Someone take my shovel away from me

There have been so many times lately I wish I could just dissolve. Disseminate. Disperse. What quiet and rest would I find if I could?

The past week has felt almost like a pantomime – put on the good facade for family and friends. God knows I love them all, some more dearly than others, but I couldn’t bring myself to be real, be here, be authentic. I guess I must be a decent actor, though, since none of them have managed to guess. The only one who came close was my aunt, and she’s always had a knack for seeing past masks into the tangle of real life. Probably because she shares my love (and surpasses my skill) for theatrics. I didn’t lose it, though it slipped briefly. In any case, she didn’t press me to explain. I wouldn’t have been able to if she had.

I look over the events of the past month and a half and find myself at a loss for words. We all float along, expecting change (if it happens) to be gentle and gradual. Then fate, with her twisted smile, throws us a fucking curve ball and we have to deal with it whether we believe we’re equipped to do so or not.

I haven’t stopped loving him. There’s a lot of me that won’t, ever. But I realized, too suddenly and too painfully, that our needs were far more incongruent than I had allowed myself to see before. I felt as though there were two different people inside of me (Freud would probably have had a heyday with this one) – one of them was more than willing to keep giving, keep sacrificing, keep trying. The other was too drained, too bitter, too jaded. It has been a long and horrible struggle, and I fear that the latter has won out, at the expense of someone very dear to me.

I feel as though we did try. He feels as though we didn’t. Sometimes I get really angry when I think of the hours and the money I spent making those visits possible. Not because I think it was wasted effort, but because, again, our definitions and needs were too damn different.

Our relationship has always been turbulent. What made me think it would be any different this time around?

I know he’ll probably read this, just as he knew I’d probably read his entry. This has been sloshing around in my head ever since we last spoke…and Im sorry if any of it hurts to read. It hurt to write. But he told me he valued open and honest communication, and this is my side of things.

It’s trite, and pales in the face of everything that’s ever happened between us, but I need to say it: I’m sorry. I’m sorry it ended the way it did. I’m sorry I couldn’t give anymore. I’m sorry I got your hopes up (and mine) and then dashed them in one fell swoop. I’m sorry that hindsight, and not foresight, is 20/20. I’m sorry I hurt you when all I wanted to do was heal. And I’m sorry that my apologies won’t ever be enough to make up for what I did and didn’t do.

But maybe one day, we can forgive each other and be friends again.

That’s my ultimate hope.