One Year

It’s been one year to-the-date since T left.  In all fairness, it should not be expressed in that way — she left in anger on the 6th of November but in the clear light of the next day, it was the right decision for both of us.  On that day, our break-up became mutual.  I thought so at the time; one year later, a lot has changed but not my feeling that our relationship had reached its end.  I have missed her and, perhaps even more than that, I’ve worried about her.  In January, when I finally tried to convey that sentiment to her, I was firmly rebuffed.  We’ve had no contact since those terse texts.  In that exchange, I offered to talk and apologized for not being able to love her in the way that she needed.  She thanked me but had no other response; no apology or expression toward me of any sort.  That was it.  So our relationship of 11 years ended in a whimper. 

I’ve since had plenty of time to reflect on our years together.  But it’s a one-sided story and I’ve little idea how she thinks of our time together.  I’ve wondered - often - if she ever loved me.  I think that reflection comes from the hardships of the pandemic and our last year together.  I hope that’s true; there was a period when I was deeply in love with her and I thought she felt the same way.  I can only speak for myself, but as I think back on our last few years together, it feels that I spent an inordinate amount of my energy trying to manage her mercurial moods and inexplicable anger; to look after her in the way that she needed.  I recognize that my efforts failed, but I did try.  When things between us were at their most difficult, I would console myself with the notion that when I really needed her, she would be there for me.  I don’t know if I believed that as much as I hoped it would true.  But if the Summer of 2022 revealed anything to me, it was the falseness of that hope.  And by the time of her blow up in November - on my birthday, of all days -  I was simply spent.  The next few weeks brought me a strange sense of peace, followed by a whole lot of regret.  Now, a year later, peace is the more dominant sentiment.  Of course it’s tinged with regret; 11 years together is a long time.  I am not yet accustomed to thinking about my long-term future without a whole lot of uncertainty, a feeling that makes me anxious.  

In the last year, I have had the time - and space - to actually look after myself, an art I mostly lost in the blur of our last few years together.  I am not lonely on my own, though I’m a little scared of growing old by myself and being a burden on JT.  I’m sad; really, really sad that I could never find someone to love me as I am.  This is the second time a relationship that I believed was my forever life plan has failed.  Though the differences in my reactions are telling, in the harder moments, this second failure makes me believe that there is something gravely wrong with me.  Those feelings can run rampant far too easily.  So mostly I square my chin, dismiss these feelings of inadequacy, and remind myself of my better qualities.  I’m kind and funny; loyal and true.  Amazing, smart, and worthy.  Stylish and charming.  Beautiful.  And certainly deserving of better than I was receiving in the life I had with T.  One year out, I don’t know if I entirely believe these things, but I want to believe them.  That has to count for something.