August 1, 2007
mending
I’m not sure exactly how it happens. Formulas work well for both NASA launches and cocktails, but matter not when you’re in the depths of It.

I recall naturally and am well reminded by private writings that life was in shambles, that work consisted of showing up and hoping on a fundamental level that even my shoes matched. That I would make it through a regular just-after-9-am call from a caring someone checking to see if I was composed enough to sit with my office door open. To then make it to a 10 o’clock meeting. Why didn’t I try lunch out with a friend? Because naturally that would set the world upright again. Perhaps a new activity? Because that would wipe my psychic slate clean. I’d phone in an entry on this site, something about Cusack or happy hour or new success at swimming. I’d hope he’d read it. After all, if he did, didn’t that mean something for us?

The messages from friends were well intentioned. He doesn’t deserve you. But if he doesn’t, why did I pick him in the first place? This doesn’t say anything about you. Sweet friend, you must not have heard me – he didn’t want me back. Kris, you are complete as you are. If this drunken sobbing is really me, then do I really want to be me anymore? They tried. I appreciated. I bucked and discarded.

I used to drive past his house on the way to work. I knew there were other routes, options that DC and distant friends and a paid Kris advocate and yes, even myself, knew were available, and I cared not. I’d curse him under my breath and remind him via CourtTV telepathy that I was the best Goddamn thing ever to happen to him, knowing full well in my gut that things would never be - and never should be - again. I’d talk of him in the past tense when things were very much present for me. And I’d come home after work to the dark windows and the needy cats. Even in a Pinot haze, the hatred of being alone, of being a me rather than an us, of telling people of the unchanging outcome in a steady stream of weeks and months, was absolute torture. Even though our end was a sewn together series of silences, once having shared a space and a life and all of your reachable memory can almost consume your insides. Every last thing had to go, if not literally then figuratively. Stray clothing was tossed as if it might infect me, music was shelved for a time that it would no longer be self indulgent and ridiculously painful.

All I wanted was a formula, a recipe online or news from confidantes or effing Dr. Phil to make things better. Nothing came.

Months later there were moments during which I could appreciate the humor of the blinding white of the snow and Cricket consuming all of Bug’s food as he groomed himself post-gorging. Expected neighborhood run-ins brought the same amount of pain and often minutes and sometime hours spent on long-distance therapeutic phone calls, but I no longer ruined contacts the day after ripping open the pack. I was reminded that these were simple successes. How I hated those morsels of wisdom with all of my being. I dated again, under a heavy cloak of Spanish reds and California whites, and only found ridiculous amounts of humor in a man who kissed me just as a mason jar might. Life became a series of building blocks that I openly mocked. Of putting myself out there in every forum so life could take me down. Again.

Somehow it didn’t.

And then I drove past his house last night. It was a last-minute necessity given a long trip home and the promise of awaiting traffic that I simply could not stand. And for a moment I remembered the time that I showed up on his doorstep and knocked on the darkened apartment door to find he wasn’t home, only minutes later to call and discover he was a state away surprising me with the very same arrival. This was a rowhouse of countless hours of chilled white wine, nighttime and mid-afternoon and whatever-the-hell-time-it-is sex, napping until the irritating alarm sounded, and checking your blogs from an unknown IP. The associated aftermath was an embarrassing collage of I-know-better-than-this drive bys and full pressed powder application before hitting the corner store. Of thinking there was a chance. That if I made myself pretty enough and somehow emotionally fresh enough that things could work.

They didn’t. And they never should have.

I still have no formula. And I’m not sure exactly how it happens. It isn’t the influence of another person or a tripod cat donning a scar to let you know what’s really important in life. But one day or over a series of them linked together you just wake up and the pull is gone. The ache subsides. The pictoral bits and pieces are fine in the scrapbook on the shelf with those that came before. And you realize with sadness that although it and you all meant something, it also means absolutely nothing at all.

Labels:



24 Comments:

Blogger e.b. said...

Beautiful and so freaking true. Boil it down to its bare bones and time is a healer. It will always be that way. To me there is great solace in that - the next time someone rips out your heart, you know that with time it will heal, because it has in the past.

Blogger jenn said...

I'm not sure what, but something in your words tripped a switch, and I finally let go of an old wound in me. Thanks, Kris.

Blogger Mean Rachel said...

As someone who just this week is marking the one-month anniversary of ending a two-year relationship (or lack thereof, as you put it) -- thank you for writing what I couldn't.

Blogger JoJo said...

I'm glad you've got to the place where you can look back without too much pain. Good for you, Kris.

Blogger A Unique Alias said...

"our end was a sewn together series of silences"

PlsFortoWriteaNovelKthx.

Blogger *kb* said...

so well written! You so rock!!!!

Blogger mysterygirl! said...

The last sentence you wrote is the reason why it's so hard for me to get over break-ups. It's painful to think about your most important thing becoming meaningless, both to you and to the man who was your best friend. Congrats that you've accepted that with grace.

Blogger Sue said...

What a heart-kicking post. You could be me when I was young. I hold only good thoughts for you.

Blogger Mamma said...

And when that moment finally comes, it feels so damned good.

Blogger kristen said...

beautiful post. thanks.

Blogger Melina said...

If I'm completely honest with myself. My old wound didn't completely heal until I said "I Do" to John. Before that minute, there was something still inside me that was still hurting. I'm not saying that getting married was what did it. I think it was realizing that I could finally let it go and that it wasn't really there anymore, I was just kind of feeding it. Does that make sense? Or do I just sound seriously co-dependent? That wasn't what I was going for :)

Blogger a life uncommon said...

Heart wrenching post. When I think about how it also means nothing at all, I don't ever want to start again. Why bother when I know how it turns out in the end? Maybe we just need our own happy ever after...

Blogger tales from a said...

Thank you for this post. Thank you.

All too often it is so easy to feel alone with feelings, to think you're the only one who has felt this pain and it will never heal without that other person. So you MUST somehow make it work with that person.
But eventually you learn that isn't necessary, that time does heal all wounds. Or at least dulls the pain. But sometimes, you need to be reminded.


I've read your blog for awhile and I'm de-lurking (tho I like to think I've just never had anything worthwhile to say before).
Thank you.

Blogger myself said...

That was beautiful and heartwrenching. And an all too real reminder of things recently past...but thanks all the same :-)

Blogger KB said...

this was a great post, lady. really great.

Blogger JordanBaker said...

this is just awesome.

Blogger Jorge said...

Oh HAI!

Who knew that you would get an elusive comment from LOLUniqueAlias.

It's like being mad past one's due date. It just ends up making one realize that life keeps moving, even though one might not want to.

Blogger BOSSY said...

Sigh. Bossy remembers passion. Oh wait - that was just heartburn.

Blogger ramblin' girl said...

Thank you. A long talk with a friend had me hearing, you deserve better for the thousandth time in the past two months. But it takes believing it before we can really hear it. I hope I am able to believe it soon.

Blogger HAR said...

This was one of the best posts I have ever read on the subject. You are extremely talented.

Blogger Laurie said...

I just hung up from a phone call with a friend, wherein she said many of the things to me that your friends have said to you, while I cried all over my keyboard. She and others have said these things to me many times over for far too long now. The good news is that I'm closer than I was before to believing them, but I'm still afraid of that final letting go. Because that means letting go.

Thanks, Kris - this helped me. I'd say you don't even know how much, but you probably do.

Blogger Mama G said...

I am in awe of your way with words. Simply in awe.

Blogger Ulysses said...

Nope, sorry, but that's crap. The parts of it that touched you keep their power, and you hope to find them as variables in the next equation on the way toward solving the formula. They never add up to nothing, they just go back to becoming part of our own identity.

Blogger Megan said...

What a great post. The last sentence kicks you in the gut. That's exactly how I felt after the end of a 5 year relationship.

Post a Comment

<< Home

footer