Six months in a leaky boat

Six months ago today, the one person I trusted completely and thought would never hurt me ripped my world apart, with no warning and nothing approaching a satisfying explanation.  (Fair point: no explanation could be satisfying.) It seems like a good day to take stock of how I'm really doing.

Boy, would I love to be able to tell you all that I'm completely over him, totally whole and healed, and moving on to bigger and better things.  I know there are some who want only to hear that, as opposed to the negative.  But that would all be a big lie.  It is certainly true that I am not crying (much) anymore.  I'm not nearly as raw as I was even two months ago.  But I'm still a very long way away from being ok with this life change.  I still can't picture a happy ending for myself that doesn't involve him.  I still have a hard time listening to Weezer.  I still think of all the little things he should be a part of, like watching "How I Met Your Mother" on Mondays and cheering on the Chiefs on Sundays.


And it still happens that I'll just be in the middle of some chore or walking down the street or reading a book and it will hit me that he and I will never speak again.  And every time I have that thought, it feels like taking a wrecking ball to the chest.  Because it's wrong.  So very, very wrong.  I still feel to the core of my being that there is something wrong with a world in which he and I don't speak.  I feel like I've woken up in some twisted alternate reality, but that my real life is tantalizingly close.  I can feel it and sometimes, if I try, I can still hear it.  It's like Brigadoon, lost in the mist, and I just don't know the magic words to make it reappear.  It doesn't help that he is physically so close and that every foray outside brings some risk of running into him.  Which then raises the possibility of the two of us being in the same space, the same block, or even the same room, and yet not speaking, which then just reinforces for me how very wrong all of this is.

I don't think I will ever think of him with anything other than sadness and regret, because this just isn't the way things should have turned out between us.  Consequently, I don't think I'll ever be able to think of the last five years of my life as anything other than a waste.  A colossal waste.  But, hey, at least typing that didn't make me cry, so that's progress.

So that's my six month report.  Maybe in another six months, I'll actually have good news for you.