Sunday, September 10, 2006

Day 21

Another day of weeping. How the tears fall at the smallest of opportunities. Sad endings to books, films, emails from friends…my best friend asked me today if I have cried for myself yet. I don’t know is the answer to that. How do you know if when listening to the song that spurs on the tears - if you are crying for the beauty of the music alone or just because the lonesome lilt feels so similar? I don’t know, I just don’t know.

My past came right up to hit me in the face today as when I was leaving my best friend’s work, where I was camping out in her office, hiding from lots of things. As I walked through the shop in the public gallery, towards the exit, my ex partner was walking ten paces in front of me, pushing his baby girl in her buggy. I fled back to the temporary cover of the office and watched as he and his girlfriend walked around the gallery spaces. We waited until they had gone upstairs in the elevator and the coast was clear before I made my second attempt to escape. I wonder if he caught me looking as he turned to face me waiting for the elevator door to close. Shaking like a leaf I made my way slowly, to home.

I wonder now, if it was the shock of seeing his familiar gait pushing a buggy that I had once longed to be filled with our children that had filled me with such misplaced longing. For weeks my counselors have been saying that it is screamingly obvious to them that our relationship - that has been over for some years now - still lies wide open.

I toss this over and over in my mind and wonder if it is similar to those stories of kidnap victims falling in love with their captors. I don’t understand why there is this “unfinished business” when I fled from my home in the middle of the night because I was so scared at what he was going to do. I remember him ripping the phone out of the wall as I was trying to call for help. I remember leaving with a backpack stuffed with the closest clothes to hand and running out into the street leaving everything behind. I remember turning up at my friend’s house after a terrifying long cab ride through London at the dead of night and her talking me down until the early hours of the morning. I remember having to ignore the calls he made to my mobile all night – every few minutes – to say God knows what. I doubt he remembers anything as he was so off his head on alcohol and who knows what else. I remember leaving because I was terrified, but I don’t remember leaving because I didn’t love him.

My mum says “He is only still in your head because you allow him to be there”. In my mind, his being there doesn’t feel like a conscious decision.


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