Tag: time

57. Time passes, dear reader

Some months ago, not a year, not quite yet, I began to write. I put thumb to phone and let go of things I was holding. I typed at my laptop when I felt the need to release. I sent out, in their strange digital form, these messages in a bottle – albeit floating around the internet rather than bobbing on the beautiful briney sea.

With each one sent I felt a small space in my lungs to breathe a little bit more. Each time I look back on the words I set down I see how far they are away from me now. And how close.

Because the line on which I write takes me forward and back. While I think I’m building, healing, strengthening – and I am indeed doing all of these – I am still grieving and hurting.

It is in strange moments that I find the pop of a memory. Things that I had almost forgotten- or rather things I had not thought about for some time.

Tonight I have been presented with a rack of cd’s that once lived in our home and are now at his. Resentment bubbled briefly as I looked through the titles, some we chose together, some were presents. Some were bloody well mine! But they are still only things. Would it make me feel better to take them? Not really. I only need to ask or mention it, rather than cause an issue and made a fuss.

Music was often a point of difference. I love it, but enjoy peace more. Music isn’t something I “put on” but for me it adds to what I’m doing. For him it was on and to be heard by all. I minded if we were together, a choice inflicted. Now, I hardly play any – although often have the radio on.

But the likes of little thin boxes brought back thoughts of times together. Gigs and parties and holidays when we brought home the soundtrack, having our memento to hold. Those now sit on a shelf. Does he just hear the music? Does the reason for the disc not exist for him or is it just about the tunes?

He’s not here to ask (I have a healthy nice reason for being in his home, by the way! I’m not some weird stalker!) but I don’t think I will.

Some things are better left unsaid.

54. The niceness is really starting to piss me off!

Sometimes, time just trundles along. The weeks have rolled into months and now I find that it has been over five month since we separated. Nearly eight since we decided to part. It’s getting to the stage when the anniversary of the end  is heading towards us. Do we mark the occasion. Does it warrant celebration, not for the break itself, but for the way we’ve managed to be.

Or is there a new chapter which we need to write. No one of pleasantness and simple kindnesses, but of actually being able to talk. Because we’re not there yet.

We meet, or rather, we see each other fairly regularly. There’s the dropping off of the dog, the daughter needing a hand, even a chance to watch football downstairs with his dad. All those occasions are politely and gently managed. The “is it all right”s and “do you mind”s are sent ahead so that there are no surprises. And we dance this dance of not wanting to offend or intrude.

And the niceness is really starting to piss me off!

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good thing. Who wants to be the shouty, pointy, accusing, unforgiving couple? disappointed that Jeremy Kyle has been taken off air. This way of being is so much healthier, so much easier to heal from. But what does it say about us? Because I feel that all the things that couldn’t be said at the beginning of the end are still waiting to be said. It’s like those words are all sitting on a shelf, and I’m concerned that they’ll sit up there forever, gathering dust. And we’ll never learn from them

The past few month, the space and distance it has given us, enables us to speak while not being in the pain we were. I remember the feeling when I couldn’t breathe, when the lump in my throat or the knot in my stomach was made of all the things I couldn’t say, the questions I couldn’t ask. Those barriers are smaller – they’ve not gone, but they feel different now.

Our friend in America, when I told him our news, was saddened and sad for us. I told him how we were being, how we were trying to do ‘this’ well. “Good” he said, “because loosing a lover is one thing, but loosing a friend is much worse”

And that’s what it feels like. The physicality of being on my own has become familiar, I’m used to the bed to myself, the dinners to suit, the schedule without checking with anyone else. It’s not always great, it can get a bit lonely or boring or lazy, but it doesn’t feel awful like it did at the beginning. So I can manage the ‘living on my own’ bit.

But I miss the friend I once had. The person I could tell almost anything. And I wonder if we have to finally talk about the one thing we didn’t – us – in order to finally be truly just friends.