I'm not sure why I still bother dreaming. Why I have this hope, albeit just a glimmer of hope, that someday life will be stable, life will be happy, life will be content in love. I'm grateful for the glimmer, because otherwise the reality of more dreams shattered. . .or at least drastically postponed. . .would paralyze me.
And I need to walk.
I wish Denial was a river in Egypt. Then I could have at least been sightseeing, taking in a pyramid or two in the Valley of the Kings. But it's time to step out of Denial and acknowledge that I failed. We failed.
There are so many things I wish we could talk about. I feel like I'm going crazy inside with the distance between us emotionally. I wish he would listen to me, with his heart, not his ears, and not through his filters. I wish we could have more of a meeting of minds. But I guess if we could do all of those things then we wouldn't be facing what we're facing now, would we?
To me, it is analogous to life support. Pulling the plug. You know the person hooked up to tubes and oxygen is gone, but to disconnect them? To flip the switch? You can't go back from that one. I know in my heart that death came a long time ago, and any sign of life has been artificial. But pulling the plug on a marriage, on a family, well, it's just about killing me.
Things should have been different. Oh, how I wish. How deeply my heart was invested, and how misunderstood I feel. I really believed that this time I would be loved. This time I would be safe. Nobody has ever looked at me with the tenderness that he possesses. I wanted that so desperately, those eyes looking at me like that forever. But we let each other down. He never wanted what I wanted, and all we did was hurt each other. It's a tragedy. A travesty. It didn't need to happen. But it did. And why I know the truth in my heart and still try to invent some other version of it, some easier version, is only more painful to me. But I just wish we could talk! Not that it would do any good to save what's gone, but at least it might help tie up the flailing fibers of my ripped up heart. Which, I'm pretty sure has been broken almost continuously since I was 15 years old. That's getting old. So are sleepless nights, swollen eyes, worry nigh to panic, and that twisting in my gut.
We've postponed it long enough. I think his mind was made up almost from the beginning, and now I know, now I really know, that one person's commitment is not enough, and persuasive as I may be at times, I cannot change everyone's mind.
It's difficult to face the holidays with so much weighing on my mind. Survival, mostly. Avoiding homelessness. Finding a way to finish school and not completely disrupt my children's lives. Picking up the pieces. Again. Figuring out why I failed. Again. Learning to move to a new phase with the man I wanted to adore me forever so that we can raise our little boy who never should have had to deal with any of this.
Maybe pulling the plug will bring freedom, like the spirit trapped in a lifeless body finally being given permission to soar to heaven. And love. And peace.
But then again, how do you decide when the last breath is taken? How do you give up hope that eyes will open? How do you summon the strength to gather up what dignity you have left and move on?
That's the ugly truth of things. I'm not that wise. I'm not that admirable. I'm hardly enviable. I'm drastically flawed. I have created much of my own sorrow from poor judgment and choices. And I just hope that someday, in some way, I get the chance to do it right. All the way.