most all things except in him. And so comes the pain still and the destructive behaviors and the silence still remains…and yet I miss the distorted life I was living.
What is it that I miss? From an authentic me I know that there is nothing. The relationship brought me absolutely nothing but pain and question and anger and sadness but from my untruth, or my first life, I miss the care I gave to him, the sex, the quest for his approval and the hope that someday he would love me as he does everyone else. We were toxic.
I brought out the worst in him and he in me and while we tried over this last 5 months to find a place of peace with each other it never was to be found. His peace is without me, it always has been, there with his friends being the new person he has become without our toxicity in his life…and my peace has been with God and on my journey working to let go of all of the symbols from my first life and remain in the forever changing world I am in.
Letting go for me has been much more difficult but I will always believe that that is because I have been invested in love, as I am with all things, and he was never invested in love because he never really loved me. That is why it was never said. It was him being true to himself and his knowledge of himself and who he truly is. This is not anyone’s fault. Especially not mine. It is just him being authentic in his own right and I have not been. There has lain the problem.
This was written in a moment of such pain but is one of the truest things I have ever put out for myself.
It’s the especially not mine part that I struggle with the most