Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These

I spoke to BiB last night for the first time in months and he stayed up a little later than usual talking to me. It was nice. Seems he's doing fine. He mentioned that it was an odd coincidence and he thought it funny I should pop on to Trillian after such an extended period away since he'd received a gift from another character, a chest that I'd instructed he be given in the online RPG we used to play together. I mentioned I was surprised he hadn't trashed it and he said no, he'd placed it in one of his chests. So there it is taking up space, something he really hates. That speaks to me. It's always a slight surprise to learn -- no matter how often it happens or how much wisdom you gather as you age -- that what you think and what someone else thinks are not the same.

I'm having a few troubles with the ex being married. I know eventually it'll fade but right now it's right there in my face. I was thinking today about my reaction to it and then wondering how it might feel and how I might react when he and Yo have their own child. I was thinking that it might be harder than I care to think it will.

I know I'm being selfish but in this odd way I always harbored a belief that kiddo would be enough for the ex -- maybe because she's enough for me -- and that he wouldn't want or need to have anything else. Doing it again seems like saying the first time wasn't good enough. Even though I know he views it as expanding her life and giving her other options and I have no doubts that it will, I suppose it just isn't how I'm built. I remember the feeling of having her and how it opened my heart in a certain way that no one before or since had ever been able to do. I remember being very vulnerable. It's no secret I have fears of intimacy -- deep ones -- but with her, I had absolutely no choice or control. It was a roller coaster I couldn't stop and get out of. It was the sccariest and simultaneously most fulfilling thing I had ever experienced.

That, and if I'm honest....having a child together was something we shared. He and I. Our child. We were on that particular roller coaster of fright and exhilaration together and he was the only person that ever really saw me exposed in that manner.

Even though I've wanted him to have what I couldn't give him, it's different now that it's happening and I'm actually feeling him receding from me instead of merely contemplating its possibility. Even though I know rationally that he's not as shallow as these things I am mentally throwing at his feet, my deepest insecurities and fears come out and I translate them into concepts I can understand and nuggets of blame I can place. Mental darts of accusation designed to encourage my own self-pity. Places where I can rest my troubles at someone else's feet instead of picking them up and owning their weight myself. I know that most of this isn't anything HE does or doesn't do but how I'm allowing my own issues to bob to the surface. He's not my husband any longer. I have no chains I can bind him with and no control over his life. I chose this and I was right to choose it. I can't decide to cut him loose and want him to live his life and be happy and still expect him to mourn me and stay true to my memory. It's my responsibility to deal with the small childish part of me that wants that to be so.

I guess I don't really grasp the idea of wanting another child. Who knows, maybe my heart just isn't big enough...or I am less inclined to take risks. Lord knows my choices of men have been 'safe' enough. In my case, many things I attempt to do twice end up cheapening the experience of the first time or rendering it more commonplace. In my heart of hearts, thinking about him having another child makes me feel that our marriage and our child will become less special to him. But again, I'm imprinting my reactions onto him. Having kiddo was the most unique of experiences and I can't imagine caring to repeat it and risk taking away from the memory of that uniqueness by blurring it with or overlapping another.

Then the impatient part of me says to the rest of me: Does it make you feel like you loved him better if you sit and mope about this? You acted like a bitch and when you had the chance you didn't want it. You knew it wasn't right for you. Of course you can afford to act like a martyr for love now that you're 'safe' and you don't really have to risk anything or feel obligated to make any effort. When you were in it, you knew it wasn't really worth it enough to you. So are you angry at him or are you more angry at yourself? Have you not yet reconciled or accepted who you are? And why on earth do you expect him to continue to worship at your altar?

Yes, there is that. That part of me makes a lot more sense and it's the part I'll eventually listen to.

Or to streamline the entire thing: It's like I'm standing at the gravestone of our marriage. The things we did -- get married, have a child -- those things have been done. Pay the proper respect to the dead and don't sully memory by trying to make replacements.

I know that eventually in order to truly move forward, I'm going to have to stop living like a widow. I'm just not quite ready yet.

((Song: "Nobody Told Me" by John Lennon. Lyrics here:
http://www.bagism.com/lyrics/lennon-legend-lyrics.html#NobodyToldMe ))

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