*Long sigh*
Phheeeeeww.
What am I doing?
I'm not even sure where to start.
I *do* know that I should have been writing this two weeks ago. On a Monday. When my shit was all fucked up, internally. If my chi was a tangibly-expressed thing, it would have been a tangled fucking mess of knots and discord.
But, instead, being the weird sort of completionist that I am (or perhaps because my subconscious mind pulled some strings to keep my conscious mind from having a crack at it), I put it off in favor of getting out the last few .... I don't even know what I call them. Poetry? Koans? Lyrics-without-sound? Prose?
Well. Fleshing out those last few ideas I had. For posterity's sake, I guess?
Anyway. It doesn't fucking matter.
Because now. I'm here.
And now it's time to do some serious fucking drilling.
Because this is kind of a bit crap!
*exhale*
Ok. So.
Where to begin?
It's hard to say. There's still a big part of me that wants to bring Katie into these entries. As though she still... has any investment in it, first of all. But also as though... hm. How do I articulate it?
I don't want to write as though I blame her for anything. Or have anything negative to say about her. Because I don't. And I don't.
I still catch myself thinking about her often, though. Almost daily, still. But every time I start to pick apart the tiny bits I used to know about her, I have to gently turn my thoughts away.
She isn't mine. She doesn't love me. Our lives are distinctly separate.
I have to remember that this is what she wanted. And I have to persist in the hope that she has taken the silence she has enacted between us, and shaped it into a chunk of unrefined happiness. Y'know? And she'll slowly-- through effort and practice and time-- hone that down into the jewel of bliss she always wanted.
And I'm alright with that Even if I have to serve as a vehicle of demonization in the meantime. Y'know? Searing coal, and all.
If I can say anything, it's that I'm glad she left me with the memory of that ember intact. Our last conversation a pleasant one. Having only missed her by less than an hour. A picture of my penguin sent to me from her phone.
It makes me smile.
I wonder, too, whether
I'm not sure why I started that paragraph like that.
I do think about her. Quite some bit, still. And if I'm being intellectually honest with myself (and I should be, because that's the whole fucking point of this week's entries), I question the rational logic of whether or not I should continue to hold her.... to still hold out for her maybe once again having a place in my life.
There is a part of me-- that I have to gently remind, isn't so different from me-- that gets kind of wrinkly-nosed and frowny-faced when I think about the way she has "given up" on me. But then, I internalize, and chide myself; her discarding of me isn't anything personal-- it's just the way she has always coped with relationships that cause her dissonance. Or guilt. Or discomfort.
I'm not so different.
But that's another entry.
So I wonder if I'm just maintaining an unhealthy (if pleasant) fantasy.
Any relationship I have toyed with the idea of beginning (apart from the established on with Ruth) always fails the Katie check. "Would I be willing to sacrifice-- at her altar-- a potential new relationship for the chance to have Katie as a fixture in my life again?"
The answer is always a resounding "Yes!"; I would, without hesitation, discard my extraneous relationships to have her in my life again.
And examining this response makes me both disquietingly uneasy, and fiercely pleased.
I'm not here to break that down, though. Because as I know it, she'll never come back. In any capacity. She has said so, directly, several times. And the scenarios I imagine she has enabled, in which she has systematically destroyed any possibility of me being allowed back in her life, by knowledge of her social support group, is truly staggering.
And so thus, it's likely a non-concern.
Still. It's probably salient. And surely means more than I currently have the expertise, insight or capacity to understand.
I didn't mean for this entry to turn into this slightly concerning diatribe. But there's no point in censoring it. I'll just simply have to write another, after this. It's just... .... what it is.
But you know?
I sure still miss her.
10:40 p.m. - 2014-09-14
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