Processing

I am going to write this and subsequent posts on the assumption that the ex has sensibly deleted the bookmark and is no longer reading this blog, as I have done for his. He deleted and blocked me on facebook, so I think it's safe to say that this blog is an ex-free zone and I can speak my mind freely. If I'm wrong, well... he's reading this and knowing that a) I don't want him here, and b) anything he reads from this point on is at his own risk. So.

I moved out on Saturday, finally. It was very nasty, in the end. On Thursday we were having a great time. He was saying he was still attracted to me, and was so glad we'd stayed friends. He was telling me what he was getting me for Christmas and gave my sore shoulders a massage. And I thought: yeah. A truly amicable breakup. How nice.

On Saturday he was in a foul mood, called me an ungrateful little shit, accused me of a number of things he'd invented in his own head, and forced me to move out a day early with wet clothes and hot soup in tow. It was ugly and horrid and I ended up calling friends in tears - wonderful true real friends who came running and soothed me and looked after me until I was laughing again. The next day, at some point, I found he'd deleted and blocked me. The same man who'd begged me to stay friends when we broke up.

*sigh*

But honestly, in a way I'm glad. This kind of come-here-go-away, I-love-you-I-hate-you crap was the theme throughout our relationship. When he was in a good mood it was wonderful. When he was in a bad mood there was nothing I could do right, and his complete lack of trust coupled with an inability to understand that he could be wrong made getting through to him a nightmare. Everything I said was twisted against me, even as I was accused of doing the same to him. Every attempt at reasoning was met with wild histrionics. It was impossible. Seeing that again one last time at least takes away any need to be friends, and any possibility of nostalgic backsliding. I am so totally uninterested in ever going there again.

I had truly hoped that we could be friends, as we do share some fun interests. But at the end of the day, I have a wonderful set of friends who are also safe, stable, excellent people. I don't want or need friends who act in such an ugly and unloving way. Anyone who swings between those extremes has problems... and is not my problem.

Naturally I've been processing all this madly over the past two days. My brain won't be still. I'm constantly trying to rationalise and reason and find a way to explain things that, at least in my head, might actually get through to him. I know this is a phase and it'll go away as I get through the natural grieving process, but it's making me a bit batty. I don't want to argue with him one second longer. I've had enough.

This evening I suddenly remembered that I'm not obliged to make sense of him any more. His mood swings, his inventions, his OCDs, his deliberate non-listening followed by accusations of having never been told... none of it matters, and none of it is my problem. His twisted logic can't hurt me any more, so when I remember bits of it I don't have to sort through it for some kind of pattern or sense. I can shrug my shoulders, roll my eyes, say "rubbish!" and move on. Hurrah.

Life is picking up and moving forward, and I am already so much happier than I could ever have been in that relationship. I can see my future life taking shape in a glorious way, full of love and security and hearts and people and community and place and kin and home. It looks good :)

Doing What You Know

When it was over, there was relief. Not just because the drama had stopped, but because I knew what to do next.

I know how to grieve.

I know the steps, I know the feelings, I know the score (literally, I still have all my GPYP playlists). I looked down the tunnel of that process with a feeling of familiarity and comfort, and the knowledge that I knew how to handle it.

Grieving the breakup was the easy part. The hard part was making the break in the first place.

And I've realised that there's a pattern there. In four of my last five relationships I hung on for months after I knew it wasn't going to work out. In each case, it took a single defining moment to call it quits. In this case, it was a moment where I was no longer angry but just utterly fed up and tired, and so was he. Before that - and before the defining moments in the other relationships - I just couldn't bring myself to step up and break it off. And I don't know why.

After all I've learned, why do I still commit completely to things before I know if they're viable, and then cling so tenaciously when it turns out that they're not?

I wasn't looking for a relationship when I came over here ... in fact I was intending to be a free spirit and perhaps have a few casual partners, much like my life in the last couple of months before I left Perth. And yet I dived back into an absolutely classic dysfunctional Christine relationship the moment one became available.

I've learned better and I was looking for something else, and yet I still grabbed it when it came along.

Clearly I still have a lot of work to do.

And sometimes things end.

It's bewildering that one can live, ignoring the bad stuff and highlighting the good stuff, while the fun dwindles and the fights increase, until one day, with barely a sputtering spark, the whole thing is just over and done with.

It's odd that once it's out there in black and white, the pressure is off and respect can return.

It's amazing that you can cry, grief rising up from the bottom of your heart, while feeling relief so intense it's almost joy.

It's strange that you can miss someone when they're right there next to you.

It's breathtaking to find out how many friends you have and how much they care.

It's marvellous to feel free and alive again.

It's surreal to learn that hugs are inside you.

It's a blessing to know oneself.

Here's to adventure.