“All of the hurt, all of the pain, keeps coming down like black rain.
All that we were, every touch leaves a mark you can’t wash away.
Boy, you’re like a tattoo in my head, like you never left this bed
Me and my tears with no one to hold…Just painting pillows”
My ex husband called me today. I haven’t talked about him much because to be honest…We’ve been divorced for almost 10 years and none of it makes any sense to me. You know when you have such a profound connection with someone who your time apart just makes absolutely no sense? That would be this situation. Except, he’s gay. He’s a beautiful man, inside and out and I love the days where we can spend an hour or more on the phone just updating each other. Tomorrow is my cousin’s death anniversary, a day that is near and dear to both of our hearts–and it makes my soul a happy knowing that we still share that and that our hour-long conversation was a ommage to my beautiful cousin who took his life when he was only 18. There are days where I think back and wonder what my life would be like had we not divorced. I know that I would be in a completely different place…Would I have kids? Would we live the white picket fence life, or would we be divorced like everyone else we know that was 20 (or 21) when they got married?
I’m armed with a 1.5 liter bottle of wine and my brain is spinning.
It’s been one month, and I’m making it. Each day gets a little bit easier, but the thoughts of what could have been, or the want to text him and tell him something small or insignificant about my day is overwhelming. When you find a partner in crime that you can share all of that with…losing it… is like standing in an open field waiting for crop dusters to come and bomb the hell out of you in no particular order. You never know when a tear is going to fall or when the hurt will just make you want to crumble in a corner and rock yourself back to sanity.
I hate that he probably knows how much I miss him and that the power isn’t even there for me to take back. I hate knowing that he doesn’t miss me. I hate knowing that he didn’t care about enough to keep some kind of relationship alive.
I went back on Tinder.
Holy mother of…What a freaking joke that is. I had some kid ask me if he could “make my oyster moister”. I laugh at it now because honestly, that was the only thing sent to me, he didn’t even have the couth to introduce himself. I know Tinder is widely recognized as an app that is for hooking up, but I’ve dated some pretty decent guys from there, so I have hope.
I’m sure there is someone out there who pays close enough attention to this blog to know that I’ve kind of had someone I’ve been seeing for a few months. He’s really great, he adores me. But is adoration enough? There’s no excitement, no adventures. I’m the love of his life, but I can honestly say that I do not think he’s the love of mine. His life is in shreds right now, and I can’t just end things with him because I think it’d be the nail in the coffin. Drifting apart is the easiest way for me…Because I’ll be honest. I’ve never had the balls to break up with someone before.
They’ve always….left me.
When you think about that statement it makes you feel really shitty. That there’s something inherently wrong with you that absolutely no one wants to stay except a guy who worships the ground you walk on but meets NONE of your needs.
As for me…I’m going to sit here and drink my 1.5 L of wine and feel sorry for myself. I think missing guys is bullshit. I still believe that there’s a man out there who will give me butterflies and there will be rainbows and butterflies and unicorns all over around me. I still believe that there could be a chance that there is someone out there RIGHT now looking for me, or wishing I was there too. Somewhere deep down I believe that there is some guy who thinks of me in the form of a country love song, because I’m just a big freaking cheese ball.
There’s gotta be someone who wants to tell me…”In case you didn’t know, I’m crazy about you, I’d be lying if I said I could live this life without you..” Yeah. There’s someone out there. Peter Pan can go fly a kite. -H