This piece was written in May 2013 and probably encapsulates the frustrations at not being able to “just get over it”. More than anything, I wanted a magic wand to take the pain away – little did I realise six months is really when the emotional kicker starts to happen. What I also didn’t realise is that I was starting to process some harsh realities (my new blog posts will touch on this) and I had probably dissociated somewhat from the emotions of it all.
Six months. Six months now to that day which is forever etched in my memory. Six months since he told me it was over. It’s incredible to me how time has gone in like this. Days turning to weeks, weeks to months bringing me here.
What point am I at in my own life since that day? I feel like I should be “over it” now. Six months, I would have thought, is a fair amount of time to be healing or perhaps even healed. I spoke to a friend of mine who told me that it had only just happened so it must still be quite fresh. “Only just”, it happened in November so I should be done with it now, I replied. She looked at me appalled, “By no means should you be over it or pressure yourself to be”.
I was then analysed as all friends in the field of psychology do. The conclusion she reached in that conversation was that from day one, I had been practical: I packed his clothes, I got my answers, I organised my home, I worked, I got the legalities sorted, I planned my life. According to her, I hadn’t allowed myself to connect to the emotions of the situation. I had blocked it all and was perhaps heading towards that dreaded meltdown in the Tesco aisle after all.
“Where is this resilience coming from”, she asked me. I shrugged. I don’t want him to break me. She told me that wasn’t the answer. Look deeper. I’m still looking because I don’t know what I’m supposed to be searching for. She is right to an extent. I have known for a while there is something not fully “normal” with the way I’m dealing with things. I’m well aware that I use humour to deflect away from my pain. I know that inside I feel dead. Where my heart would burst with love for people in my life…….I think I’ve forgotten how to love. I feel empty or at times affected by things which really shouldn’t matter. It’s hard to explain it properly but I’ll try.
I can talk about my situation with no emotion, in fact I’ve perfected the script down to 15 minutes now. Whilst from day one, others cried when I talked to them about it, I rarely did. Obviously I felt like I should, the same way at your ruksuti (when the bride is given away to the groom), everybody stares at you waiting…..people eventually deciding I was guarded over my emotions. The reality is that I’m hollow, hearing the words echo as I speak but feeling nothing. I get more emotional over a mixed up lunch order than I do talking about this.
I’m way more over sensitive than what I used to be which is saying a lot considering I was always somewhat touchy. The wrong thing said by someone can trigger such an intense upset in me. I never show it but in my own privacy, dwell too much on their words. People at times not even realising that they had such an effect on me.
I more or less keep myself occupied and out of, what was, the marital home. I play sports about three times a week now, I go out at weekends with my friends and the days left during the week I normally spend time with my family. I put on my makeup, dress in my new clothes and have my face for the world. People commenting to my family on how great I look and how I seem in good spirits. I come home, take off my makeup, change into an oversized t-shirt and I’m exhausted by my day’s pretence.
Six months, why can’t I move on from this stage? I have plenty of people in my life but how many times can I keep speaking to them about the same thing again and again. It gets boring and what can they do anyway – nobody’s words make any of it better so I cover my feelings with silence.
The people who are all there for me have their own lives. They get on with their families, their work, their studies and their normality. It’s a lonely pain. I don’t even understand it. It’s just there, a daily shadow.
I’m really hurting.
For now, I cry in my prayers to God, thinking that perhaps He is the only one that sees through my charade