another round
I was blessed with a work day today that went by very quickly. I woke up tired, wishing last night would just turn out to be a bad dream. But it wasn't a bad dream. I had really opened up the flood gates, and the verbal castigation, and the panicking, and the sad feelings on the phone with Stephen last night. For two hours. And I know he was probably waking up at around the same time, in a state four hours away, thinking, "That was a disaster" and deducing that contact and conversations with me were no longer something he was interested in trying to make happen, not bi-montly, maybe not ever. Not unless his guilt precluded this.
But I didn't need it, I realized, as I breezed through the work day, joking with friends and sipping apple cider, maker's mark and water, under the radar of the manager. My co-worker said, "Why do you want to punish yourself?" And he's right. You can't make someone love you, nor should you try. I didn't think I was doing that... I simply thought I was getting him to admit it by digging down deep into the dysfunctional, hyper-critical, self-important well that was his heart, and that time apart and quite reflection and a void would make him realize and know and feel comfortable with admitting he loved me. I wasn't trying to make him love me; I was presupposing this and trying to get him to acknowledge it to the world. But it isn't my responsibility to bring someone else's feelings to light. I guess I will never know if he loved me or not. If I had the energy I could regurgiate all these memories stuffed deep down into my subconscious,only having any hopes of seeing the light of day years from now, when I'm well and good and over this.
But I didn't need it, I realized, as I breezed through the work day, joking with friends and sipping apple cider, maker's mark and water, under the radar of the manager. My co-worker said, "Why do you want to punish yourself?" And he's right. You can't make someone love you, nor should you try. I didn't think I was doing that... I simply thought I was getting him to admit it by digging down deep into the dysfunctional, hyper-critical, self-important well that was his heart, and that time apart and quite reflection and a void would make him realize and know and feel comfortable with admitting he loved me. I wasn't trying to make him love me; I was presupposing this and trying to get him to acknowledge it to the world. But it isn't my responsibility to bring someone else's feelings to light. I guess I will never know if he loved me or not. If I had the energy I could regurgiate all these memories stuffed deep down into my subconscious,only having any hopes of seeing the light of day years from now, when I'm well and good and over this.