Rubber Bands and Chewing Gum

To say that this has been a difficult week would be the most epic understatement. I have been emotionally flat-lining and barely holding it together with rubber bands and chewing gum. Externally, I have been running on a kind of righteous anger about what’s happened with Anita, and it’s given me the energy to function, to a degree.

My last blog post probably seemed reasonably together and optimistic…I guess that’s the False Adult self again trying to keep me functional because underneath that, there is absolute and total devastation. Maybe that’s not quite right – I guess, there was a bit of optimism because at least things seemed to be moving in the right direction with the new therapy and I was settling into that so it was like having a bit of a life belt even if I was trying to swim in a stormy ocean. Only I’ve managed to fuck that up already sooooo maybe that’s why I have crashed and burned – or drowned – overnight and things feel so shit. I don’t know if I’ll bother to write about that – and there’s a huge irony there.

The reality of what I have lost with Anita has come into even sharper focus – I mean how much sharper does it have to get?! And as much as I am angry with her, mostly I am just terribly sad. Anger is a mask for such a lot of feelings isn’t it?

I am exhausted from holding myself together when everything is falling apart inside. I feel like I am looping on an endless marathon – there is no finish line and I just have to keep going putting one foot in front of the other in the hope at some point there’ll be somewhere to rest. Only, my legs are done and there are no rest points. I feel like I am on the verge of stumbling, tripping, and landing face first in the shit if I’m honest.

I just need… well…I need Anita (before she lost it). I need someone who really knows me. I need that comfortable relationship and space where I can go and catch my breath. I need to not have to work so hard to just be seen. I need more holding and containment – or in fact – ANY holding and containment. I feel like such a lot has been ripped away from me and I just, honestly, don’t know what to do now. I won’t give up – but I really feel like it right now.

I have tried so fucking hard to do the right things since A and I ended in order to support myself. I’ve gone big on self-care: been for massages to try and ease this horrid tension I’m holding in my body; tried to get lots of sleep (ha – insomnia has other ideas and is kicking my ass, though!); been to see K to try and calm my nervous system down but she says she can feel how desperate it is for my young parts and I’m desperately holding on; I’m eating well; I’ve written to try and process; and I had gone to therapy and tried to build a new relationship… As I say, though, I’ve already fucked that up, so as of now am back to my own devices and I am just so done. You know? I am so sick of battling through.

I realise this is moaning. It feels quite teenage tbh… but ugh…I just can’t right now. Sometimes you just need someone else when it’s like this and sadly it’s just me, myself, and I…plus the mini bus of little ones. The small parts of over-tired and overwrought. I’m surprised there’s any screaming left in them…but there is.

Anyway, enough of this doom. Really, I just wanted to share a poem I found the other day. It’s a break up poem, but it resonates so much. I know it’s not just me that’s navigating the termination of long-term depth therapy and I think you’ll get it.

Big hugs x

I Should Hate You

I should hate you.
For running,
and taking your reasons with you.
The questions left behind
like little thorns of the mind.
I’m trying like hell to pull them out
hoping to spot the warning signs missed.

Why couldn’t you help me understand?
Why didn’t I deserve the reprieve?
How were you unfazed by my bleeding?

I should hate you.
For discarding my heart and history
as if it were throwaway cheap.
The way you disposed of my spirit
left me shredded.
Cut to ribbons that I’m sewing back together.
I’ll never be the same after you.
You didn’t leave me better off than you found me.
You stole what we shared.

It’s unnatural to move on from someone who resides inside me.
I can’t shake loose or free.
The painful truth is
I don’t want to forget you.
I won’t act as if we never existed.
After all this time together,
all this life together,
you detached with such ease
that I must have dreamt it all.

What I wasn’t prepared for –
 choking down answers I’ll never receive.

Your indifference is brutal.
Something reserved for savages.
All decency is disposed of
once someone decides to run.
Fiendish for distance between you and them.
No long goodbyes.
Nothing resembling a semblance of closure.
Their own embarrassment brings about avoidance.

I should hate you.
See,
needing to do what’s best for your life,
at the expense of mine,
doesn’t make you right.
Quite the opposite.
And what’s most troubling is how often
I still think of you.
I still imagine hypothetical scenarios
of you coming back around.
Showing up on my doorstep.
And how I’d react to your negligence.
What would you say?
What could you possibly say that would fix the damage done
where I’d even take you back?

Anything.

And really,
   I hate myself for that.

J. Raymond