Sitting at home alone on this Friday night, I am forced to think about why I am here, alone. I have to admit that I have been shaken by a recent post by Steph over at much Ado and even more so by the comments she has received.
It has made me wonder about the scum out there and how lucky I am to have never experienced that sort of hurt, and certainly happy to have never caused it.
It has however opened some recent wounds. The pain of a failed relationship just came burbling up to the surface and paralysed me.
I had great plans to go out tonight but my body has called for a break. I feel tired and broken. I need to tell this story for me.
Rewind to earlier this year. This house had another girlie bit to it, my partner, a dream, my future life. A special spark that went out the day she left.
Rewind a bit further and things were just starting to go wrong for real. We had plans in the family way but biology was not playing fair. On the surface it was all working, the boys were swimming and she was as regular as clockwork. This was our third miscarriage in three years and it tore our hearts out. The doctors just wanted to push IVF but you have to be strong and emotionally secure. The hormones, the schedule the pressure of it will kill anything but the most secure relationship.
Add to that the confusions and fear already there. We were getting pregnant, it just was not holding past 8 weeks or so. Why would IVF fix that? They could not answer in any way that made sense to me. The reading, the study, the questions did not help. Finding out that we are not alone in this struggle was no comfort.
We had friends having babies left right and fucking centre. Everyone but us. We wanted to be happy for them but it hurt. What hurt more was the few people that could not see the trauma, even though they knew we were trying, they still chimed in with the helpful comments like "you got to get on with it", "your not getting any younger", "Just shag more". Go fuck yourself was what I wanted scream. I didn't, we just stopped talking to them. It was easier but a sad way to deal with it. I have missed a large chunk of their lives and I am sorry for that.
The last miscarriage was the charm. Something broke for good right then. Curled up on the couch, the very spot I am sitting now, she said she didn't want to have kids. It was too hard. It was never going to work. She could not take the stress. Every period was failure, every late one was fear followed by a hammer blow. We were being torn apart 12 times a year.
Maybe we should have counselling? We need to talk to people outside of ourselves, we need to share this load. I want to have kids, I want to be a young dad. I want to share my adventure sports with them, teach them to climb, fly, sail, swim, ski and ride. She says; I don't do counselling, I know what I want, I'm not crazy. I want to be free of all this. I don't want a mortgage, I want to be free and reckless again. This is too hard.
My heart breaks. How do you answer that?
As if to make a point she starts smoking. She hasn't smoked since we hooked up six years ago. Back then I had joked that I would never go out with a smoker and she had quit right there and then. We were inseparable from then until it all ended. We travelled, we had adventures, we planned, plotted and schemed.
Rewind again. I'll have to check out this dancing thing. She seems to be getting right into it and wants me to go. I have said no for so long that is has become a mexican stand off. Truth be told I am scared. I will embarrass myself and her. She is such a great groover. I will be gumby next to her.
She tricks me with a bet. If I win my next competition, I will qualify for a major event. If I win, I have to learn to dance so we can dance together at the big one. I am always out to win. That is me, it is in my bones. Even the fear of dancing won't stop me taking what is mine.
I win, it was hard but worth the every minute of toil to get there. In the depression that follows, yes even winning is a downer when you have to go back to the real world, I realise that now I have to dance. She is smiling, we are happy, almost the happiest we have ever been.
Walking into the club I can see the new friends she has already. It is odd, this has been her little world for six or more months. It is the only part of out life we have not shared and straight away I can see why.
He has a girlfriend, she is his fiancée in fact. Then why do I feel green? What is it in his eye and the way they move together that makes my blood run cold. It is just about the dancing right? I'm not the jealous type so this feels ugly.
Fast forward for a bit. We have bought a house instead of getting married. It is a smarter use of money as sad as that sounds. At some point in the future I will be so glad it happened this way. I just don't know it yet. I am dancing every night I can, that knot in my gut is still there and then it is confirmed. How is not important but his fiancée and I know it is true.
Within weeks of moving into the new house I find out she has shared our bed with him. I am shattered. I make the dumbest decision in my life. I forgive her. I had always believed there was no coming back form that sort of break in trust and yet here I am. It takes ages to fade, I push it down. It actually it never does, no matter how much you lie to yourself. Even now I am fighting back tears while writing about it. Cunt!
Rewind again. We are up the far north coast of Queensland. We have only just got together and in a brilliant bit of timing I have secured a short contract that will give us the chance to travel a little and get to know each other, live together without actually having the whole moving in together discussion. Three months in paradise.
I think we lasted a few days before I blurt it out while we embrace in the surf. As I stand there with her legs wrapped around my waist, my arms holding her close, her breath in my ear, I know. She is everything I have ever wanted. I love her and I tell her so.
We kiss and she smiles. She loves me too. I am the luckiest guy on earth.
Fast forward. I walk in from work and she is drunk. The bottle of champagne is mostly empty. She is not a pretty drunk and the look says everything I never wanted to hear. I want to run. I don't want this to happen but I am wading in molasses. There is no escape. There is no answer, nothing I can say. She has made up her mind. She has not talked to friends of family, she doesn't want them to tell her she is crazy. She does not want to e talked out of it.
I want to tell her she is crazy, not for leaving me but for running away from problems and challenges, it is actually a recurring theme. The one difference between us. Even now I can't take the cheap shot, I still love her.
I have to let her walk. There is nothing I can do. It takes two to tango and if one won't dance then all bets are off.
Fast forward. It is tonight, I am regretting not dancing tonight but I had to get this out of me. I have been running and it was time to stop and catch my breath.
I promise my next post will be more fun.