Coffee and Blogging. I needed both. So why not. Who cares that it's too late for coffee.
My boy left me the first time in early April of 2016, when we were still living on the lake. He stayed away for TWO years. I lived here in this place for almost a year before he came back. And now, almost exactly one year after that, he is gone again.
He's been gone two weeks now (since our spectacular fight two Mondays ago). We've since called a truce, apologized to one another. I've seen him twice in two weeks, just brief visits. Once on the Sunday after our fight, when we had our truce conversation, and once when he came to work this past Saturday night for dinner after semi-formal.
To him, things are peaceful now, the air is clear, his conscious is clear. Now he can live life and be happy without this conflict or any guilt looming over his head. When he offered me the olive branch, I knew this was the reasoning behind it.
And so, for my boy, things are back to normal, life is good.
And my life is back to being exactly what it was when this happened three years ago.
I don't expect it to change, either. I'll maybe see him once a week, but only if I push for it. It'll probably be less frequent. I'll only talk to him via text or snapchat, but only when I initiate it.
And I'm not being negative, I'm being realistic. This is the pattern. This is how it happens. He stayed with both of us equally for most his life. Then one day he just stopped coming to my house. He didn't come back for two years. And once he did, he then stayed primarily with me. He went to his dad's to visit, but didn't stay. And his dad felt what I felt for all that time. And now, one year after his return, he is gone again. And I suspect, I'm pretty sure, that this is how it will stay.
A few years ago, living alone was terribly difficult for me. I missed my boy so much, I had no live-in partner. I was alone, and I hated it. I went into a pretty severe depression. I didn't recognize myself. I was sad, every single day. The kind of sad that makes you think there really is no reason to go on. It was about that point that I realized I needed help. I started seeing a psychiatrist again. Went on a few different medications, and have stayed on them the last couple years to try to keep that sadness at bay. It's still a battle. It became easier when the boy came home. But now...
Once again, I am preparing to live alone. I have to believe that since I am managing my depression, and that I have lived through this before, that I can do it again. Hopefully this time less painfully.
But I wasn't prepared to lose my boy again.
When I made the decision to live without a partner, I always pictured still living with my boy. Just the two of us. I looked forward to that. I wanted that back in my life again. I was so excited for it.
Alas, the universe is fickle and ironic and fucking cruel.
For the longest time after he came back, I lived every day waiting for that moment when he left again. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. I guess I always knew it would.
And now I am faced with another dilemma.
Trying to decide between staying here, or going back to the lake (the small cottage overlooking the lake that I lived in when I first moved there in 2015).
There are some moments, when I am so sure that I am going back. I start cleaning and liquidating and packing. I remember all the sunrises and sunsets over the water. The sound. The peace.
And then there are other moments when I doubt it, I second guess it. I look around and I think- but this is mine. Even though I didn't really want it, even though it's not ideal. It's mine.
It doesn't help that I'm so sad and furious about what's happened with my boy. That pain makes me want to leave here more than anything. Tomorrow. Now. Yesterday. I know that's the hurt and anger talking. I try to be rational. As analytical as I am, I have been guilty of making emotionally charged decisions before.
I wish I were more decisive. But unfortunately indecision is a curse I have always been plagued with.
I don't know why, but I spent a lot of time skimming through the last three years of my blogs. I suppose I was looking for an answer. Or at least even just perspective.
But all it did was cause more confusion.
I spent the last few years going back and forth like a friggin seesaw Sometimes being alone was so difficult that I didn't know if I could go on. Sometimes I tolerated, even enjoyed being alone.
Some days I was convinced that buying this place, moving here, was the right thing to do. Some days I was miserable because I missed the lake so much.
And it only made me more sad.
The resounding tone throughout was how badly I missed my boy. How devastated I was by that. Two fucking years I lived it.
Another frequent mention was how much I missed the lake.
Now I miss both. I live without both.
Missing the lake was made more tolerable by having my boy back. Actually, everything was made more tolerable by having my boy. Everything was better. Life, was better.
Many people say- they all eventually grow up and leave the nest. Well, yeah. Duh. Of course they do. And of course I know this.
But that is not what happened. Not last time three years ago. Not this time.
When I posted pictures of him coming to visit me at work for dinner after semi-formal, my mother commented- "You are blessed!"
But am I? Why would I be? Because I saw him once this week, for 45 minutes at work?
It was so terribly familiar... That feeling... of being so elated to see him, to hug him. And then the horrible pain that rushes back in when he leaves. Missing him. Empty without him.
Now I get to live like that again.
Like I said, I hope that since I lived it for two years, I can live through it again.
But sometimes I'm not so sure. It's a constant and intolerable ache. Sometimes I can push it aside. And sometimes it just hurts too much.
Melatonin, Benadryl, please just get me to sleep so I can escape it for a few hours.
My boy left me the first time in early April of 2016, when we were still living on the lake. He stayed away for TWO years. I lived here in this place for almost a year before he came back. And now, almost exactly one year after that, he is gone again.
He's been gone two weeks now (since our spectacular fight two Mondays ago). We've since called a truce, apologized to one another. I've seen him twice in two weeks, just brief visits. Once on the Sunday after our fight, when we had our truce conversation, and once when he came to work this past Saturday night for dinner after semi-formal.
To him, things are peaceful now, the air is clear, his conscious is clear. Now he can live life and be happy without this conflict or any guilt looming over his head. When he offered me the olive branch, I knew this was the reasoning behind it.
And so, for my boy, things are back to normal, life is good.
And my life is back to being exactly what it was when this happened three years ago.
I don't expect it to change, either. I'll maybe see him once a week, but only if I push for it. It'll probably be less frequent. I'll only talk to him via text or snapchat, but only when I initiate it.
And I'm not being negative, I'm being realistic. This is the pattern. This is how it happens. He stayed with both of us equally for most his life. Then one day he just stopped coming to my house. He didn't come back for two years. And once he did, he then stayed primarily with me. He went to his dad's to visit, but didn't stay. And his dad felt what I felt for all that time. And now, one year after his return, he is gone again. And I suspect, I'm pretty sure, that this is how it will stay.
A few years ago, living alone was terribly difficult for me. I missed my boy so much, I had no live-in partner. I was alone, and I hated it. I went into a pretty severe depression. I didn't recognize myself. I was sad, every single day. The kind of sad that makes you think there really is no reason to go on. It was about that point that I realized I needed help. I started seeing a psychiatrist again. Went on a few different medications, and have stayed on them the last couple years to try to keep that sadness at bay. It's still a battle. It became easier when the boy came home. But now...
Once again, I am preparing to live alone. I have to believe that since I am managing my depression, and that I have lived through this before, that I can do it again. Hopefully this time less painfully.
But I wasn't prepared to lose my boy again.
When I made the decision to live without a partner, I always pictured still living with my boy. Just the two of us. I looked forward to that. I wanted that back in my life again. I was so excited for it.
Alas, the universe is fickle and ironic and fucking cruel.
For the longest time after he came back, I lived every day waiting for that moment when he left again. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. I guess I always knew it would.
And now I am faced with another dilemma.
Trying to decide between staying here, or going back to the lake (the small cottage overlooking the lake that I lived in when I first moved there in 2015).
There are some moments, when I am so sure that I am going back. I start cleaning and liquidating and packing. I remember all the sunrises and sunsets over the water. The sound. The peace.
And then there are other moments when I doubt it, I second guess it. I look around and I think- but this is mine. Even though I didn't really want it, even though it's not ideal. It's mine.
It doesn't help that I'm so sad and furious about what's happened with my boy. That pain makes me want to leave here more than anything. Tomorrow. Now. Yesterday. I know that's the hurt and anger talking. I try to be rational. As analytical as I am, I have been guilty of making emotionally charged decisions before.
I wish I were more decisive. But unfortunately indecision is a curse I have always been plagued with.
I don't know why, but I spent a lot of time skimming through the last three years of my blogs. I suppose I was looking for an answer. Or at least even just perspective.
But all it did was cause more confusion.
I spent the last few years going back and forth like a friggin seesaw Sometimes being alone was so difficult that I didn't know if I could go on. Sometimes I tolerated, even enjoyed being alone.
Some days I was convinced that buying this place, moving here, was the right thing to do. Some days I was miserable because I missed the lake so much.
And it only made me more sad.
The resounding tone throughout was how badly I missed my boy. How devastated I was by that. Two fucking years I lived it.
Another frequent mention was how much I missed the lake.
Now I miss both. I live without both.
Missing the lake was made more tolerable by having my boy back. Actually, everything was made more tolerable by having my boy. Everything was better. Life, was better.
Many people say- they all eventually grow up and leave the nest. Well, yeah. Duh. Of course they do. And of course I know this.
But that is not what happened. Not last time three years ago. Not this time.
When I posted pictures of him coming to visit me at work for dinner after semi-formal, my mother commented- "You are blessed!"
But am I? Why would I be? Because I saw him once this week, for 45 minutes at work?
It was so terribly familiar... That feeling... of being so elated to see him, to hug him. And then the horrible pain that rushes back in when he leaves. Missing him. Empty without him.
Now I get to live like that again.
Like I said, I hope that since I lived it for two years, I can live through it again.
But sometimes I'm not so sure. It's a constant and intolerable ache. Sometimes I can push it aside. And sometimes it just hurts too much.
Melatonin, Benadryl, please just get me to sleep so I can escape it for a few hours.