Lesbian log twenty-nine-zero-six-twenty-one
The thing I miss the most about chronic depression is the numbness. I excelled at tamping things down so deep that I was barely cognizant of the dissonance. The rumble of discontentment was more like a fly hovering around a wine glass, and I effortlessly shooed it out of mind. This talent did have a down side. Once I battened down the hatches against sadness, it meant I couldn’t climb to brilliant heights either. There can’t be elation if there’s no bottom—the Ying and Yang of life.
I learned how to cut out my emotions with the skill of a surgeon’s hand. I saw emotion as weakness. I coveted nonchalance like others craved sex or drugs. I built formidable walls to create distance between me and the emotions I didn’t want to feel. The walls kept everything and everyone at bay. It was safer inside my castle.
Since setting out on this new path, I’ve discovered my walls were built on sink holes.
I’ve experienced pain and grief on levels I didn’t know were possible. Sadness that takes your breath away and leaves you shaking and nauseous. Your heart in tatters, the threads frayed and strewn across the floor.
It takes every ounce of strength to push against the aching tide of it all. I finally get one step ahead, only to be dragged back down by the undertow of circumstance.
Our youngest celebrated his high school graduation today. A huge day, for him, but also for my ex and I. Our baby. The last of our boys, moving on to a new chapter. We would have celebrated this as a family. Photos, cake, dinner, laughter, more photos. But of course, our family has changed. And despite our promise to each other to still celebrate these big moments together, that assurance has crumbled. The last time we tried to celebrate a milestone as our new family unit, my ex was inconsolable. It became apparent that going forward, we would need to celebrate these big moments separately. It was too painful for both us.
Because of COVID-19, graduation ceremonies were held virtually, so there wasn’t an opportunity to attend an event. Celebrations were to be held at home.
With the boys’ work schedules and access to transportation, they are now at their dad’s for basically the entire summer. Today, he took photos. They had cake. They celebrated with laughter. They had dinner.
I sat at home, alone.
The haters would say, ‘Well now, who’s fault is that? You left. You chose another life. What did you expect? Looks good on you. You broke your ex’s heart, for what? To suddenly become gay. You threw away 28 years of marriage. You’re a selfish cunt. Hope you’re happy. Serves you right.’
I know they’d say that because they have. Unfortunately, I’ve heard it all. The worst part is, I don’t need to hear their reproaches or their recriminations. I subject myself to enough guilt and blame that their words are merely a drop in another bucket.
Today, I’m not going to justify my choices or my decisions or all the reasons why. All I can say is on days like this, when I’m absolutely wrecked by tidal waves of emotion, I crave the numbness. I crave the cold impartial distance that checked any wayward tear and shoved it back under the rock from whence it came.
In gratitude,
Marissa xo