August 15, 2013

My fingers hover over my keyboard as I try to pinpoint what I need to write about. Writing is something that frees me, but it doesn’t always naturally come out. It takes some searching and thinking to get to a point where I know what thread to follow.

A few days ago, my partner and I broke up. Or rather, I broke up with him. The lie had gone too far, the extent of the illusion was too great for my love to peer through. If I hadn’t put a stop to it, it would have put a stop to my very heartbeat. But I am left with a huge hole inside, a gaping wound that hasn’t started bleeding yet.
It’s like when you burn yourself. You pull away before the pain arrives. But you know it’s coming, and that nothing will prevent that. You try to get ready for it, but you never are.

Back in October, I broke up with him the first time. What still feels to me as forcefully, he got me to talk to him again, and twisted himself back into place. By my side. Instead of accepting his wrongs and letting me go through whatever steps necessary, he took what he thought was his rightful spot. Instead of honestly respecting my stance on our relationship, he dug up whatever feelings remained and used them against me. Not for my own good, not to make me happy, but for his own gain. And after that, he had me right where he wanted me. Where he could lie to me again, make himself look good, flatter his shattered ego with my naive adoration.

Now, that is over. I can forgive, and I can move on, but trust is a very slow thing to recover. It’s a fragile thing that has a mind of its own. Likely that is an important lesson for me; I’m too gullible, I cave too easily and I sometimes want things so badly that I actually forgo what my rational mind tells me. My emotions overrule my knowledge, and I shouldn’t let that happen.

The anger has subsided now, and it feels really nice. It’s the first time I’ve been able to relax in weeks. Today, all I have done is watch movies, and sleep. Sleep, sleep, more sleep. I had never realized how tired I was, until I was away from him, from the whole situation, and could start distancing myself from the whole mess that was our relationship. What a mess it was. A disgusting mix of his lies, my anger, his mistakes, my spite and horrific misunderstanding. When the basis of truth falls away, the whole couple becomes a farce. All the energy that should go into loving each other better, goes into saving the crumbling ruins of a dream.
I’ll have to be at home to fully grasp what it is I have lost, and what I have gained. My freedom, carelessness and integrity are gained, but the loss is still unclear. It’s difficult to see what he gave me, when what he took was so vast and fresh. Right now I still mostly feel robbed of some innocent part of me. But maybe that part really did need to be gone.

We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.



August 2, 2013

Things have finally settled down. It feels like I worked through it, the anger is gone and I’m working on the forgiveness part. Which isn’t really something I have to ‘muster’ like a lot of people say. When you love someone, it kind of comes on its own as soon as you realize it’s just not worth it.

Do I want to be angry and feel miserable? No. Do I want to make him feel worse? No. Do I want us to fight, to have endless discussions, to say harsh things? No.

Codependency is such a sneaky, invisible thing. I never even thought I was codependent until it started to hurt me and I was willing to look closer into what I was doing. Maybe every partner is a little codependent. You’re barely in a relationship if you’re not, right? I still want him to give me a heads up about where he’s going, that won’t just go away. It’s not about control over him, it’s about me knowing how I can get to him if I need to. 
For some reason, when our relationship is ok, we almost melt together. I feel completely overwhelmed, because I’m crazy about him and I can’t seem to function separately from that notion. He has the same thing though, I know he loves me very much and can’t live without me. It feels really good, we’re in this pool of absolute and unconditional adoration for each other and exchange information that wouldn’t make sense to an outsider.
But then there are these sources that say that’s not healthy. We’re both addicts, and maybe we’re still really extreme in this.

Food for thought.


July 30, 2013

Back in highschool I remember we went on a field trip to the mines. Coalmines. The first hour was alright, the corridors were wide and well lit, obviously soundly structured and the warmth from inside the earth felt really cozy in contrast to the cold November day.
But then we had lunch, and descended even deeper, into a completely different kind of section of the mines. Our guide told us that this place was still safe, but was much more eery and could make some people very uncomfortable. Beforehand we had all had to sign a paper stating we were not claustrophobic that we knew of (one girl was, she never went inside the second part of the mines).
Every now and then, the images and the stories still flash before my mind’s eye, when I feel very trapped or afraid. To explain the Thing, here’s a picture of a mine I found that comes closest to what I’m talking about:

pijlerMiners dig between the different layers of the earth’s crust. This way, they don’t need to support them much, because they are already organized in this way. A layer cannot easily collapse. Usually, these layers are more or less horizontal, if not, they’re only slightly slanted. However, sometimes, the crust forms unusual waves and bumps, and in some places those layers are very steep. Depending on the spot, the layers that miners dig out can be very thin. As in, one man can barely move through it while lying flat on his back, that kind of thin.
We only ever kept to the corridors that were well cut out on the tour, but from the corridors we could see the dug out layers, or at least the beginning of them, left and right from us in between the supporting beams. The corridors are lit by electric lights, but light under the earth doesn’t exactly carry far. In fact, under the earth, you get the feeling that light is being completely swallowed by the dark walls surrounding you. Even sound isn’t the same. Colors are a lot paler, everything seems to be black and white under there. All there is is electric light, and not the sunlight to differentiate clearly between colors.

At one point, we arrived at a very steep layer on our right. As I looked down into it, all I saw was pitch, pitch blackness. The light from the guide’s torch couldn’t even light the end of it. He explained how down there, somewhere, was another corridor like this one, and another layer after that. It seemed amazing to me that people would really go that deep under the earth.

But then came the stories. Miners would often go from corridor to corridor through these layers, because it’s much quicker than taking the elevator way at the ass end of the corridor (which could sometimes be miles long!). Sometimes there was maintenance to be done in the layers as well, or sometimes a new one needed to be mined. The point is, it has happened that miners would be deep inside these layers, when the crust started to move. There are stories from diaries and letters of miners who witnessed their colleague being crushed inside the earth.

The thin, claustrophobic and dark layer I was peering into suddenly had a completely different vibe to it. This thing really does swallow everything. It looked so silent, dormant, so peaceful almost. But beyond what I could see, I imagined a force greater than anything manmade, the force of our entire planet having an itch.

Now and then, when I feel like I do now, I feel like I’m stuck in between a very thin layer of earthcrust, and I don’t know if I’ll be crushed or not. I hear it move and roar and rumble, but so far nothing’s really moving around me -yet. There is something awfully ominous about it all, and the battery of my torch seems to be running low.

In a little over a week, I’m getting married. My partner organized most of it. I don’t know the name of our minister. I don’t know how to get there on my own. I don’t know what time the ceremony will be. I don’t know who all will be there. This doesn’t worry him in the least, because he thinks he has it all covered and so there isn’t a problem. His self-centered view on this, although without ill intent, is mindblowing. I got it, why do you need to worry about it? The earth is moving beneath my feet.


July 30, 2013

Day 2.

I’m not good at this. This was supposed to be a few days to myself, but I’ve been worried out of my mind. Thoroughly defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? Still haven’t had news, I don’t know where he is. Sometimes I have confusing dreams that he died, but I can’t let myself go there.

Why am I doing this? Why am I being so ridiculous?

Maybe he just needed the time off to rehash his relapse, to trace back his steps and identify where it went wrong. Maybe he’s having an amazing time with those kids from AA, and decided to hang around for a bit. Maybe he’s at home, just trying to find some quiet. Maybe he’s with family, talking, healing.

Back in October it was a similar situation as this one that made me decide to take a break. He really thought it was over back then (so did I) and was absolutely crushed. I needed time and some space, but couldn’t get much. I did get some, but he did always try to take some of it, because he was probably losing his mind out of grief.
But this is different. I did ask for ‘a few days’ for myself, but I never thought of leaving him. I pondered whether or not it would be easier with someone else, I negotiated if someone else wouldn’t be more constant. But someone else would just be fucking boring, wouldn’t it? I don’t like constant, never have. I get bored and lose interest.

I’m starving.


July 30, 2013

Today I ate a watery soup, and two 45 gr bags of chips…Grand total: 500 calories. Wtf.

I had lunch with my sister, and I could really confide in her today. Beforehand I knew I had to tell her what happened, and that I couldn’t lie and make my relationship seem like a fairytale. It’s not. She actually understood, a lot more than I had thought she would. Not at any moment did she judge me, or my sweet man. She did tell me that I have to tell my parents the truth, because right now they’re speculating away, and it’s actually worse. And she’s right. As soon as it’s a quiet time together, I will.

Next thing I knew, I got a call from my boss to work from 6 til close. I was happy to get some more hours in, and it seemed like the perfect way to take my mind off things.

I had underestimated how tired I’ve been. The first hour I was alright, the place wasn’t very busy and I could just serve people without too much straining myself. But after a few hours I started having really bad lower back pain. I was shaking all over, tense, just completely overwhelmed. I thank all the gods that I didn’t break down and cry.
I felt so, so sad. A new kind of sadness, not the acute, pang of pain kind of sad. A slumbering, dull sadness that seemed to have always been there.

Suddenly an old friend walked in. He’s actually a guy I had a thing for a few years ago, and as much as he did have a thing for me, things never really happened. I wasn’t incredibly and totally fucking in love with the dude, either, it just kind of died. But for some reason I always had been spiteful towards him, I’m not totally sure why. I was still badly on drugs in those days, like 5-day-bender-on-drugs, and I’m sure that played its dirty part in all of it.
Anyway, I found the opportunity to apologize to him for it, and I had actually thought about him during a bikeride just a few days back. Thinking I should at least say the words. As soon as I had said them, he was all “oh please, that’s in the past”. I didn’t let him shove it aside though, I stressed that it was important to be said out loud.
I’m not sure if he was uncomfortable, or incredibly touched by it. I’m hoping the latter.

We ended up having a blast behind the bar, a young drummer I know started putting on song after song of absolutele jazz bliss, we were all dancing around the bar like crazy people. It felt really nice letting go of everything and just soaring on the tones of the trumpets.
I pondered getting totally and utterly blacked-out drunk just before we closed, but opted not to. That meant no alcohol, because in a state like this, it’s never just one drink.

But by closing time, I was done. I just wanted my bed. My tv. My room. My cat. My space.

I hope I don’t have to work tomorrow, I’m wonderfully enjoying just laying in bed watching documentaries and finding my center.

Haven’t heard from him for a day.


July 29, 2013

My last few posts were spiteful, angry and hurt. It needed to happen.

But he’s hurting too. He’s suffering the same repercussions as I am; he doesn’t get to see me for another 9 days. I have to trust that this tears him apart as much as me, and that the illness is kicking him in the balls as much as me. It is so easy to forget, isn’t it? Because it feels like a choice, to an outsider. It feels like taking a drink is a choice, whereas a cancer spreading out isn’t an action you took.

But that’s wrong. It wasn’t a choice. It was a circumstance, it was alcoholism.

When I think back to my own use, and how for the last year or so, I attempted to quit, I can vaguely remember feeling sucked in. First of all, it was a habit. I’d go out, buy some stuff if I was out, possibly share it with one or two friends (it would feel like we had more when we put everything together), and get high. The only time I could successfully quit, was when I stopped going out. Which I could keep up for maybe 3 weeks. Having to quit drugs is one thing, having to quit your social life is another.

It never occurred to me that I was hurting anyone. I wasn’t in a relationship, I wasn’t losing all my money. But maybe I did hurt my parents. They never told me. When I came home and thought they never knew a fucking thing, maybe they were just big about it. At one point I remember telling my mom in the car, “mom, I’m using amphetamines and cocaine, I’m not sure how to stop”. She never gave me a hard time for it. She never gave me a cross hearing. She never called anyone behind my back, trying to get me into some kind of rehab. She trusted me, but she must’ve been so hurt.

And I really was hurt too. I didn’t want to be that daughter anymore, the one who kept fucking up. But I was. I straightened it out later, by getting my degree and everything. That’s what they wanted for me, some form of security.

I quit suddenly. Cold turkey. And I always do that. Cutting, purging, everything. Suddenly I decide that no, I won’t do it anymore, and I just. I quit. For the purging, my lovely partner did have a huge hand in it. He was incredibly supportive for it.

Before getting at that point, I did need several attempts. The purging sometimes stopped for a whole year, but it would return. Something has changed now though. Now I know that I’ll never go back.
And it worries me that he’s not at that point. Not yet. He still seeks comfort in his booze, where I have now realized my addictions/dysfunctional habits are not comforting. I don’t understand why he doesn’t see it that way too, and we can’t really talk about it because he hates these conversations. They aren’t fun to have, I’ll admit.

I’m still waiting for him to make that ‘click’ I did. And maybe that’s wrong. Maybe he will never. He keeps trying, and that’s incredibly brave on his part. It must be so, so painful for him to go through that over and over. Being disgusted with yourself, because You Did It Again.

I will never give up on him. Never. I hope he won’t give up on me; I am trying baby.


July 28, 2013

I feel I have a lot to vomit now. This blog comes alive as I sink inside my own pool of confusion.

When my boyfriend relapsed this weekend, a week of very intensive contact preceded it. He was stuck at an airport, and I felt obliged to keep him company through Skype. After all, it was for me, for us, that he was sitting there, sacrificing time and sleep. My self esteem is actually low enough that that made me feel guilty. Looking back now, I’m disgusted by my own lack of character, my weakness. I really am so, so weak.
What I should have done, was to live on. Take my mind off things, relax and enjoy the Summer. Maybe he wouldn’t have relapsed at all then.

This relationship will absolutely destroy me if things stay the same. But there is no way out of it. Some days I think maybe there could be, maybe I could learn to mourn it and survive it being over. Maybe I could meet someone else, someone who wouldn’t endanger me. My essence. Someone who isn’t an alcoholic, who would just love me. Not because of a desperate cling to life, to salvation, not because he sees in me some kind of sign. Just because he likes me, and grows fond of me, and eventually wants to be with me and respect me.
But it is what it is. I did fall insanely in love with him. So now all that’s left for me to do, is work on myself so I don’t die from it.

Sometimes I don’t know if his love for me isn’t an incredibly selfish claim he lays upon me. If it isn’t his own needs who dictated this relationship to ever come to exist. A big part of that probably being my own fault.
I’m much, much too easy. Once I left him, early on, but I don’t think I could ever find that strength back.

My needs are… My needs are for him to be reliable. For him to be dependable and responsible, and constantly too. My needs are small, and often maybe materialistic, but they are necessary for all the rest. It feels like I’m the only one paying attention to reality. My needs are also the ones who are ignored, and I am left helpless to find out how to change that feeling. Because I’m the one who isn’t communicating, I’m the one who lets him determine the mood. I’m the one compromising my own wishes for his sake, because he has to be okay.
But how do I stop doing that? How do I put my foot down and grow independent from his mood? He will suck all the air out of my lungs if he needs it, and I will probably willingly exhale.

He’s an addict, he will always be that way. I have to be the force that resists. But I need a force like that myself, and he will never be that for me. He will randomly, and without notice fail me. He gets to do that.
So maybe I’m expecting too much. He shouldn’t be my rock, my thermometer. He’s just a man.

It’s time to grow up and resist him. Because he will always ask for more, he will always try to grab what he can get, and he will never be able to consider my capacity while doing so.