Like tears in the rain
It sort of feels like it’s getting easier with each time I tell someone else, though sometimes it becomes incredibly hard. At least I know many who’ll read this already know, but I hope to provide more depth and understanding.
Sharleen has broken up with me.
It’s hard to follow on from a statement like that, but it’s about time I started putting words to my feelings, time I started being more open. So please, bear with me, I’m not used to doing something like this.
Why? Because she simply fell out of love with me. It wasn’t a sudden thing, it was gradual, but she just hadn’t realised until her feelings were revealed quite recently (Poetically so, but more on that later). It’s unfortunate, but I’m a person who simply doesn’t believe in the other person being unhappy. Thus, I am able to accept it, though not without tears and pain.
How did it come about? Well, there’s a few build-ups to that I suppose.
Firstly. For a long long time, I’ve suffered the company of the black dog of depression. I hate it, I absolutely loathe it, but it has always been there, lurking at the back of my mind, at times coming forth to drag me into its dark lair. Over time though I managed to make a mask for it. I like to think that it had been a good mask, that very few would have seen through. What probably helped was that I find it very hard to get close to people, to get to know them and in turn let them know me. I ask you, who am I, and if you can write more than a small paragraph I’d be quite impressed that I’d revealed that much. The problem was that in both relationships I’ve been through, I wasn’t strong enough to keep the depression hidden from the other person. I’ve only experienced other people being depressed a small amount, but it’s scary how they withdraw from you, so I can only begin to imagine what it would have been like for them. If only I had been brave enough to go to a doctor to seek help.
So earlier this year, after a bad bout, Sharleen finally convinced me to actually seek help. And I finally did. I went to a doctor, they referred me to a mental health clinic, I was put on medication and went to see a counsellor. But I did it all wrong. Some silly part of my mind tried to make myself seem a “special” case, and thus I caused myself to be diagnosed with bipolar (Which I believe I do not have). So, the medication I was put on was ineffective. The counsellor helped a little though. The bad bit though, was that I had another appointment with the doctor at the clinic just before the wedding. I didn’t go, telling myself that I was too busy with preparing, and that I’d do it after the honeymoon. I didn’t end up going again. Mind you, it didn’t help that the doctor there hadn’t seemed overly interested, they came across as very clinical. It was offputting.
Fast forward a bit. But still imagine the sort of crapness of someone who loses their sexual activity and will to do fun stuff, that would put a strain on almost anyone. But forwards. I hit a low. A very low low. So low that it genuinely scared me, the feeling of absolute isolation, the fear of everyone, the embarrassment of my problem, the inability to reach out for help, that I had worn Sharleen out with this rubbish so long ago and just could not even imagine to try to ask her for even a comforting word. Luckily for me, the terror that this low induced made me resolve to make a change. Though the saying “too late” jumps up here.
Second. Terracon. The UWA sci-fi club’s annual camp out somewhere far far away in fucking freezing territory. The place where after breaking up with my first, I resolved to put myself into an uncomfortable situation and go along to. The place where I met Sharleen, where we vowed that we were both over relationships for some time, and where a few weeks later, were going out. It’s poetic that She went along to the latest one of a month or so past, and there she met a guy that she really clicked with, could talk with and have fun with, something not happened between her and I for some time. So scary how exactly like my first partner, she kissed this guy, and there was magic in the kiss, a magic which had been long dead whenever her lips touched mine. I respect her that she held back from having sex with him then, even though she deeply wanted to, she still had me to think about.
So she came back from it. And I could sense something was different. Through the dark haze, I could sense the change. But I wasn’t sure. Two days after she returned, as she became more distant, more quiet, unwilling to talk to me at all, I finally couldn’t take it, and asked her how we were doing. Finally, she partly opened up. Not well. She was thinking of breaking up with me. I was stunned, I was shocked, I was scared and confused. I talked a lot about fixing myself. I can’t remember if she said much herself. She said she wanted to go to her parents house, at the time empty, to think. She rang her new friend to ask for a lift. I overheard a part of the conversation, for the worse. Hearing her say “We just broke up” after she said nothing definite to me made my breaking heart explode apart. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I was dry retching, I was numb. But her new friend was unable to take her, so I gave her a lift there. We made pleasant small talk, which was nice. I went home. I cried. I finally reached out to one of my few close friends, went around, and begun changing myself for the better by realising and using the fact that there are many people who do actually care, and will listen to you, and not look down on you when you’re oh so low. It was nice. It saved my sanity.
The next morning, she rang me. She wanted me to come up, so we could talk. I dashed up there madly, crying all the way. Got there. We talked. We thought. We cuddled. Skipped work for the day, went home. It, it sort of seemed like we had patched things up. I’m not sure. But I held a small fear, because she said nothing at all as to whether she was going to stay with me and help me through my coming battle against the depression, or whether she wasn’t going to. I wanted clear words, but I was too afraid to ask. So I didn’t.
That weekend, her new friend had invited her to a costume party. I wanted to do right by her, so of course I let her go. I’m not too great at saying no, bit of a character flaw. She was also going to spend the night at the friends place. Yes, I accepted that. But all this time, keeping it to myself, bad feelings were present. Fear and jealousy were wracking me, but I told myself I needed to give her her freedom. If you love it, set it free, if it comes back, and so forth. A beautiful, albeit painful belief. And on leaving his place, I began to discover some really nasty upset. I didn’t take it too well, being alone. Went to a friends that night, that distracted me, but the next day, I was a mess. But she finally returned late that afternoon, and I felt a bit better.
The week saw an improvement between us. Things seemed to be improving, though I was making quite an effort myself. It was nice. I made it to the local GP, who was a brilliantly friendly and understanding woman, who listened, discussed, and gave me some medication and a prescription for more. Hello dear escitalopram, please aid me in my battle to fix myself and become a better person.
The next weekend wasn’t. Off to his place again. I don’t remember much of the weekend. Just that I was deeply upset. Losing the plot. All over the place. Tears, tears, so many tears. I even ran out of tears, sat there dry eyed but still crying inside. And sadly, the following week wasn’t so great. It was somewhat back to the old routine, too busy again to spend time in bed cuddling and talking. Too much to do to spend real time together.
Then Thursday, O hated Thursday arrived. That morning she was extremely distracted. Almost cold shoulderesque. I was worried. All day at work I was wondering what it was, I was sick with thought, and much of it dark. Over the course of that week, I’d had many thoughts of suicide, and that day was causing a desire, a lust, a clear image of myself hanging from a rafter in the shed, with messages of apology littered at my feet. After work, I said I wanted to talk. We got home. We sat down. I asked her again. How are we doing? She looked sad and shook her head.
And then we talked. And she said she believed we should break up. And I agreed. And we did this all very calmly, very easily. It amazed us both how well we talked about it, without tears or loss of voice. It was surreal. Time for the change to begin, first sleeping in separate rooms.
Friday was weird. I breezed through it. I let my friend know. He was the first. Then that night we went to a party we’d agreed to a bit before. I was doing alright at first. Then her friend got there, and I started going to pieces a little. I’d known he was going to go along, and thought I was going to brave it. But I didn’t. Seeing her rush off to him twisted something. I left in a hurry, though the hostess saw my distress, so I told her. She was one of the bridesmaids, and was quite shocked. Mind you, so has everyone else been.
Another poetic note. That Friday would have been our fourth year of going out together.
But later that night, someone did something really touching to me. I’d dashed for home early, and crawled into bed. Come 12:30, I was woken by a knocking on the door. I woke with a start, unsure that I’d it. Then there it was again. My heart started beating. Then suddenly, a knocking on the bedroom window. Holy crap! I went to the door, and there was one of our friends from the party. He demanded the truth. I gave it, and it helped being able to tell someone else. His words of comfort in return also helped. It’s bizarre how that gesture of getting dragged out of bed really touched me. It’s awesome. The rest of the weekend was a bit of a blur. Saturday morning was a bit of a heart wrencher. My Mum came around, and as much as I wanted to tell her, I couldn’t. She was going to see my nephew, as it was his first birthday. I didn’t want to give her bad news before that. But I did finally tell her about my depression, and it was so good to be able to admit that to a parent. After she left, I did a small bit of therapeutic shopping happen, in which I picked up an album with a song which scared in me in how much it covered many of the key points in my mind on the situation. Then there was the lan, where I was somewhat distracted. But it was still fun. Then Sunday, where I saw my oldest friend, and told him. Asked him if he’d be happy to move in with me when she moves out, he was quite happy to, and that the timing was perfect. Watched Bruno. Cringe humor.
Driving home after dropping him off, I was thinking to myself, god I hope she isn’t there, I don’t want her to be there, I hope she passed through to grab her clothes and stay with her new friend, I don’t think I can deal with seeing her tonight. But she was there. Thankfully, she was already asleep, but I was freaking out a little. Don’t really know why, but hey, the head is a funny thing isn’t it.
Then, it was Monday. And amazingly, I was feeling calmer. It was sinking in without making me flip out. And we talked. Good clean civil talk. Well, that’s a lie. I was a bit of a lowlife, I couldn’t stop it, I made a few jibes about her and the new guy, the timing, etc. I feel bad, but at least they were tiny quips, and nothing overly bad at that. I told my workmate. He was knocked for six by that news. I went through the day in a daze. I treated myself to a work beer before knocking off, and went home with that tail of warm fuzz relaxing me.
I had another drink. Then I decided it was time to tell my Dad. Gods. I’ve never ever cried when talking to him. But I was. I was finding it hard to talk. I never expected to grow even remotely close to my Dad, after he punctured my right eardrum with a solid clip to the head many years ago, after which I didn’t move from my bed for three days straight, loaded shotgun at my side, wanting but unable to end my life. But I’ve forgiven him, and love him, and was so glad I could tell him. I have to wait until this weekend before I can tell my Mum. She works out in a country town (They’re married, don’t live together, but still see each other and refuse to get divorced. I have an odd family), and on Sunday rang me and asked me if I could go out sometime soon and give her a hand with doing some repairs to the shed on the old farm. So I’m heading out there, where I’ll be able to tell her in person, and I won’t be leaving her to take this news by herself in an otherwise empty house.
After that was done, I began writing it down. Fuelled by more drink, the words started flowing out. She had already written her small message, to let people know via the electronic world (Hooray Facebook & Livejournal). It was my turn. A beast was rearing it’s head, I was slowly losing side vision. The words and emotion that were spilling out onto the page were angry and confused. At seven pages, a form of fate intervened. I knocked half a glass of sticky dessert wine over my laptop. Quickly saving and emailing the file to myself, I viewed the scene with minor disgust. All over the keyboard. Damn. Wipe it up, try the keys. Some keys stopped working. Go and grab the USB keyboard. Some of the un-working keys are now pressing themselves. Damn. Start cursing laptop profusely. Sharleen comes out of her room and ask me what’s wrong. Take note, when I was cursing the laptop, I was grinning all the time. Because I wasn’t upset, I was bemused. It was, and is, quite funny. But she asked me, and I told her. Then we started talking again. Or at least, I started talking. I got some things off my chest which had been there for a long time throughout a lot of our relationship. Things which I told her for her to take on board, to consider, character flaws which could do with fixing. And I felt good afterwards. Quite drunk, but good.
I tried to continue on with my words, but I just couldn’t. Did a little bit with the laptop, then went to bed.
The next morning arrived. Tuesday the 21st, the fourth month of us being recognised as a married couple. I woke up. I felt odd. A little fuzzy, but no hangover. I got up. Washed. And then, the feeling started creeping up.
I felt good. I felt really good. Acceptance was fully there. I’d gotten things off my chest. I could see many benefits to the future. I’m young, and I now have freedom. Hopefully a limited amount of freedom, because I hope to take on the mortgage (Thankfully she doesn’t want to live in this suburb, and is happy for me to take the house), so money would be a smidge tight, no more “debt free by thirty” business, but with my friend moving in it’ll be fine, because I’ll have complete control over what I want to do, and it’s a little scary, but I’ve grown up more. My first breakup made me mature a large amount. This one is going to make me mature even moreso. I’m going to fix my head, I’m going to find out what the other problem is, I’m going to get out of my shell and start forming who I want to become, not what other people want, but what I want, what I deserve.
There’ll still be times of sadness over the breakup. There’ll be confusing, I’ll be scared, there’ll be anger and hate. But I suspect they’ll be small compared to what I’ve felt the past couple of weeks. And then they’ll go away.
At the end of it all, yes, she fell out of love with me. But I still love the silly girl, and respect her deeply. Our relationship together has taught me so many valuable things, has improved me so much. She has hurt me, but hurts heal, and in time, most likely much sooner than later, I will forgive her completely (Hell, I’ve already started). I’m also really happy for her, happy that she was able to finally sort out her feelings, to identify what’s best for her, and to not hide it away. I’m even happy for her that she clicked even more with her friend when she slept with him the day after we broke up, I’m glad that she’s got that happiness there, it makes me glad that I can feel happy for her, and it removes any guilt I have of feeling this bizarre feeling of happiness myself. I was grinning when I told someone else at work today about it, and I couldn’t really explain why I was smiling so much.
Maybe part of the happiness is how I’m discovering that people actually care. That I had convinced myself that I was a nobody, an invisible person, awkward to talk to and hard to converse with, only to have people offer their ears for me to talk with, offering me support, to make me feel noticed and cared about, it’s somewhat amazing. Thank you everyone who has reached out and will do so out of genuine care. Thank you so very very much. There are so many of you who I wish I had gotten to know better, but I feared talking to you even more than others, and I feel ashamed for that, but I intend to fix that part of myself.
This seems to be a good clean breakup. We’re talking, we’re making jokes, we’re sorting things out. Almost everything is working out, and the only things we’ve disagreed on have been little things, like who wanted the good cutlery and which painting. Hopefully I’ll be able to become strong enough to remain friends with her, to be able to bear going to parties that she might also be attending, and witnessing her getting/being with other people. I hate the emotion jealousy, that green headed monster is second to the black dog in things that terrorise me, and I want to chase it away.
To everyone that knows both of us, please don’t take sides, please don’t bear any grudge. There is no way of being able to work out your mind easily, and I can understand and respect why it took Sharleen so long to discover and how she reacted as she has. She is still the same person, a beautiful and amazingly independent girl, deeply intelligent, most of the time sure of what’s right for her, but not always. If possible, I want you to be there for her, to support her when she’s feeling down, to share with her when she’s feeling good. She didn’t want to hurt me, but she didn’t want to sacrifice herself, and I genuinely respect that. So please, please don’t treat her any differently.
If you want to ask me questions about it, just ask. Don't feel uncomfortable, or as though it would upset me. I intend to try to talk more, to get feelings off my chest when their pressure is felt, but I may not be able to make the entire jump in one go, so giving me a nudge will help me get started.
So we’ve broken up. We’re starting to sort things out. She’s started packing up to move her stuff out. Life is looking good, and it’s strange, strange because I feel like there’s a little bit of a want to cry at the moment, but it doesn’t feel like tears of sadness, but tears of happiness. I will be terribly sad when she finally moves all of what she's taking out, because of the finality, the closure behind it. But I know that I won't be crippled by that sadness, because I know I can move on, I know I have a future for me to shape as I wish.
Thank you Sharleen. Thank you for the happiness you brought me, for the good memories, for inadvertently teaching me more about myself, for all the love you did give me and receive from me in turn. There’s been so much more good time than bad in this relationship, and I’m glad. I don’t feel these past four years have been wasted at all.
We are like tears in the rain in the grand scheme of life, but for a tangible period of time, we existed, we stood out, and now we can merge into the flow, until we form droplets elsewhere, and create something new for ourselves.
Thankyou :)
Sharleen has broken up with me.
It’s hard to follow on from a statement like that, but it’s about time I started putting words to my feelings, time I started being more open. So please, bear with me, I’m not used to doing something like this.
Why? Because she simply fell out of love with me. It wasn’t a sudden thing, it was gradual, but she just hadn’t realised until her feelings were revealed quite recently (Poetically so, but more on that later). It’s unfortunate, but I’m a person who simply doesn’t believe in the other person being unhappy. Thus, I am able to accept it, though not without tears and pain.
How did it come about? Well, there’s a few build-ups to that I suppose.
Firstly. For a long long time, I’ve suffered the company of the black dog of depression. I hate it, I absolutely loathe it, but it has always been there, lurking at the back of my mind, at times coming forth to drag me into its dark lair. Over time though I managed to make a mask for it. I like to think that it had been a good mask, that very few would have seen through. What probably helped was that I find it very hard to get close to people, to get to know them and in turn let them know me. I ask you, who am I, and if you can write more than a small paragraph I’d be quite impressed that I’d revealed that much. The problem was that in both relationships I’ve been through, I wasn’t strong enough to keep the depression hidden from the other person. I’ve only experienced other people being depressed a small amount, but it’s scary how they withdraw from you, so I can only begin to imagine what it would have been like for them. If only I had been brave enough to go to a doctor to seek help.
So earlier this year, after a bad bout, Sharleen finally convinced me to actually seek help. And I finally did. I went to a doctor, they referred me to a mental health clinic, I was put on medication and went to see a counsellor. But I did it all wrong. Some silly part of my mind tried to make myself seem a “special” case, and thus I caused myself to be diagnosed with bipolar (Which I believe I do not have). So, the medication I was put on was ineffective. The counsellor helped a little though. The bad bit though, was that I had another appointment with the doctor at the clinic just before the wedding. I didn’t go, telling myself that I was too busy with preparing, and that I’d do it after the honeymoon. I didn’t end up going again. Mind you, it didn’t help that the doctor there hadn’t seemed overly interested, they came across as very clinical. It was offputting.
Fast forward a bit. But still imagine the sort of crapness of someone who loses their sexual activity and will to do fun stuff, that would put a strain on almost anyone. But forwards. I hit a low. A very low low. So low that it genuinely scared me, the feeling of absolute isolation, the fear of everyone, the embarrassment of my problem, the inability to reach out for help, that I had worn Sharleen out with this rubbish so long ago and just could not even imagine to try to ask her for even a comforting word. Luckily for me, the terror that this low induced made me resolve to make a change. Though the saying “too late” jumps up here.
Second. Terracon. The UWA sci-fi club’s annual camp out somewhere far far away in fucking freezing territory. The place where after breaking up with my first, I resolved to put myself into an uncomfortable situation and go along to. The place where I met Sharleen, where we vowed that we were both over relationships for some time, and where a few weeks later, were going out. It’s poetic that She went along to the latest one of a month or so past, and there she met a guy that she really clicked with, could talk with and have fun with, something not happened between her and I for some time. So scary how exactly like my first partner, she kissed this guy, and there was magic in the kiss, a magic which had been long dead whenever her lips touched mine. I respect her that she held back from having sex with him then, even though she deeply wanted to, she still had me to think about.
So she came back from it. And I could sense something was different. Through the dark haze, I could sense the change. But I wasn’t sure. Two days after she returned, as she became more distant, more quiet, unwilling to talk to me at all, I finally couldn’t take it, and asked her how we were doing. Finally, she partly opened up. Not well. She was thinking of breaking up with me. I was stunned, I was shocked, I was scared and confused. I talked a lot about fixing myself. I can’t remember if she said much herself. She said she wanted to go to her parents house, at the time empty, to think. She rang her new friend to ask for a lift. I overheard a part of the conversation, for the worse. Hearing her say “We just broke up” after she said nothing definite to me made my breaking heart explode apart. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I was dry retching, I was numb. But her new friend was unable to take her, so I gave her a lift there. We made pleasant small talk, which was nice. I went home. I cried. I finally reached out to one of my few close friends, went around, and begun changing myself for the better by realising and using the fact that there are many people who do actually care, and will listen to you, and not look down on you when you’re oh so low. It was nice. It saved my sanity.
The next morning, she rang me. She wanted me to come up, so we could talk. I dashed up there madly, crying all the way. Got there. We talked. We thought. We cuddled. Skipped work for the day, went home. It, it sort of seemed like we had patched things up. I’m not sure. But I held a small fear, because she said nothing at all as to whether she was going to stay with me and help me through my coming battle against the depression, or whether she wasn’t going to. I wanted clear words, but I was too afraid to ask. So I didn’t.
That weekend, her new friend had invited her to a costume party. I wanted to do right by her, so of course I let her go. I’m not too great at saying no, bit of a character flaw. She was also going to spend the night at the friends place. Yes, I accepted that. But all this time, keeping it to myself, bad feelings were present. Fear and jealousy were wracking me, but I told myself I needed to give her her freedom. If you love it, set it free, if it comes back, and so forth. A beautiful, albeit painful belief. And on leaving his place, I began to discover some really nasty upset. I didn’t take it too well, being alone. Went to a friends that night, that distracted me, but the next day, I was a mess. But she finally returned late that afternoon, and I felt a bit better.
The week saw an improvement between us. Things seemed to be improving, though I was making quite an effort myself. It was nice. I made it to the local GP, who was a brilliantly friendly and understanding woman, who listened, discussed, and gave me some medication and a prescription for more. Hello dear escitalopram, please aid me in my battle to fix myself and become a better person.
The next weekend wasn’t. Off to his place again. I don’t remember much of the weekend. Just that I was deeply upset. Losing the plot. All over the place. Tears, tears, so many tears. I even ran out of tears, sat there dry eyed but still crying inside. And sadly, the following week wasn’t so great. It was somewhat back to the old routine, too busy again to spend time in bed cuddling and talking. Too much to do to spend real time together.
Then Thursday, O hated Thursday arrived. That morning she was extremely distracted. Almost cold shoulderesque. I was worried. All day at work I was wondering what it was, I was sick with thought, and much of it dark. Over the course of that week, I’d had many thoughts of suicide, and that day was causing a desire, a lust, a clear image of myself hanging from a rafter in the shed, with messages of apology littered at my feet. After work, I said I wanted to talk. We got home. We sat down. I asked her again. How are we doing? She looked sad and shook her head.
And then we talked. And she said she believed we should break up. And I agreed. And we did this all very calmly, very easily. It amazed us both how well we talked about it, without tears or loss of voice. It was surreal. Time for the change to begin, first sleeping in separate rooms.
Friday was weird. I breezed through it. I let my friend know. He was the first. Then that night we went to a party we’d agreed to a bit before. I was doing alright at first. Then her friend got there, and I started going to pieces a little. I’d known he was going to go along, and thought I was going to brave it. But I didn’t. Seeing her rush off to him twisted something. I left in a hurry, though the hostess saw my distress, so I told her. She was one of the bridesmaids, and was quite shocked. Mind you, so has everyone else been.
Another poetic note. That Friday would have been our fourth year of going out together.
But later that night, someone did something really touching to me. I’d dashed for home early, and crawled into bed. Come 12:30, I was woken by a knocking on the door. I woke with a start, unsure that I’d it. Then there it was again. My heart started beating. Then suddenly, a knocking on the bedroom window. Holy crap! I went to the door, and there was one of our friends from the party. He demanded the truth. I gave it, and it helped being able to tell someone else. His words of comfort in return also helped. It’s bizarre how that gesture of getting dragged out of bed really touched me. It’s awesome. The rest of the weekend was a bit of a blur. Saturday morning was a bit of a heart wrencher. My Mum came around, and as much as I wanted to tell her, I couldn’t. She was going to see my nephew, as it was his first birthday. I didn’t want to give her bad news before that. But I did finally tell her about my depression, and it was so good to be able to admit that to a parent. After she left, I did a small bit of therapeutic shopping happen, in which I picked up an album with a song which scared in me in how much it covered many of the key points in my mind on the situation. Then there was the lan, where I was somewhat distracted. But it was still fun. Then Sunday, where I saw my oldest friend, and told him. Asked him if he’d be happy to move in with me when she moves out, he was quite happy to, and that the timing was perfect. Watched Bruno. Cringe humor.
Driving home after dropping him off, I was thinking to myself, god I hope she isn’t there, I don’t want her to be there, I hope she passed through to grab her clothes and stay with her new friend, I don’t think I can deal with seeing her tonight. But she was there. Thankfully, she was already asleep, but I was freaking out a little. Don’t really know why, but hey, the head is a funny thing isn’t it.
Then, it was Monday. And amazingly, I was feeling calmer. It was sinking in without making me flip out. And we talked. Good clean civil talk. Well, that’s a lie. I was a bit of a lowlife, I couldn’t stop it, I made a few jibes about her and the new guy, the timing, etc. I feel bad, but at least they were tiny quips, and nothing overly bad at that. I told my workmate. He was knocked for six by that news. I went through the day in a daze. I treated myself to a work beer before knocking off, and went home with that tail of warm fuzz relaxing me.
I had another drink. Then I decided it was time to tell my Dad. Gods. I’ve never ever cried when talking to him. But I was. I was finding it hard to talk. I never expected to grow even remotely close to my Dad, after he punctured my right eardrum with a solid clip to the head many years ago, after which I didn’t move from my bed for three days straight, loaded shotgun at my side, wanting but unable to end my life. But I’ve forgiven him, and love him, and was so glad I could tell him. I have to wait until this weekend before I can tell my Mum. She works out in a country town (They’re married, don’t live together, but still see each other and refuse to get divorced. I have an odd family), and on Sunday rang me and asked me if I could go out sometime soon and give her a hand with doing some repairs to the shed on the old farm. So I’m heading out there, where I’ll be able to tell her in person, and I won’t be leaving her to take this news by herself in an otherwise empty house.
After that was done, I began writing it down. Fuelled by more drink, the words started flowing out. She had already written her small message, to let people know via the electronic world (Hooray Facebook & Livejournal). It was my turn. A beast was rearing it’s head, I was slowly losing side vision. The words and emotion that were spilling out onto the page were angry and confused. At seven pages, a form of fate intervened. I knocked half a glass of sticky dessert wine over my laptop. Quickly saving and emailing the file to myself, I viewed the scene with minor disgust. All over the keyboard. Damn. Wipe it up, try the keys. Some keys stopped working. Go and grab the USB keyboard. Some of the un-working keys are now pressing themselves. Damn. Start cursing laptop profusely. Sharleen comes out of her room and ask me what’s wrong. Take note, when I was cursing the laptop, I was grinning all the time. Because I wasn’t upset, I was bemused. It was, and is, quite funny. But she asked me, and I told her. Then we started talking again. Or at least, I started talking. I got some things off my chest which had been there for a long time throughout a lot of our relationship. Things which I told her for her to take on board, to consider, character flaws which could do with fixing. And I felt good afterwards. Quite drunk, but good.
I tried to continue on with my words, but I just couldn’t. Did a little bit with the laptop, then went to bed.
The next morning arrived. Tuesday the 21st, the fourth month of us being recognised as a married couple. I woke up. I felt odd. A little fuzzy, but no hangover. I got up. Washed. And then, the feeling started creeping up.
I felt good. I felt really good. Acceptance was fully there. I’d gotten things off my chest. I could see many benefits to the future. I’m young, and I now have freedom. Hopefully a limited amount of freedom, because I hope to take on the mortgage (Thankfully she doesn’t want to live in this suburb, and is happy for me to take the house), so money would be a smidge tight, no more “debt free by thirty” business, but with my friend moving in it’ll be fine, because I’ll have complete control over what I want to do, and it’s a little scary, but I’ve grown up more. My first breakup made me mature a large amount. This one is going to make me mature even moreso. I’m going to fix my head, I’m going to find out what the other problem is, I’m going to get out of my shell and start forming who I want to become, not what other people want, but what I want, what I deserve.
There’ll still be times of sadness over the breakup. There’ll be confusing, I’ll be scared, there’ll be anger and hate. But I suspect they’ll be small compared to what I’ve felt the past couple of weeks. And then they’ll go away.
At the end of it all, yes, she fell out of love with me. But I still love the silly girl, and respect her deeply. Our relationship together has taught me so many valuable things, has improved me so much. She has hurt me, but hurts heal, and in time, most likely much sooner than later, I will forgive her completely (Hell, I’ve already started). I’m also really happy for her, happy that she was able to finally sort out her feelings, to identify what’s best for her, and to not hide it away. I’m even happy for her that she clicked even more with her friend when she slept with him the day after we broke up, I’m glad that she’s got that happiness there, it makes me glad that I can feel happy for her, and it removes any guilt I have of feeling this bizarre feeling of happiness myself. I was grinning when I told someone else at work today about it, and I couldn’t really explain why I was smiling so much.
Maybe part of the happiness is how I’m discovering that people actually care. That I had convinced myself that I was a nobody, an invisible person, awkward to talk to and hard to converse with, only to have people offer their ears for me to talk with, offering me support, to make me feel noticed and cared about, it’s somewhat amazing. Thank you everyone who has reached out and will do so out of genuine care. Thank you so very very much. There are so many of you who I wish I had gotten to know better, but I feared talking to you even more than others, and I feel ashamed for that, but I intend to fix that part of myself.
This seems to be a good clean breakup. We’re talking, we’re making jokes, we’re sorting things out. Almost everything is working out, and the only things we’ve disagreed on have been little things, like who wanted the good cutlery and which painting. Hopefully I’ll be able to become strong enough to remain friends with her, to be able to bear going to parties that she might also be attending, and witnessing her getting/being with other people. I hate the emotion jealousy, that green headed monster is second to the black dog in things that terrorise me, and I want to chase it away.
To everyone that knows both of us, please don’t take sides, please don’t bear any grudge. There is no way of being able to work out your mind easily, and I can understand and respect why it took Sharleen so long to discover and how she reacted as she has. She is still the same person, a beautiful and amazingly independent girl, deeply intelligent, most of the time sure of what’s right for her, but not always. If possible, I want you to be there for her, to support her when she’s feeling down, to share with her when she’s feeling good. She didn’t want to hurt me, but she didn’t want to sacrifice herself, and I genuinely respect that. So please, please don’t treat her any differently.
If you want to ask me questions about it, just ask. Don't feel uncomfortable, or as though it would upset me. I intend to try to talk more, to get feelings off my chest when their pressure is felt, but I may not be able to make the entire jump in one go, so giving me a nudge will help me get started.
So we’ve broken up. We’re starting to sort things out. She’s started packing up to move her stuff out. Life is looking good, and it’s strange, strange because I feel like there’s a little bit of a want to cry at the moment, but it doesn’t feel like tears of sadness, but tears of happiness. I will be terribly sad when she finally moves all of what she's taking out, because of the finality, the closure behind it. But I know that I won't be crippled by that sadness, because I know I can move on, I know I have a future for me to shape as I wish.
Thank you Sharleen. Thank you for the happiness you brought me, for the good memories, for inadvertently teaching me more about myself, for all the love you did give me and receive from me in turn. There’s been so much more good time than bad in this relationship, and I’m glad. I don’t feel these past four years have been wasted at all.
We are like tears in the rain in the grand scheme of life, but for a tangible period of time, we existed, we stood out, and now we can merge into the flow, until we form droplets elsewhere, and create something new for ourselves.
Thankyou :)