letting go
Why do we hang on so desperately and determinedly to parts of our lives that are over, relationships we know won't work? Why is it so hard to let go? My friend Nicki says I need to focus on the future, that I'll meet other people who are better suited to me, all that, etc. But it just doesn't seem real to me. I can't imagine myself with anyone else.
I think it's because this man who is better suited to me, this shadowy possibility/figment of my imagination, just can't compete with the memories I have of real, flesh-and-blood, solid, comforting Sean, who was there, lying in my bed, playing GameCube in my living room, reaching things down for me from my kitchen shelves, playing with my hair. Sure, there are other people in the world for me, and I'm sure I'll meet them and we'll get along fine and live happily ever after and all that. But I don't find that thought comforting yet. The known quantity, even though I know I can't have it, is so much more real and attractive to me than the unknown.
Jeff pointed out to me the other day that what I'm missing isn't even really Sean, but my idealized version of Sean, which isn't truth at all. He said, "Remember how miserable you were in February, trying to deal with him being in love with someone else? You don't miss that, do you?" I said, "no," and he said, "Well that's the truth, that's how it really was. You're not remembering that stuff."
He has a point. It's so easy to remember the good things and forget about the bad times we had, especially there at the end when everything was falling apart. But even while everything was falling apart, I was trying desperately hard to hold it together, because I wanted it to work so badly, and I did that because I loved him so much I couldn't bear to let him go. I still can't bear to let him go. But I have to, I have to, or I'll go crazy. LJ friends, I need advice. How do I let this go?
I think it's because this man who is better suited to me, this shadowy possibility/figment of my imagination, just can't compete with the memories I have of real, flesh-and-blood, solid, comforting Sean, who was there, lying in my bed, playing GameCube in my living room, reaching things down for me from my kitchen shelves, playing with my hair. Sure, there are other people in the world for me, and I'm sure I'll meet them and we'll get along fine and live happily ever after and all that. But I don't find that thought comforting yet. The known quantity, even though I know I can't have it, is so much more real and attractive to me than the unknown.
Jeff pointed out to me the other day that what I'm missing isn't even really Sean, but my idealized version of Sean, which isn't truth at all. He said, "Remember how miserable you were in February, trying to deal with him being in love with someone else? You don't miss that, do you?" I said, "no," and he said, "Well that's the truth, that's how it really was. You're not remembering that stuff."
He has a point. It's so easy to remember the good things and forget about the bad times we had, especially there at the end when everything was falling apart. But even while everything was falling apart, I was trying desperately hard to hold it together, because I wanted it to work so badly, and I did that because I loved him so much I couldn't bear to let him go. I still can't bear to let him go. But I have to, I have to, or I'll go crazy. LJ friends, I need advice. How do I let this go?