It had to be done, and as I argue with myself, my nose is buried in the dirty, tear stained shirts I stole when I left today. I knew I wouldn't sleep with out the smell of him. I will be lucky to sleep at all, even after a string of restless nights, and the prospect of a full days work ahead of me. So I find me, crying myself to sleep, and not for the first time this week. My heart a lump of lead in my throat, my guts twisted into knots, and a chill from the inside that no heater can warm.
I don't ever want to love again; to risk so much of my fragile, hopeful heart, and to desire anyone like this again, the fire in the pants, the never ending butterflies in the stomach, the breathless hunger that catches in the throat; and just knowing I feel this way slams shut the fairytale, and crushes some deep part of my soul. I have been in love with love as long as I can remember, but never have I tasted the breadth of its promise, only the thorns, and wistfulness, the self sacrifice and longing, but never the bloom held in my hand and recognized or celebrated for its truthful essence. The easy, laughing, indulgence of mutually enthralled passion and total trust blended in its heady mix of realistic idealism, and celebration of the lover, returned and fostered with a truly equal partner.
I hope he will miss me as much as I miss him, that he will crave my scent, my touch, my eager upturned mouth demanding ever more of his scant and stingily withheld kisses. I hope his arms will ache from emptiness and long to hold me, and he will wish for the opportunity to stroke my hair and bestow the kisses and caresses, the declarations and sweet talk he has withheld. I fear he will be relieved to be rid of me, will bask in the silent space of my wake and then set about eradicating and finally replacing me with an easier model. Some superficial woman, who doesn't crave the intimacy and connection I seek. Some bimbo who only cares about how things "appear" to everyone else... like he seemed to once he actually got me home.
Maybe I am not right for him. He is so very closed off now with bitterness, guilt and resentment, but for that, he is close to perfect for me, in ways I could not have foreseen, and my cynicism and defeat lie heavy in my heart, caught in my throat as I write, and breathe and pull on the old familiar smock of grief and loneliness. I was alone through two marriages, always just an after thought, the second fiddle to my beloveds true passion. I still don't understand why they both wanted so very much to make me their wife, when they rarely had a moment to devote to me or the health of the relationship itself. That is why I had to leave tonight, I vowed to never settle for second place again, and to many nights crying, and days begging for crumbs of affection or some sign of my importance...
To his credit he has tried. He has risen to the challenge of trying to love me, which is more then I can say for either of my husbands. I don't really want to collect men like trophies, though that may be how it looks to outsiders, and I may play along, perpetuating the misunderstanding, to keep from showing my sappy, vulnerable underbelly. But really, I am a romantic. A silly, little daydreaming girl, waiting for her prince in a world of thieves and snakes and liars. In my life, I went with the wizard, the vagabond, the priest, and even the knight, but none could speak the magick of my soul, although each loved me completely in his own, slightly removed kind of way.
This man, the one I have run away from, was my first Prince, he was and is a prince among men. I truly tell everyone that he is the best man I have ever known, and it is no lie. He is the one that could have unlocked every fairy tale for me if he but wished it himself, if he could defeat his own demons, and decides that it is Me he actually wants, but I cannot decide or do battle for him. All that I can do is wait, and hope and try to carry on, regardless. So I pray, and breathe and tell my self that each moment that passes gets me further away from the awful moment I had to choose, that each moment gets easier, and the minutes creep like hours in the long summer sun.
"oh for a man, if I were a man! For a man can die of battle, but instead I must die a woman, of weeping" (from Shakespeare)
Why did I run? I did not want to. It was very difficult, but our relationship was not fully reciprocal. He was always lost in his demons, and unable to be present or to appreciate me as I long to be cherished, he was shut down and emotionally unavailable. Triggering my anxiety disorder to the point of absolute and constant absurdity; because I have been there before, its sort of been my specialty, and although I cannot bear to part from the one I love, neither could I bear to only be second best, to a man I deeply love and long to stand hand in hand with to face all of life.
I felt like some consolation prize sent to comfort him in his loneliness and despair, but my needs were always secondary or not addressed at all. From sexually, to emotionally, to the errands of the day on most days. I had to go, however painful, rather then condone that continued, emotional abuse, and heartbreaking treatment of being taken for granted. Even when nothing was wrong, he was to busy with one of his friends problems or hobbies to include me or even ask about what I had on my plate; I had to go while I loved him, so I wouldn't grow to resent him one bit more.
Will he come for me someday, will he actually see and love ME enough to prioritize me in his life even a little? To begin to consider my needs to be as valid and important as his own? Its a brilliant wish of hope, but not really likely. They never really do, do they? Does a man really come after a woman he truly loves? (Yet I have seen men follow other women before.) Is any man capable of truly loving beyond his egotistical and biological needs? Or do they just find women who put up with them, and baby them along, day in and day out, a patsy of servitude to make it SEEM to work? Can't I have the fairy tale of one good man that loves ME for myself and is both willing and capable of being fully present and participatory ? Please?
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