Not For A Reason

Things don’t happen for a reason. Things happen because people make choices. Lauren chose to lie and cheat on me. I chose to allow it. She chose to disappear from my life. I chose to feel extreme pain.

I now choose to move on. I am still not ready to date, because I need time to myself. But I have brought friends back into my life that I cut out when I dated her.

I have been applying for job promotions in other cities. I am back in the gym 3-5 times a week. I yoga twice a week. I go out again. I go to counseling.

I laugh again. I’m looking forward to my first night of good sleep. Soon, I hope.

Born Free

I finally broke through to the “acceptance” stage of grief.

Sweet relief!

She made a point to bring her new boyfriend by my office door and had a gawky conversation using a voice and words that sounded like awkward daytime script. Forced playfulness for the benefit of the audience.

I felt no pain. No sadness. I just kept working.

Ten weeks. It took ten weeks to be set free from her toxicity. I feel as though I pushed through a terrible membrane, and now I’m breathing. Fresh air.

I see her for who she really is now. I finally see what my friends warned me about when I first started dating her. It’s like using my eyes for the first time.

I have so much that I want to say, but I haven’t slept much in ten weeks and I’m exhausted. It’s time to get some peaceful sleep.

So I will just say that I’m so grateful that it’s over. I learned so much about myself over the last year. More later.

No Closure

The most painful question for this wounded lover is

“Why?”

The hard, most jagged, bitter answer I received was

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

She pitched that answer to me in a parking lot, when she already had been making arrangements with another man who lived in her apartment complex… And several other men using the Tinder app.

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

A cowardly dismissal of what we held dearest. A year-long love affair batted away amid a parking lot conversation, like a nuisance bee, as she collected her keys, called me a beggar, and drove to him… I’m told she just tweeted that he’s the “2018 upgrade”. Dear friends: Please don’t tell me these things. Because now I have to eventually forgive her for that too, and I’m running out of forgiveness. Please don’t let me run out of forgiveness. It’s the only thing keeping me from drying up, the only liquid I have left.

But please, friend: Have you heard anything else?

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

Hearing those words was beyond belief. Those words. They were a dagger thrown into the middle of a beautiful portrait we painted together and tenderly called “us” and kept on the wall for the appreciation of all, including ourselves. A Rembrandt created with two brushes, by two lovers who made promises of forever.

I will always love you.

I will always take care of you.

I will grow old with you.

I will protect you, and never, ever hurt you.

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

It rips through the canvas and tears at the soul. The agonizing abruptness and cold cruelty slice through the stomach and let everything inside the body spill out to the ground. The appetite leaves because there is no longer a reason to eat. Food falls from the hand, back to the plate.

Now for the worst cruelty: this week she made a point to seek me out, and kiss Mister 2018 in front of me.

“Why?”

For reasons that are unknown to her, for reasons that are stark, ironic and hellish to behold, she is ultimately right:

It doesn’t matter now, anyway.