Moving On

I've always said that moving on is the hardest part. I cling to the past, even when it's bad, I romanticize it, ignoring the 99 bad things to focus on the good. I guess that's a form of denial, although I don't deny the existence of the bad things. They're just not as important to me as the good things.

It is funny however, how life will decide for you. A turn of events has come about quickly, which will enable me to get a new car, which I sorely need. A turn of events has come about at work, which may or may not be meaningful, possibly a sign of things to come. Discord. Disgruntledness. That might not actually *be* a word but it is an indicator of my growing dissatisfaction with my job, and my willingness to let it go.

I have even decided if I have to leave Richmond, so be it. There is nothing keeping me here. Even the dread of starting again is not enough to keep me here. I realize that I now feel exactly like I felt in FL. Completely and utterly alone.

I clung to hope that Steven would turn around and realize what he's done. But it's too late. I imagined myself asking him, "how can you fix what's broken? How can you heal the scars you carved into me?" and my own answer comes, he can't. He doesn't have the height or depth or strength to even try. He doesn't care enough, he doesn't have the courage. He is too afraid, and too weak. He is not the man for the job. He wouldn't even try.

So, I know he won't try to right his wrongs. And I know can never trust him again, even though I want to. In truth, I think I fear I'm at a place where I know who he is (terrifying). I never wanted to accept all the shit he pulled...but it's plain. The light has been shined into all the little cracks. And I think I might be far enough away from it now to focus and see who he really is.

I still want to lie and make excuses and say he was experiencing a nervous breakdown or a midlife crisis or somesuch. But you know....? No one excuses me for anything. Life judged me damn harshly, and I think he should be weighed on the same scale. When have I been protected or excused from anything?!?

I think I wasn't excusing him, but myself- refusing to admit that I loved someone who was so terrible, I protected him to deny that I could have been so wrapped up in something so bad. I tried to put a pretty bow on it.

Well...it might be time to cut my losses, and run.

A new car is a good thing. That will reassure me a little that I'm still as good as everybody else. Some normalcy, Yay. It will ensure I can go hiking every weekend (or as often as I care to drive 2 hours). Or go to DC (as often as I care to drive 2 hours).

I've been looking at houses too, although not seriously. But buying a car has made buying a house seem more doable. The market is recovering slowly and I'm hoping when I get out from under the bankruptcy, I can take advantage of one of the many homebuyer programs out there. There is a house near me, decrepit to be sure, but I had so much fun imagining how I would improve it and make it charming and lovely. My own little place, replete with sunbeams and butterflies, clean windows and brass pots hanging in the kitchen. I know it's just a dream, but that dream seems closer now, for some reason.

Yes: I've started to dream again, and that is good. These dreams don't include Steven. That's good too. It's sad but healthy progress, and a milestone I realized I had to cross after Dennis. Here it is, again. Another river to ford. It breaks my heart to leave him behind but I guess I have to.

That's okay. I'm not afraid to get wet. I've been wet before. I never melted.

I realize my self esteem was greatly damaged by him, especially after being artificially inflated by him. Nothing about that was real, it was all flattery. And so, what a fall! Ouch. I took a tumble there. I'm now left fat and pale and veiny and lumpy, alone, and exposed in front of everyone. How did that happen??? I was just a goddess...!

Well, Fuck.

Do I hate him for throwing me out of a moving car? You bet your ass I do.

But I take consolation in knowing, someday my audience will be picking themselves up off the roadside, scratched, bleeding, fat, pale and lumpy and veiny. Someday, someone is going to throw HIM out of a moving car. And he better pray it's a metaphorical one, and not a real one.

At the same time, I feel the stirrings of the old "me" inside. I know I'll recover. I'm still in there.

I just made some clams and shrimp. I haven't had that in so long! Wow, just smelling the clams, so much like the ocean, was so wonderful. Stunk so bad and meant so much to me! A world, in a whiff. Yes I knew how to buy them, how to keep them, how to cook them and how to eat them, because that's something that is "Of" me. That's my heritage. I still have salt water in my veins, and that will never change. In eating them, I felt like "me" again. It was a sacrament, and made me strong.

I recently had some emails on Facebook with Henry Frankel from home. I haven't seen him in 20 years!!! It was so amazing to talk to him again. It truly made me happy. I saw Mr. Kalman on Main Street too, on Friday...I just love him. It made me so happy to see him again. And yesterday I went out with Ann, a Richmond friend. She is in a place where she also made a choice with her heart and not her head (as I have done so many times)). She knows she's sacrificing herself, but I identified with that so sincerely; I don't know if she knows how much I have sacrificed myself too. But I really did understand. And I took comfort in knowing that we shared that. It feels like support.

These are all little points of contact that aren't about him. These are my people and my things. And they empower me.

Half of What I Say is Meaningless

I haven't been blogging because of course I am obsessed with the Steven thing. It's so much, that I really can't talk about it, not even to myself, it's upsetting and useless (for the most part) and I am tired of explaining it all.

I have had some realizations and progressed a little since my last writing, though. Unfortunately those tiny points of light are so much at odds with the rest of how I feel, it's very hard to stick to one position or another. One side is still not winning out over the other. I'm afraid I am not very resolute.

I have had these wise words from Kahlil Gibran to guide me:

From a distance, the mountain is clearer to the climber than from the plain.

That helped me a lot. I am getting perspective, albeit very slowly. It's not coming easily.

One of the thoughts I had was in regards to our adventures together. Steven and I had fun and did some nice things, but they were always things He would like. Yes, yes we went to restaurants I wanted to try or to a movie I wanted to see and we went hiking a couple of times. And then of course there was the awful Leigh Anne concert he sat through, which certainly was not his idea. But that's not what I mean. I refer to the big things. It was never anything for Me.

Every time we travelled, our destination had to be either to watch a sporting event (for him), or to something military based (again, for him) because that's what he likes. We never took a trip for food or wine or music or art, which is what I like. He never shared my love of literature and he mocked poetry without ever trying to comprehend it, which made me a little angry and ashamed of his ignorance. He is very intelligent, but not literate, and is uneducated about whole worlds of things like Jazz for example. Something else he derided without ever knowing what it was. He thinks "Jazz" is just one thing or one style, and has no appreciation for the performing arts or creative aspect of it at all. And he doesn't want to know. I just can't relate to the "closed" mindset.

He has no idea what's in my head or how much I know about film, music, art, antiques or culture in general. It's something I love and part of what makes me tick. When I think of when I was happiest, what was I doing? Educating myself, travelling, learning about the world and where I fit in it. I chased Michaelangelo all over Europe! But he doesn't know anything about that, and it never occurred to him to try and find out. It was just about him and what he wanted (a diet coke and a baseball game, snore). In retrospect, I don't think he ever understood me, and maybe never would have. And that is a revelation that will, I think, take me to the next level.

But I blame myself. I subjugated me just as much as he did. I dumbed myself down and made these compromises because I wanted us to be together even if it wasn't an activity that would be my first choice. But somewhere along the road, Katherine got left behind. And that's wrong!

So I've been trying to get reacquainted with my inner "intellectual"- a pompous word to be sure, but I'll use it for lack of a better one. I need some Soul Food. I need some creative light.

I've spent time reading lately and it's been wonderful to just settle down, be quiet and be in my own head. I haven't been reading anything you'd find on the NY Times bestseller list, of course, but it makes me happy anyway. I've gone back to the things that give me comfort most, especially poetry. It's nice to know that there are people out there who see what I see and feel what I feel. Someone, and something, I can relate to. It is my grace.

I'll be reading Kahlil Gibran at Kim and Andrew's wedding in a few weeks. Actually, the quotation above is from the piece I will read, On Friendship. It has comforted me, and inspired me to look beyond.

I never read The Prophet before I started searching for something to read that day, and didn't know much about Gibran at all. I was surprised to find out he was fairly modern, and American- not the 18th century Eastern Mystic I expected. I guess I thought he was like Rumi or Omar Khayyam. But he was raised in Boston and wrote The Prophet in 1923. I know he also wrote in Lebanese, but we had more in common than I previously knew.

I made another connection about Gibran too. I learned that the beautiful and elegiac lyric from "Julia" by John Lennon is a reworked Gibran quotation:

Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you, Julia

is paraphrased from Sand and Foam, 1926:

Half of what I say is meaningless
I just say it so the other half may reach you.

I've loved that song for 30 years, but didn't know the backstory. That was a cool little discovery and felt like good Karma. I'd like to share it with Steven but, sadly, I don't think it would resonate for him and he wouldn't understand it. So right now I will keep it just for me.

It's impossible for me to ponder that quotation, though, and not to think of our endless conversations, mine and Steven's. We would just talk and talk and talk, all day every day, about so many things. Even today I will still send him emails. Sometimes they are angry, because I am angry but also to provoke him and make him talk back. Others are more heartfelt, sad and crying for who we used to be. The words mean little, though. It's all just an effort to make the emotional connection we once shared, like trying to make a spark by hitting two rocks together Something out of nothing. So, yes. Half of what I say is meaningless. I am just trying to reach him.

I guess when you miss someone everything reminds you of that person, but this quote also recently came across my radar. It too could not be truer of my feelings for him:

If I had a rose for every thought of you, you could walk in my garden forever

I never stop thinking about him, not for more than a few minutes at a time.

When will he become a ghost, and fade into my memories?

I hope it's soon. I know he's not coming back, and it just needs to be over.