The past few days have been tough. Tough tough tough. I have wanted to write about them. I have even drafted a few posts, but they sounded whingey, soft. Nobody would want to read them, I thought. I even toyed with the thought of making the blog private.
But, fuckit, it is my blog. I will write. Whether people want to read, comment – immaterial.
And the times when you want to hide under your doona, to crawl under a rock, to fall off the face of the earth, those are probably the times when you absolutely must not do that. Stand tall, proud, keep the head high.
The life I had before – married, expectation of getting pregnant, mortgage. It sucked the life from me, and I dreaded the future. Worse, I could not tell anybody about it. Yet it was familiar and, in a way, comfortable, as certain as anything could be.
So I made a decision, a brave decision. The reasoning, at the time, was solid. Subsequently, through marriage counselling, I found out that he was just as unhappy as I was, he just showed it by constantly being at work. Unlike me, he would never, ever have rocked the boat, preferring instead to carry on silently and miserably.
So it was the right decision. He is now seeing an old friend/colleague of his, and he is happy, they are probably much better suited to each other than what we were. I wish him well. It hurts, all the more for the fact that he saw fit to tell me via email while I was away, but it is for the best, I see that.
I tried to move on too. I wanted to feel alive. To feel some of the excitement and passion that I had not felt for some time – I was ashamed to admit it at the time. So I got on the internet, signed up with RSVP, went out dating. I was like a puppy let out of the laundry, doing happy laps. I got dates. It was easy.
I met some nice people. Some weird people. It never got past the first date, though. Either I didn’t like them, or they didn’t like me. After a very short while, it got really wearing. It was a bit of a waste of makeup. So I got ready to hunker down. There was just one more fellow, though. We had sent a few emails between us. He seemed very clever, very eloquent. We had a phone conversation, talked for ages. He had a sexy voice. I have a soft spot for sexy voices. So, I went out on a date with him.
At risk of sounding trite, we connected. Fast. We talked. I made eye contact, we ate. We kissed. Plans for a second date were made, then a third, then subsequent.
He was Jewish. I had always been a bit fascinated by that faith. I asked questions, and read up. He was far more Jewish than I am Christian. He went to a very religious Jewish school. I knew that they tend to like to keep to their own community, so I asked him, very early on, whether he was able to actually go out with a gentile. He never really answered that question. Just said he would want his children to go to a Jewish school, and that would require the mother to be Jewish.
We had wonderful times. We were that couple in the restaurant who I had always envied. We were the only two there. We held hands across the table. He sensed my emotions, he could read my face. He was physically affectionate, he played with my hair and I fiddled with the little curl at the front of his head. He would look at me and just smile. He saw and complimented me on my good points – that I was kind, intelligent, beautiful. Full of “vim and vigour”. I complimented him. I was very, very honest about what was going on. I opened my heart to him, in a way that I had not opened my heart to any man.
We did nice things for each other – he picked me up from a party after I drunk texted him. I picked him up from the airport. We talked most days, and messaged every day. We talked for hours, about everything and nothing. There were walks along the yarra, long kisses. He burnt me CDs from his collection. He was thoughtful.
I was so enamoured of it. Probably because it was everything that the relationship with my (ex-) husband wasn’t.
I liked him. Goddamn, I really liked him. And, rightly or wrongly, I thought he liked me, too. I thought, sweet! I am very, very lucky. I never thought I would meet anyone like him. Not now, probably not ever.
There were a few things that made me anxious, though. First, was his refusal to take his profile down from the site on which we had met. He would never really explain why. He told me that he would never introduce me to his family. Hey, no drama, it had not been going on for very long. That would change, I thought. He got very skittish when I asked him what his plans were, his intentions with me. What he wanted.
I got increasingly concerned – there was, from my point of view, an undeniable attraction. My feelings were strong. I got to the point where it made me more upset than happy. So I asked him.
He said what I put on my last blog post. “I really enjoy your company, but I don’t want a relationship, I don’t want to be your boyfriend.” He was very cold about it, almost hostile. The discussion was done in text messages – he would not talk to me, not see me. Not look me in the eye and tell me. I really did not think he was like that.
I said “well, it looks as though we have different expectations. Good luck with everything.” We hung up. Over. I cried all that day. That was a couple of days ago. He is back up on the dating site.
I had to face up to that. I had to face up to everything else, too. It all hit me, all at once.
I am alone. I will continue to be alone.
I have to move out, because I cannot afford to keep up the mortgage.
I will not get to keep the dog.
It is all my fault, if I had just kept quiet, about everything.
I deserve this, it is my punishment.
I lost faith in myself. I had always been optimistic that things would be ok, but, for the first time, I lost sight of that.
That night, I went out with a couple of my close girlfriends. They shouted me dinner, plied me with alcohol. They were wonderful.
Though the urge to stay in bed, under my doona, is strong, I have gotten up every day. I have dressed nicely. Groomed nicely. Gone to work. Treated the ill and frail with compassion and to the very best of my ability. Smiled, cracked jokes. Hugged my friends. I have been for a run! On the outside, all is well. Fake it till you make it, baby.
The inside – completely different. Completely. I forged quickly and strongly outside my comfort zone, and now I really don’t know where I am. All very well to be brave and honest and true to myself, but I don’t really see what the benefit of it is now, to be honest. I forge on regardless – people tell me it will get better. I hope so.
And, for the Jew. So many questions.
“Why could you not enjoy the company of somebody WHO IS A LITTLE MORE ROBUST THAN ME?”
“Why could you not be open about this, at the beginning?” (Perhaps it makes him uncomfortable to think he would be that sort of a guy)
“If you did not like me, why did you stick around?” (Did he like me? I thought so)
“Why, in the end, were you so unkind to me?”
And “If you want a Jewish girl, why are you bothering with Gentiles? We have hearts too.”
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I feel better for writing all that. A bit relieved to get it all out- free therapy. If you have read this far, thankyou for sticking with it.
The thing I learned – never ever let things get so bad and not talk about them, or confront them. No matter how hard it is to do that.
Demons, dancing, doctorates, debauchery. 