Tangled Up In You

There was a moment, late last night, that I lied in a haze stuck somewhere between dreaming and alertness. I was aware, yet confused.  My eyes were closed, my body still, yet I knew I was awake.  Usually, I don’t like these moments…stuck in a time I cannot measure.  My body gets wrapped up in my mind–and I’m familiar, only in these moments, of what I have to lose.

I have a keen ability to close my mind off from my body. Silencing my thoughts, allows my body to run free. I can fall in love in an instant, convince myself that chasing a feeling is as important as sustaining it.

I’m used to feeling with only half of myself. I can believe words without ever requiring a truthful action to accompany it.  I love you can exist even as you betray me.

This time feels different. When he touches me, his words burn in the back of my mind. When he kisses the small of my neck, I feel beautiful, and when he tells me I am, I remember how it felt when he held me.  This is my body relying on my mind…my mind reinforcing what my body feels…

When he leaves, my fingers remember the way his stomach feels, right before it meets his hips, and I cannot believe how much the words he sends me, resemble how good it feels to touch him.

And somehow…his body… tangled up in mine, can erase all the words still inscribed on my mind.  All the I hate you’s…all the goodbyes…all the lies, wash away. And all that remains, I suppose, is the way he sees me. I wonder most, if what he sees is what I am.

Second chances, it turns out, aren’t so much about starting over…but feeling your way through your thoughts…learning to trust that when a body reaches out for yours, it is possible that it isn’t going to hurt.



All the Tiny Little Pieces

The moment I return to most often, is the moment he told me “it’s too late.” The finality that exists in those words is numbing.  Mostly, I remember how the bottom half of my body felt.  My legs went 3 shades of numb…first the tingle, then the burn, finally the numbness.  I remember looking down…staring at the concrete floor my feet rested upon.  I don’t think I realized I couldn’t feel them.

When I looked up, he wasn’t looking at me…he was staring where he always stared…out in the distance I humorously refer to as “Kellyland.” I believed somewhere out in that cold distance, she waited for him. He wanted to go there, but I wasn’t ready to let him.

Just like now, he couldn’t admit how deeply he wanted to leave, and i was OK with letting him lie.  I asked 3 times what I could do to make him love me again. When he said it was too late, I didn’t believe him. If Steve taught me anything in the last 10 years, its how to walk away with the realization that some things just cannot be fixed.  Preparing my relationship with his family was my first lesson, and sweeping my marriage under the proverbial carpet, was my second. I was a slow learner both times.

It was January when I realized just how long it had been since he loved me.  It was February when I realized how much he loved her. It was April when I realized the life I lead was not my own. And it was May when I realized how much I loved myself. I grabbed ahold of that carpet, and I let her fly.

Walking away breaks my heart a tiny piece at a time.  When the screenplay of my existence over the past year rolls slowly through my mind, I feel a calmness that finally can let me cry. I mourn the person I used to be even as I don’t want to be her anymore. I mourn the moment I fell in love with him, even as I fall in love with someone new.  I can be both places at once…learning that with each piece I let go, I create a new one to take its place.  And I can’t help but wonder, how long will these pieces encompass me…when will I let them go…and start all over once again.

It was June when I asked him to fight for us, July by the time I realized he couldn’t.  Even as I turn my back to him, I cannot help but glance back.  One last look into the clearest eyes I’ve ever seen.  Searching for that piece of him I’ve never seen…searching for the truth.  He still can’t say it…denial is the bed he sleeps in each night. I long for him to trust me enough to let me see what he did, what he felt. But he cannot do it. And this is my fault.

It’s November now and I keep forgetting to check the calendar.  Like the sunlight, the days are leaving too quickly and the end is growing painfully close. My body tells me it’s getting cold, and I’m mesmerized by the flocks of birds heading south. I read a few weeks back that birds do not migrate south for warmth, but instead for the ease of finding food. I can’t help thinking of my own migration…that which i need versus that which I want.  As I search for nourishment, I cannot help but seek the warmth as well.  My fear trips on excitement when I realize this life is now my own.

I know I’ll keep looking back, and sometimes I’ll stare longer than others.  And I’m OK with knowing that all these pieces will not fall away.  Some I’ll keep tucked away, reminding me that deep inside, I know how to love someone enough to stay no matter what they do to hurt me. And while I look at him, I’ll imagine my hands touching his face one last time, my eyes telling him that one day, I’ll forgive him.

But not today. I think I’ll save forgiveness for January.

 

Gravity is a Pebble on a Beach

There must be a moment, right before death, that you relax and give in to the inevitable.  I imagine this most with drowning.  The body, immersed in that which gives life, violently opposes it. Your legs must kick desperately, and your toes must point toward the ground, searching fruitlessly for something to stand upon.  Your arms, reach upward, grasping for air it cannot harbor.  And then the calm must come.

Lately, I’ve been tripped up with gravity and my need for it. The weight of it is only opposed by water.  There is something magnificent about the pressure that pulls us to shore, that unopposable force that ties us to who we are and what we need.  But what if the truth floats more within the water than it does amidst the pebbles on the beach?

Is gravity the devils advocate, the noose around my neck…or my safety, my oxygen.  Does my body search for the ground beneath me out of habit, necessity, or trickery. I don’t think I know yet.

Saying goodbye feels  a little like the water.  Perhaps not leaving the shore.  The violent opposal of the inevitable is exhausting.  Kicking, screaming, aching…I tried everything to find a ground to stand upon. Staying felt more like seeking gravity…leaving felt alive.  No one understands this and I feel tricked.

Watch and See

I think its time to start adding the laughter.  Watch and SeeThe person I most often share on these pages, exists in the deepest core of my heart.  It’s the part I have a difficult time showing when I see someone face to face.  I mention my blog frequently because while I fear what it reveals, it’s perhaps the most necessary aspect to knowing me.

I named this blog “Partlyme,” because I’ve understood for quite some time now, that I am not whole.  Each piece of me, dances in opposition of the other.  This excites me actually. I think we are all like this, but most of us forget to celebrate it. Starting today, I’m living a celebration of myself.

Doing so, requires the addition of the humorous, vibrant, confused, control-obsessed, scared, exhausted, energized me.

I began this morning, like I begin all mornings…late and tired after a 6am fight with the ex.  These fights sadden me more than I can adequately articulate. And I don’t understand why. But I’m beginning to find them necessary to leaving him. Every 24 hours I get the smallest snippet of what life was like with him.  Angry. Defensive. Accusatory.

My new life will not be like this.  Watch and see.

I’ve had a thousand experiences…and I can laugh at them all.