DREAMS OF A LOST MOONCHILD

Don’t mind me, I am in a weird sentimental mood today, and I promise this isn’t serving as my diary. Still sometimes the saddest things written, come from real pain. How can you write sorrow if it as never made a home in your heart? Simple. You can’t. Because those raw and violent emotions, such as love, hate, grief, betrayal, hope – they are impossible to pretend. Perhaps you can do it on a superficial level, I mean I pretend to be happy and content – even if I can’t remember it has ever been a part of me, I wouldn’t even know what it felt like I suppose. But I know how safe feels, and how love feels, and so they are the emotions I draw upon when I pretend to be like all the others.

It was actually not at all, even remotely what I wanted to talk about, but as I said I am in a weird mood. The picture is of me and my ex husband at my daughters graduation. We weren’t married anymore at this point, but we still pretended we were adults I suppose. I mean it’s not like we had a messy and spiteful divorce at all – We just weren’t on the same path anymore, and were just making each other unhappy because of it. None of us were willing to follow the other so we were stuck in this weird limbo which were super unhealthy for us, and our kids.

We don’t speak anymore, and you know? I didn’t care about losing my lover, and I didn’t care about losing my supposed co-parent, he was never much of either anyways. And I sure as shit didn’t care about losing my title as Mrs and going back to being single. But I miss my best friend, I miss him so bad it hurts. There is a terrible jagged hole left where there once was someone whom I trusted with my fucking life. And now I have no one.

So imagine this; you have been with someone close to 18 years, you have been tested and tried many times, but your trust, love and loyalty keeps you steady, because you are sure you know who your partner is, you know that whatever happens, you are stronger, and you are their anchor just as they are yours. Then imagine finding out that none of that is true, it was all in your head. Because it was all bulit on lies and deciet. The lies they told, and most of all the lies you told yourself. Most of all those, the lies you swept around you, used as a blanket, the lies you told others to keep them out of what you – in your newfound sobering naked state, you realise the person you trusted the most, does not exist.

Now if only you could get angry right? but you can’t cause you knew it, somewhere deep inside, you knew and that somehow makes the feeling worse, because the only one you can really blame is you. And there you are, everything you thought was, is not, everything you trusted to be true and right, equals nothing, and lastly the only person in this world whom you trusted with your everything, the one you burned bridges for – is not who you thought.

That is not a feeling that I wish upon my worst enemy, because the level of soul crushing hard truth, is just that. Soul crushing.

Sorry to tell you lady, but your forever rosegarden is built on puss and rot.

The thing I am left with, and what others who sadly tried something similar is left with, is grief. Not anger, not revenge. But grief and a void, and you know what. You’re allowed to grieve the future you believed in, and the life you didn’t get. And you are allowed to grieve the loss of the friend you thought you had – because it feels like they died, and maybe in some way they did. And lastly I personally find that the hardest part, and the sorrow that will not leave, is the strange acceptance of it all.

You were used for a purpose.

Of course there is much more to this whole thing, but I won’t bore you to death, I am probably mostly trying to explain the feeling of having your walls torn down, and you stand there like a naked, defenceless, lost – organism. Not even a person, but like semi-formed motherless doe in a pair of headlights.

You got nothing, and you have to start over, as in completely over. You gotta reinvent yourself. But regardless of that, A part of me still love the man that never was, and that’s okay. Because you know, this is why you can never retell a past event in a neutral manner, you know what happened after, you know what it led to, and ergo that will color your tale in a specific light. And that is why I say that even if I had to come to terms with the fact that it might be on me, you know, that I chose to ignore the signs and had a Scarlett O’Hara moment of idiotic stubborness, cause I can’t be wrong, right? Then I still feel like he was my best friend, and remember how much fun we had, and how alike we were in many ways.

Of course who am I to say if he had a genuine feeling at some point, I don’t know – and truth is, no matter what he said, I’d not believe it anyways. As I sit here typing this up, editing – I came to think of a way to describe the feeling. So you know how sometimes, if you nap on your sofa and the tv is on, your imagination will dream up a movie that is vaguely based on and related to the dialogue and soundscape of what’s on the telly? And you wake, realising that the movie was much better in your head.. THAT is how I feel.

And here I am, stuck on a raft in the fucking pacific ocean without a paddle. It’s both fun and scary -Discovering new and old things about one self, and it’s a mad journey I tell you that. But most of all, being me for me. and if everyone hates that, so be it, they can fuck right off.

But love? trust?

Those are feelings I reserve for the best I have done with my life, my children.

Also, sorry – but I needed it out of my system.