Back and Forth

How is it possible to miss someone so much and yet not at all?

Last night I dreamed that I was somewhere, and I was late, and I was on the phone begging Michael not to be pissed off at me.  And I woke up thinking how much I absolutely do not miss that, the constant walking on eggshells, the trying to cajole him into not being angry and snippy with me or other people.  Ugh.  I hated it, and until the last months, I could not walk away from it.

And then I did, and it was part of what make him think that I had abandoned him.

Then this afternoon... I was missing him so much, and feeling so sad.  Crying in the car again.  Thinking, as I always do, about what must have been going on in his head.  How hurt and angry he was.  But, too, how many secrets he kept.  And it's that combination of sadness and regret and anger that gets me all the time.  Anger at him, anger at myself for not protecting my writing better, for wanting other people to read what I wrote, because it made me less alone... and inadvertently, laying it all out for him to see.  I was stupid to think that he would not look.  But he never did, for years and years, when I kept the first blog.  He lied to me again and again about so many things.

But what I said last night is true.  I do not feel guilty.  Not about any of my actions, except for making it easy for him to track what I wrote.  I would be dealing with this so much better without that, I think.  Because it makes it messy, a thousand times more painful.  And he knew it would, and that's why he made it clear that he'd done that.  And then I get angry, and then I cry, and then I am sad, and it all goes around again back to the anger.

I wish that I thought that he could see me, and that he could see the pain.  I don't know why, but it seems like I would feel better if I thought that.  I don't.  I don't feel his presence.  More the opposite; I feel his absence.

Last night I went to a school thing, and not really deliberately, got absolutely drunk off my ass.  And I would have been willing to take someone I barely know and who doesn't in fact interest me to bed, if he'd shown the slightest interest.  Because I wanted to have someone put his arms around me and just be there.  Just exist for me for a moment.

That was a thing best left undone, from so many points of view.  And today I am hungover, and I feel ill and miserable, which probably serves me right.