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  • Writer's picturecocodensmore

I can do alone quite well. I’ve done it all my life.

May 25, 2023

I start my fourth round of TMS Friday. I noticed I was slipping, for a good month now, and I made a commitment to get on it as soon as I noticed. I do not want to go back to the hospital. I do not want to go back to the hospital. I called the clinic, they gave me the depression assessment, and I met protocol. Which means I scored pretty high. I’m depressed. Severely, apparently.

Is it the breakup? Yes and no and yes and no. It’s still fresh. I’m not sure what I’m feeling. I’m all over the place.

At times, I am consumed with dread, with fear, I’m panicked. Losing David is like losing a part of me. I was thinking tonight is it like losing an arm? No. Is it like losing a finger? Like my left pinkie finger? No. It’s not that bad. But it’s bad.

At times, I’m so fucking angry with him. I remember so many times I asked him for reassurance. He’d reassure me. But all the while he knew, on some level he knew it wasn’t going to work, that we weren’t going to make it. So why did he play along?

When I gave the final “speech” before I left his apartment, I said, “You take the path of least resistance. And it’s me that’s driving this and you’re not in it and I can’t keep doing this – to you or to me.”

“Yes, I’ve been told that. That I take the path of least resistance,” he said, his eyes turned downward. He was ashamed.

We’ve kept up the texting, some of the usual lighthearted fare. But some of me with the accusations and the lectures and – let’s face it – the shaming. I don’t like that about me. Not at all. But sometimes I feel so justified. Sometimes I’m so fucking angry!

“I can’t believe I feel so shitty. Wasn’t anticipating this level of grief,” I texted tonight.

“I feel some responsibility. Hope you sleep well and feel better tomorrow. Don’t want to be a broken record, but getting outside and getting a little exercise can be positive. Goodnight.”

What the FUCK. The last thing I need to hear – I need to exercise? For fuck’s sake, David. He never knew how to comfort me. Any reassurance he gave was at my request. I let him slide over and over. Because he is a good man and because I really did want to make it work with him. Specifically him. But he just doesn't get it. Or he can't get it. I don't know which. And it really doesn't matter. I wasn't getting my needs met. Tonight I was thinking, "right time, wrong guy."

At least he feels some responsibility. Yep. He is somewhat responsible. I pressed and pressed for him to be honest, and he just lied. Basically, he lied. But I can’t hold him accountable, actually. You see? I always give people the benefit of the doubt.

He really didn’t know he was hurting me, laying the groundwork for bigger hurt. He didn’t do it purposefully. He did it because he does care for me, he does love me, but he did it out of selfishness – it was self-protection. He doesn’t want to be alone, he wants someone to be in his life, he wants to be in a relationship. I’m just not the right person. And he’s not the right person, either.

So, back to no fault, no blame. I’ve gotten wise about this shit. Plus, goddam I’m a good woman. Goddamn. I’m a good woman.

I was lying in bed this evening, feeling the tightness in my chest. It feels like a heart attack, it really does. Only if it was, I’d know the difference and go the hospital. So, it’s not really like losing my left pinkie or having a heart attack. Those things hurt much worse. Those things cause a great deal more damage. But this still hurts a lot.

I’ll feel so much better in a week. In a month. And in a year, it won’t hurt much at all. Because it doesn’t hurt about Don so much. Not anymore. But it’s still like a bruise that won’t quite heal. Always there’s that tender place when I visit, it stings, I wince. Is it the pain of rejection? No. Because it wasn’t rejection with Don, and it isn’t with David, either. It’s loss. The loss of someone I love. And not so much the loss of someone I love, but the loss of the hope of a future with him. The disappointment of having to change course. Again.

Every lost love has left that soft tender place that’s painful to visit. All the way back to my first love in college. All those little pieces of my heart and my mind that were bound up with another. Those tender painful places don’t ever go away completely. But neither do the memories of the shared joy. But they go together, the pain and joy.

Once again, I chart a new path. Once again, alone. It’s not so bad, the alone part. I’ve done it all my life. It’s not new. It’s just sad. At least right now. In a week I’ll feel better. Even better in a month. That’s a great solace. And I can do alone quite well. I’ve done it all my life.

I Persevere. And life goes on.



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