It is beginning to feel like you never even existed. Yet noting down the date you will return my belongings serves as a stark reminder that you did, and I loved you, and you let me believe you loved me too. Until, over the course of a few, short, hysterical, un-rememberable weeks you repeatedly broke my heart and did not seem to take any notice that the sheer disarray of its pieces affected my life as well as yours. Undeniably selfish and filled with a sense of self-pity unrivalled even by the scores of addicts I have encountered during the short time I have graced this planet; you, are addicted to yourself.
Your commitment to my erasure has undoubtedly aided the idea that you never existed. It did not take you long to pretend that I never happened for you, to quickly create a narrative in which five years of your life are unaccounted for. The pain of this however, most days, appears to be subsiding. The tired metaphor of ripping off the plaster is old and overused for a reason; it does perfectly describe the process.
At first, the pain is so immense you resign yourself to the fact that you are sure you will never be able to get up from the kitchen floor. That you will simply live there thenceforth, ugly crying next to the bin, experiencing those excruciating stabs to the centre of your being over and over and over again. They are like nothing else; the sheer physical pain of losing someone is incomparable and grief manifests itself in an array of different forms. It is different though when that person is still existing somewhere in the realm of reality. Because not only do you have to grieve your loss of them, you must work on beginning to forget. I spend a lot of time fighting the loss of memory in relation to those I have lost through death, yet when relationships end we spend an abundance of energy trying not to remember what we no longer have.
This situation is not so simple though, it is doubly complex. I believed in someone, and something, that was not true. There are layers of grief. I do not like to feel a fool, I pride myself on my judge of character, on my intelligence, on my ability to be self-sufficient and well-read. To have so easily fallen for someone’s deceit makes me feel extremely stupid. And when I feel like I am sad, I realise I am grieving an untruth, that my energy is wasted, that this is not something I have lost, as it was not real, and navigating this complexity is not something I have ever been required to do.
If I think about it too deeply I feel like someone has been able to rip open my entire being, re-programme me to their specifications, not been impressed with the result, and destroyed their failed work in a fit of misplaced immaturity. Yet at the same time, I feel the most myself I have in many years. Because no matter how hard you try to re-programme someone, and no matter how much that person acquiesces because they believe they are involved in the adult act of compromise there will still be glitches. And when my glitches manifested you would try your best to iron them out.
But the thing is, those perceived glitches are the best parts of me. I am politically minded, I care deeply about people and culture and thinking until my head hurts. I am principled, and this does not scare me, although I know it terrifies a lot of people, which explains being branded intimidating. I am not intimidating, and if my attitudes inspire those kinds of feelings then it is simply because you are too afraid of having an opinion, or making an effort to speak up for anything you may believe in. Accusations are far easier to compose than constant defences of your thinking.
There’s a film out this week that means I have seen so many interviews with Andrew Scott recently, and that scene in Fleabag is referenced persistently:
I love you.
It’ll pass.
It is true. It will pass. And it will cease to stab and churn and violently demand acknowledgement. It will get softer, and that will hurt too, but eventually you begin to realise that maybe it’s a blessing. Life does what it needs to do to make sure you flourish. You will find parts of yourself you didn’t even know existed, and you will give time to nourishing parts of yourself you truly love. You will learn not to make yourself small to make sure you are liked.
I will no longer make myself small, just to make sure I am liked.
SAFFRON RAIN 