I haven’t used my personal laptop in so long that it took me almost half an hour to get everything set up and running. Totally lost all my documents, then found them again. Forgot passwords. Forgot where things were.
Once upon a time that would have sent me into a panic spiral rivaling a black hole of despair. But it is what it is. And I am where I am and that is here, talking to you fine folks.
The last tab I had open was Netflix, couldn’t tell you when or where I had it last. Like zero recall. I must have been away somewhere, but where?
I suppose it doesn’t matter. Past has passed.
And, very unlike most posts upon ye olde bloggarino, that is exactly what I wanted to talk about. I didn’t meander off the path for a few paragraphs and then go through a bumpy transition.
I must be changing.
I mean I know I am. We all are. Everything is. The only constant is change.
I still see Darkling Daddy on a regular basis. And it is good.
It is actually better than good, but I am saving the good stuff for my equally neglected Patreon account.
I usually need to know why I do things. Or in this case, didn’t do the things.
I didn’t tell him what I have been through.
Not in my usual avalanche of words and phrases, peppered with eyerolls and clichés, delivered quickly in a chilled monotone. If I speak in a flat voice, without inflection, it keeps the emotions out of it and I am just recalling facts. I suppose it is disconcerting to whomever I am speaking to. But I have no desire to relive those things.
Which is EXACTLY why I tell the new ones what the old ones did, in hopes hey won’t be a little bit of history repeating.
I never had a negative experience regaling new boys with old stories.
Quite the opposite actually. Young Un the First treated me tenderly and with kindness after I told him why I needed the bedroom door open a crack.
Wolf almost snapped a chair in half, but no anger was directed at me about it.
Not pity, only protectiveness.
All of them did. They claimed to understand at least.
But they aren’t here.
I was clear about my abandonment issues, and they left anyways.
I am fine now, I see that all of that was for the best. I like where I am and I regret very few of the people I have shared my time and body with.
I would like to believe that is why I kept everything to myself this time.
That the past has passed and has no power or weight here, now.
Yes, I lived through the things. I performed autopsies, sometimes from an emotional state, but eventually the post mortems became clinical and professional. I learned what I was meant to learn, my path changed in the way it was meant to, no harm (well some harm) but no foul. and I had stuff to write about.
Maybe that explains the lack of words flowing out of me and onto here. I don’t need to write about my life because I am living it.
That’s totally not it but it sounds better than the truth which is my new job is taxing as fuuuuuuuck.
My body is here and now, and while we might argue from time to time, my brain follows.
I have learned to be present.
I have so many concrete and horrific examples of what happens when people wear their past as a mask, or a cloak or a ball and chain. So many chains.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to forget. I mean I need things to write about. I use past experiences to navigate the here and now, like a filing cabinet. Just pieces of old documents, photos and plane tickets, and beyond the occasional papercut, they can’t hurt me.
I change ringtones and playlists, I archive emails so they are not in plain sight. I move on.
I am detached I suppose.And to tell you the truth I don’t hate it.
I used to cry constantly. Forever in a state of mourning what was, especially what wasn’t anymore.
But I think when you survive the cataclysm that is the love of your life becoming a stranger, nothing else matters.
Akin to reading a book about someone who resembles me, finding some comfort there in the familiarity of it.
They left, she lived. And sometimes they come back.
The guy who wrote Fight Club said “Your past is just a story”.
Until it isn’t.
Until the giant from Twin Peaks takes up residence in my head and just keeps repeating “it’s happening again” in his unique timber and strange accent. Ad nauseum until I can’t hear anything but that, or worse, the vacuous thrumming of dead silence and nothingness.
The above was sent in an Instagram message to a friend yesterday. I was stuck at work and doing anything but actual work work on my designated work laptop is forbidden. I don’t even play solitaire.
But the words felt like flowing, so I let them.
It did happen again.
An abrupt disappearance. And I did not handle it great.
Not as bad as before. I didn’t disappear into a deep depression which ultimately led to me moving 5000 km away from home and subsequently drinking and making bad choices for 3 years. I still make bad choices, who I am tryna fool? (smirk)
I vacuumed, did the dishes, cleaned my room, folded laundry and acknowledged that I was very very frightened and not processing things well. I decided I should probably go back to therapy, or in my case, writing about things.
You see dear readers. I did something kinda brave and foolish. I had to.
I drove 3800 km in just over 60 hours to go get my dog, Alice. We were separated during Covid and I selfishly decided that it would be easier to travel and figure my shit out without her. I regretted this, but it was too late. Until it wasn’t.
I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, except kidlet, work and Darkling.
On the third day, I spoke to him in the morning.Drove for 12 hours to get home.
Told him I was home, safe.
Nothing.
Nothing the next day.
And on the third day I started to panic.
I should pad that. I had a friend in from out of town, I did say to her “he probably went last minute camping and has no wifi”.
That was the pervasive thought. Camping or broken phone or both.
But the rowdy unreasonable and quite frankly ugly explanations showed up.
Anyone who has been following this blog knows that once upon a time I was dating a boy and he ghosted as hard as any ghost has ever ghosted. ‘Good night I love you, see you in a few days’ on a Tuesday, to blocked on everything Wednesday morning. I waited from Thanksgiving until Christmas for an explanation. And by the following February, as I drove across the country to start over, he messaged me and asked me if we could start over. I can, I AM, and no you can’t come with me.
I was catapulted back to the first few days of confusion, self doubt and pain of that incident.
It fucking hurt. He talked about marrying me and then poof.
There is a line from a song I cannot recall the title of that says “live through this, and you won’t look back.”
I did live through it, and I found myself looking back.
Theoretically if I had spoken to a therapist in those moments they would have assured me that it is understandable that a sudden disappearance by someone I have physical and emotional attachment to would freak me the fuck out. I have muscle memory for this. I still have cells in my body that recall this happening. It was only 5 years ago. But, I am over it. I think. The last time he messaged, I just didn’t answer. Ah, there it is. I am over HIM, not IT.
That is a massive and paramount distinction.
When I thought “oh shit, here we go again”, I also thought, “okay, how do we navigate this, we have a map.”
Last time the girls took me to Ikea and I cried on my meatballs, not the best idea. I also had an impending move shortly after he disappeared, so the colossal amount of work that I put into that house was a physical outlet. But, I made my space in his image, the things we had spoken about, pushed my bed up against the wall because that was what he liked, found the most soothing teal blue because he liked water colors.
I remember I had a sign across from my bed that simply said “there will be an answer, let it be”. There was, eventually. It just wasn’t good enough.
But I am already in my house, I like my house, I can’t move and change things. Not doing the best financially right now and have never been able to get in and out of Ikea for less than a couple hundred bucks. So that’s not it.
It took me months, 2 moves and a trip to Disneyland to get through that. And even Disney was tainted because we had spoken of going, and I wanted him there with me.
The map was no good, outdated. The landscape has changed because I have changed. And because of earthquakes and life experiences.
I still have the sign though.
There was an answer.
He went last minute camping.
I have decided, and rightly so, not to visit the mistakes of those that came before, nor the ramifications thereof, on anyone new.
I never mentioned to Darkling anything about that. Nor the Giant and his string of Becky’s and girls who ski. Nor Lumberjack or Muay Thai Fighter and their secret wives. Nor Wolf and his not at all secret wife.
Darkling and I do joke that he has a secret wife and kids, which again, if you have ever read the blog, you know is a thing I was duped into once and also willingly walked into.
It might not be a joke.
I have decided that I don’t care.
I don’t care where he is or who he is with as long as he continues to treat me as well as he does when I am with him. And it is very well. Jesus Christ it’s good, amen.
“I don’t care” is an overstatement. I hope he is happy, healthy and safe always. I care about him immensely. I actually think I love him but it is a foreign kind of love. Very calm, very comfortable, I might have finally found that “just is” that I was searching for all these years. And while I acknowledge that is has to be temporary, I am grateful that I am experiencing it.
I am a culmination of everything I have ever been through.
This current experience will be added to who I am at some point and this pleases me.
The Potato man I dated who told me he didn’t like hugging me or touching me because he felt like I was taking something from him scarred me for a while. Until I met Gelfling who thought it was ludicrous that I asked permission to touch him and said that I was allowed whenever I wanted, forever. Both of these things just make me appreciate the exorbitant amount of touching that occurs with Darkling.
I have ‘shared’ men before. Sometimes horribly, like when I was married, and sometimes willingly.
Darkling is 29. He wants kids eventually. I am not his forever person. I knew that going in and I have never once forgotten it. What I have chosen to do is spend the time I have with him enjoying him. His house has become sanctuary and it is delightful. His love language is touch and acts of service, exactly the same as mine, which has taken some adjusting to, being cared for in the manner I have cared for others. Just makes me realize how valuable I am and that I am worth being around.
The only constant is change. At some point this will end and it will suck, and I will cry.
But I am not going to waste the time given dreading the future, nor living in the past.
I know I will live.
But that is later.
I am just going to be here now.