I’m gonna take a break from what I’ve been working on to work through some baggage. And much like a lunatic in an airport, I’m gonna dump it all out on the floor in public. So here we go.
I don’t know what my life is going to look like in two weeks. I’m probably going to need a lot of distractions as I ignore my depression until it recedes to a manageable level.
Everything is changing. I’m moving, and while that may not seem earth shattering, for me it feels like it is. I’m moving away from what I thought my life would be. Away from some of the people I thought would be in it. Away from the dream I used to have. The hopes I used to harbor.
I’m officially going to be a single dad. I’m not going to see my boy every day. I’ll see him a lot, sure, but it’s never going to be the same again. It feels like the only person who has loved me every day is only going to be in my life half of the time. That scares me. That makes me sad. It hurts me.
Moving represents so much this time. Two years ago, I was moving into a family. I had people I loved around me, a baby on the way…life seemed beautiful. But somewhere along the way, things soured. I tried to hold everything together. I tried to find the problem and fix it. But there was no problem. There was only this…chasm…between me and the life I wanted.
I feel like I failed. I failed the person I loved because I was not…something. Whatever it was I was supposed to be, I wasn’t that. I failed my son, who now has to grow up in a broken home. Not the worst thing in the world, necessarily, but so much more difficult than it could have been. And I failed myself. I had everything lined up, everything ready, I was almost there…and it crumbled. I don’t know why. I can’t find a reason. It just did. And I pissed away my chance at being happy in that way.
I feel like the moment I move out of this house, my life is over. I will never be me again. Not that I’m me now. I’ve been spent. I’ve used up all I was to just get here. I bet it all on this place, on these people, on me…and I made a bad bet. Every ounce, squandered.
I feel like it’s over after this. My heart feels stopped up. Frozen in time. Stuck in that moment where it all came crashing down. Hoping for change. Wishing for reversal. Knowing that this is my new normal. Realizing it’s just me and my boy from now on. And when he’s not home…it’s just me.
I haven’t felt this alone in a while.
In context, it’s been eight months. Eight months ago, everything changed. And I still can’t deal with it. I can’t let it go. I can’t let her go.
I want to live my life. I want to be normal. I want to be happy. I want to move on. But I’m stuck. And I don’t know how to fix it.
It’s not even just the person I can’t move past; it’s the idea of being happy. I feel like I won’t ever be happy again. I laugh all the time, but I’m not happy. I wanted to love someone, and have a family, and fight over stupid stuff, and apologize at the same time, and watch my son grow up, and go to bed each night knowing that I would see everyone I loved most in the world when I opened my eyes again…
But that’s not how this story goes. And I have a lot of trouble letting that go.
But I have to. If I don’t, I’ll fester even more. I’ll become toxic. I have my toxic moments; I think everyone does. But if I don’t find a way to heal, and fast, I’m going to be toxic all the time.
Honestly…moving will probably do me some good, in that regard. Getting away from the memories and all that will probably help. But I’m afraid of what happens if it doesn’t.
I don’t have a hopeful image of my future anymore. I see a fat, unhappy, single dad who can’t get past his past, and who misses so much of his present.
Cuz let’s be real, that’s the real consequence. I’m so caught up in my sadness, I’m going to blink, and my son will be moving out on his own.
I’m going to miss it. Whatever life is ahead of me, I’m going to miss it. Because it’s there. There’s probably not a love interest for the rest of this journey, and that’s fine, but there is a life.
I don’t want to miss it.
I want to be better, so I can see it. I want to see my son grow up in person, and remember it when he’s older. That’s all I have left.
I can’t miss it. I can’t let it slip. I need to be there for him, and therefore, I need to find a way to be there for myself. No one else can do this for me. No one can really help me at all. Listening, agreeing, giving advice, and whatever else people do…it’s all hollow. It does absolutely nothing.
I have to let go.
I have to move on.
I have to be someone new. I need to shed this skin and grow into my new one. I am like a hermit crab. I am moving from one home to the next. This one has become to confining, and I need room to grow. Space to think. Time to heal. Distance to forget.
I need to forget how I feel. I need to forget that it hurts. I need to forget that everything I wanted is gone. I need to forget those things…until they are not true anymore.
Letting go is a curious thing. It is not a one time event. You have to let go every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. Because it’s so easy to pick that thing back up.
I’m letting go. Tomorrow, I’ll still be letting go. I’m hoping I can let go enough days in a row to not feel the need to reach down and pick it back up again anymore.
So…yeah. There. I said it.