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blodeueddIn the hopes that talking (writing) about this will ease my heart a little and allow me to get some sleep tonight...
... and because I can't be flippant all the time.
Though we were officially divorced in March, there remains a link between me and G, in the form of boxes of my things taking up space in his garage. Within the first few days of my arrival, I have to go get those things, sort through them and decide what to keep. This includes some furniture (which I'm bequeathing to B1), several boxes of books (hopefully not so many that my parents will refuse to house them) and keepsakes -- pictures, letters, that sort of thing.
Once that's done, and once I've returned his mother's wedding ring to her, all left to do will be to burn the cards, the letters and the pictures. And then it will be over, in every sense of the word.
I'd planned to write it all, everything about the end of our relationship. The hurt, the sadness, the humiliation, the frustration, the rage. I wanted to let it all out, to type and type and type until there was nothing left. Print it out, delete the file, then take those pages home with me (fittingly, to where it all began) and burn them along with the pictures and the letters and the cards that I kept.
I haven't done that, and doubt I ever will. The superficial reason is that I'm too busy to set aside time for this, because such an endeavour would cause copious amounts of tears, and my eyes puff up horribly when I cry, and then it takes half a day before I look normal again. I don't like people seeing me like that, because sympathy just makes me tear up all over again.
The deeper reason, I suppose, is that I just don't want to relive it all. It was so awful, so heart-wrenchingly painful the first time 'round, that even though I know it would probably do me some good to share it, if only with myself, I'd rather not see it in stark black letters. It's lived in me for long enough that I know it inside out, can see where I went wrong just as well as how much of the blame lies with him; writing it out could be cathartic, though I fear the catharsis would not be equal to the pain of getting there.
I feel I should accuse myself of cowardice on this account, but I'm willing to take that blow to my pride just this once.
So I'll go home and have myself a pretty little bonfire, then do my best to bring back what I've learned and leave the bad behind me.
... and because I can't be flippant all the time.
Though we were officially divorced in March, there remains a link between me and G, in the form of boxes of my things taking up space in his garage. Within the first few days of my arrival, I have to go get those things, sort through them and decide what to keep. This includes some furniture (which I'm bequeathing to B1), several boxes of books (hopefully not so many that my parents will refuse to house them) and keepsakes -- pictures, letters, that sort of thing.
Once that's done, and once I've returned his mother's wedding ring to her, all left to do will be to burn the cards, the letters and the pictures. And then it will be over, in every sense of the word.
I'd planned to write it all, everything about the end of our relationship. The hurt, the sadness, the humiliation, the frustration, the rage. I wanted to let it all out, to type and type and type until there was nothing left. Print it out, delete the file, then take those pages home with me (fittingly, to where it all began) and burn them along with the pictures and the letters and the cards that I kept.
I haven't done that, and doubt I ever will. The superficial reason is that I'm too busy to set aside time for this, because such an endeavour would cause copious amounts of tears, and my eyes puff up horribly when I cry, and then it takes half a day before I look normal again. I don't like people seeing me like that, because sympathy just makes me tear up all over again.
The deeper reason, I suppose, is that I just don't want to relive it all. It was so awful, so heart-wrenchingly painful the first time 'round, that even though I know it would probably do me some good to share it, if only with myself, I'd rather not see it in stark black letters. It's lived in me for long enough that I know it inside out, can see where I went wrong just as well as how much of the blame lies with him; writing it out could be cathartic, though I fear the catharsis would not be equal to the pain of getting there.
I feel I should accuse myself of cowardice on this account, but I'm willing to take that blow to my pride just this once.
So I'll go home and have myself a pretty little bonfire, then do my best to bring back what I've learned and leave the bad behind me.
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Date: 2009-07-26 02:43 pm (UTC)Je sais pas exactement quand ça va être, parce que Max sait pas quand il va avoir accès à un camion, mais je te laisserai savoir le plus vite possible!
En passant, juste pour vérifier, tu dois avoir congé lundi le 3, n'est-ce pas?