|Posted by The Thinking Other Woman on September 26, 2020 at 5:25 PM|
Me, myself, and I
That's all I've got in the end
That's what I found out
And there ain't no need to cry
Took a vow that from now on I'm gonna be my own best friend
So: Mars hits the yod Saturn in four more days. Then it hits one last time at Christmas. The end of the year was scheduled to be the end of the relationship (for about 3.5 more years). Of course, without a beginning, there's no new end. Just the old end ... three years ago.
So of course this weekend I ask myself: Do I really expect to hear from this guy again in the next four days? Or the week after that?
I have to say: No.
I mean, c'mon. Really? A person whose face I haven't seen in five years? Someone I haven't spoken to in three years?
What's saddest about this for me, I think, is the end of any idea of being with someone close, someone who's like family, someone I love who loves me. Precious good times with a dear friend as close to you as breathing. I think this is the end of that for this lifetime.
I don't expect to meet anyone else. (I mean, it's covid-19. How am I supposed to meet anybody? I'm afraid to go anywhere!)
But it's more than that. I'm getting older, and my mind and body are aging. I'm not a young chick anymore. I have absolutely ZERO libido, and I'm a fat, dumpy old lady body type who doesn't have the energy, stamina, or lack of aches and pains that I used to have. I'm not at that stage of life anymore.
I'm no longer a young girl looking forward to getting married and setting up a home. I did that already. I have a home.
All I'm looking at is doing all the chores in it by myself ... growing old in it by myself ... having my first heart attack, my first stroke, or my first cancer diagnosis ... in it ... by myself.
I've already had all manner of sickness all by myself the last seven years I've spent alone. Believe me, you haven't lived until you've spent the night stuck in an awkward position on your bed, unable to move because your back hurts so much, and no one can hear you screaming and you just have to grit those teeth and get yourself moved by yourself. Or throwing up and having diarrhea so often you're weak as a kitten, wondering if you should really be calling an ambulance, and struggling into a pair of adult diapers so you don't mess the bed.
At least we have Grubhub now. That solves the problem of being too sick or immobile to cook for oneself. (If you have enough money, that is.)
I used to have dreams of what I might want a new life with someone else to look like. But slowly, they've been ground down by the reality of what life with Chi would have looked like: Several years of "Yes, dear," and the appearance of happiness ... until the reality of him getting depressed and moving out happened. Of course, now I know about hideous codependency, so it would probably go more like this: If we were disagreeing and not getting along, I could probably relax and trust that that was the real him.
But if things looked happy--!
If everything looked peaceful and OK and I was happy and it looked like he was happy ... I would never be able to relax.
Always, always, I would be thinking: Is it the truth? Is he for real? Or does he just not know he's unhappy yet? Is he unhappy and hiding it? Is he complaining about me to people across town he hardly knows? Is he telling the truth? Is he telling the truth??
I think I've written this before, but living with a codependent with NO sense at all of his own self would be like Dr. McCoy's immortal line from ST IV: "Pardon me, but do we have any way of knowing if this is the real you?"
And nobody wants to live like that.
The truth is, my life has taught me over and over and over and over that people cannot be trusted. Even the deeply good people who genuinely don't want to hurt anyone are sick, too sick to behave healthily toward themselves and you in a relationship.
My husband wasn't like that. But that relationship, like the all-too-few good ones I have had in my life, was all too short. I envy Rory her good, lifelong friendships. I don't have a single one and I never will.
The truth is that all relationship exists for only one purpose: the transmission of painful, painful, painful, painful lessons. Even my marriage existed to teach me the painful lesson of discovering I could handle a lot of hard, hard stuff essentially by myself.
And I have to say that I am very, very, veryvery tired of painful, painful, painful, painful lessons. It's nice to have astrology to give you a heads-up, but really. Who enters what looks like a blissful love affair expecting or wanting to have their heart ripped out, or the most malignant cancer known after less than five years of marriage?
And yet that's what happens to me, every time.
I have about had it with painful, painful, painful, painful lessons. Who wants to stick their neck out for another one of these at my age??
Not I, said the little red hen.
If he had've shown up, I could have had hope. Only the person most unwilling to tolerate the pain of his own emotional problems would show the fuck up again after three years and make some desperate stab at changing things, however clumsy and inelegant. If I had seen that, I have the road map for the rest of it. But if you don't even see that, well ...
There's no hope.
As if there ever is. You can't make another person get well.
I can't save Chi, any more than I could save my mentally ill mother. I hung onto hope for Mom for a long time. If she just had've gone to therapy and really, really tried, I could have hung in there. I can and will do anything for someone who's really trying, really trying to change.
But most people aren't. And I'm tired.
I'm not putting up with any more of it.
It's all very sad. The saddest thing is looking back at the all-too-fleeting good times I had with other people and knowing that's all in the past.
All I ever wanted in life was to be part of a good, loving, healthy family.
One thing I can say for sure: Success doesn't really matter that much. Neither does more money than you really need. So what if I ever write that book and it sells? It will still be the same me. The same little old lady, dying alone in the same wheelchair and hospital bed in the same nursing home, all by myself.
Well. I'm constructed rugged and well-equipped for a life by myself. Really, except for about fifteen years there, that's all I've ever had. (And the fifteen years I'm talking about were not growing up.)
The only way to go forward is to just stop looking back at what used to be. I'm not that girl anymore. I'm a whole different person now, and that person has a solitary trail from this day forward.
Emphasis on the word, forward.
I drift back and forth between being so, so sad at what I won't have in my life anymore, and trying to figure out how to just put thoughts of all that behind me so they don't make me sad anymore. I mean, why not just live in the present, with what there is, instead of being that girl who still expects relationship to other people right around the corner like it was in my twenties? It's not.
Most old people in our society are alone. I have to say that a life alone, in my tiny little place, doing chores by myself and scratching away at obscure writings no one will ever give a shit about just doesn't look very happy compared to what I used to have. But I have no choice now but to just make it as cozy as I can and be thankful that I've been delivered from any more sick relationships with any more sick people. Being by myself doing chores is a LOT better than a hideous divorce when I'm seventy-one.
One way I look at it is, the decision not to ever come back is Chi's decision. And I am not to decide anything for him. HE is to decide his life for him. So I say, "I accept your decision." If things are still bad over there, I wish this outcome wasn't the truth. I pray it's not the truth. But chances are, it's the truth.
I'm so, so sorry about it. I would rather have had it the other way, but who knows? Astrology isn't set in stone. For all I know, they went back to marriage counseling and they're fine now! (Their charts bet heavily against it, however.)
The thing is, you can't live the rest of your life in sorrow about something that happened three years ago. If Chi chooses not to show up now, it's highly, highly unlikely he'll choose to show up ever, ever again. I mean, sure, now and then you hear of people who get back with their high school sweetheart they haven't seen in thirty years, and voila! They're the one!
But, come on. That almost never happens. And it's important to live in reality. If I don't hear from Chi now, what the fuck is the likelihood I ever will four years from now, when we haven't seen each other in nine years and haven't spoken in seven??
So, if Chi chooses not to come back now, more than likely it's the very, very end. After all, where are all the transits where Rory confronts An Inconvenient Truth about her marriage?
The next four months. So, if I don't see him, the only thought any person can live with long term is, "I accept your decision."
Boy, this is the saddest thing I've ever done. It's different when someone dies. But, there's nothing else I can do.
Chi, I accept your decision.
And that's that.