October Is The Cruellest Month

When you grieve, you're supposed to go through stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. Theoretically, when you hit Acceptance you're over most of your anguish and have found some sort of closure and inner peace. With Raf I tend to feel like I bounce around those stages like a pinball in a machine.

Denial -Anger - Anger -Anger - Depression - Anger -Angerangerangerangeranger - Denial - Barbarbarbargaining - Depression - AngerDenial - Extra ball! - Anger - Denial - Denial - Ddddenial.....Bonus! Start again!

On the way home from work two months ago I discovered a rusty silo by the side of the highway on which someone had spray-painted the words "4give YoSelf." The first time I saw that graffiti I started crying while driving at 70 miles per hour. I called Lex and tearfully stammered that I couldn't do it, that I couldn't move on, that I couldn't forgive Raf (much less myself) for all the emotional crimes committed over the last 10 years. I remember weaving through traffic, the picture of hysteria but utterly devoid of energy inside, sobbing "I can't.....I can't.....I can't..." until finally Lex calmed me down.

Today I read another blog - Diary of a Dessert Lover - and Des struck me with the following:

I realize, there comes a time when you have to give up the fight. I think that time comes when the other person has already given up – or expects you to want the relationship to work more than them. Both are bad, in my books.

But I can't do it. I can't let go. Does that make me pathetic or just stubborn? Is there another stage of grief where I will finally be released from this pinball hell into a bittersweet "Game Over"?

Even the city moves on. About two weeks ago I drove by the silo, pretending not to see it but peeking at it in my peripheral vision. The owner had painted right over that bright blue mantra. This time, I straightened up in my seat, called Lex and told him what had happened. Then I surprised myself by saying "you know what, maybe it's time to forgive myself." But Lex was busy at work and the conversation had to be aborted (bless his heart). The next day I fought back tears as I passed the silo.

I am an idiot.

Cian, one of my best friends, once said to me in his terse Irish way: "he's an arse, and you'd never let anyone else treat ya this way. What, has he got magical powers or somthin'?" I couldn't help but laugh. Cian is one of those guys who is hopelessly blunt and cynical yet so unexpectedly warm when you need it most. I've really come to value his friendship as well as his ability to tell me to "stop yer whinin'" over the last two years. Cian's long-term girlfriend left him right before he went to get his PhD only to shack up with one of his best friends, so he's got some valuable experience in the grief stages department. More importantly, for all of his cynical blather and "he's an arse" comments, he knows what it feels like to carry the dismal knowledge that you will never stop loving someone no matter how hard you try or how much time passes.

I often ask myself (as I did above) if I can't give up on Raf simply because I'm delusional or because I'm just plain stubborn. Maybe it's because I can't believe that someone who loved me so passionately for almost a decade now no longer wants to speak to me. Maybe it's the fact that he has always told me the woman to whom he is married was not his first choice. Maybe it's the fact that he once told me "you are the light in my photography." I don't know - or maybe I don't want to know. Like I said, I'm a pinball. I just find it so hard to deal with the fact that I may never speak to him again...

When I was on the phone with Jake the other day, I tried explaining this feeling to him in two segments. I'll try the same thing here, and maybe someone will understand me. First, I feel like I ran out of time. Second, I feel like our last memories of each other are unfairly skewed.

What I mean by this is the following. When Raf and I were younger, we never talked about the possibility of having a relationship together but it was always palpable in the tension between us. As he and I met other people, the hope for that relationship gradually waned but never disappeared. We lived more than 4,000 miles away from each other and were both students trying to finish up our education - first high school, then university, then graduate school. There was an understanding between us that even if we were to be together in the future, nothing would be possible until both of us were (semi)adults with degrees and financial independence.

Right before my third year of university I got a call from Raf. He wanted time to think about his relationship with his girlfriend, Ingrid, but this would mean not talking to me for a while so that he could sort out his feelings for her. I swallowed hard, cleared my throat, and with all of the willpower I possessed I told him I would always be his friend and that he should take whatever time he needed. When he figured it out, I said, I would be here to support whatever decision he made.

The months went by and I headed off to Europe for a year and a half abroad. While I was in the UK I got an email: "Ingrid and I are engaged!" I smiled. Then I cried. Then I smiled again. Raf sounded ecstatic, and I had been blissfully happy with Marco for about 5 months in the meantime. I went through all of the possible "don't do it!" letters in my mind and then sat down over three days to compose a reply. It was short but sweet: "I'm very happy for you. If this is what makes your life complete then I feel at peace. Congratulations!"

Over the next few months I tried to put it out of my head and focus on how happy I was with Marco, but my heart felt confused sometimes. It wasn't until I met Cian that I was able to get my head screwed on straight and sorted out again. "If you love him, you have to let him live his life." Cian was right. I took comfort in having chosen the high road. I would finish my degree, get into graduate school, and start my Masters degree.

Raf and I could be friends - we always had been, and we would be able to navigate whatever new complexities his marriage would bring one day at a time. I would do my utmost to respect Ingrid, who seemed like she just absolutely adored Raf and took very good care of him, even if his feelings for her weren't always of equal strength. I would be an adult and take responsibility for my actions. After all, if I had wanted Raf I should have told him so more definitively, right? You couldn't blame the man for trying to find love with Ingrid.

Around September 2007 things started to go downhill. I got an email from Raf that said "Ingrid and I have broken up. I told her the truth for once. I feel dead inside." Turns out boy genius had never told his lovely wife about me and she had discovered that he sends me quite a lot of emails. She's furious, calling for a divorce, he's begging her to stay. Then he emails me.

I tell him to give her some space and explain the situation to her when she's calmed down. "Whatever you do, do NOT make it sound like she was the backup plan. She is your wife, and she is the most important woman in your life now. You do not throw away a marriage over one argument." I cringed as I hit "send" but felt content about how I handled the situation. After all, I had already resigned myself to Planet Platonic and I wasn't about to let all my hard work stuffing away my emotions go to waste. Plus, I now had almost 2 years going with Marco, who was looking more and more like super gorgeous, knee-weakening, emotionally stable, serenely kind, want-to-have-your-children permanent material.

Ingrid returns, they make up, and Raf emails me a happy "all is well." The next day I send him a text message: "Glad all is well. Love, SaN" Another day after that I get an email in my Inbox from Raf's address. It's from Ingrid. This is great! Now she knows that I'm not a threat - maybe I can even go visit them sometime! Boy am I wrong. Ingrid's email alternates between pleading with me to understand her "situation" and spewing bile and venom like a pro. Half threat, half entreaty, she basically tells me to go to hell but to be sure to empathize with her on the way down there. I'm baffled. What has Raf told her???

I will never get the chance to find out. October 2007 holds the last day of our friendship. On that day, I read Raf's last email to me again and again through a blur of angry tears: "That text message was completely inappropriate.....can't you see your role in bringing this about?......This has to end now.........I am not doing this in anger......." Then it hits me. Over and over again, like a shower of bullets. The rat-tat-tat of his last line spitfires at me:

I do not want to be friends with you anymore.

In one year I would have been done with my education. An adult. Independent. Across the ocean. The finish line was in sight - at long last I would finally be at a point where I would be able to make the biggest decisions of my life. I would be able to see him for the first time in 7 years. We would reminisce and laugh, I would meet Ingrid and all would be well. Eventually, when I got married, he would be there to support me, too. Maybe even photograph the wedding like I'd always hoped.

I felt betrayed and furious. I forwarded the email to Cian and started trembling with rage. FUCK HIM. FUCK HIM!

I had done everything right - I had supported him when he got engaged and when he needed time to think, coached him to prevent his divorce, told him I was happy for him and compartmentalized all of my feelings for him so that they wouldn't interfere with his happiness. Doing all this for him had been the ultimate sacrifice - the utmost test of whether or not my love for Raf was selfless enough to support him as we both grew into our lives.

Now he was telling me that I was expendable? That our friendship meant nothing to him? I couldn't believe this was happening. My thoughts spiraled out of control and I bolted from my apartment and started running. When I stopped, I didn't know where I was. I felt overwhelmed with confusion and rage. This wasn't supposed to happen. I felt dizzy and sat down on the sidewalk. I put my head between my legs and tried to slow my breathing. "This too shall pass, this too shall pass, this too shall pass....." I tried to repeat in my head, but to no avail. I retched. Nothing. I yelped in anguish. No tears. Raf had emptied me of all my emotions and salted the earth left behind with just one email.

My biggest regret of the way things ended will forever be that Raf gets to remember me as the woman who adored him, admired him, and always missed him. My last memory of him, however, will be the grenade he launched on the piece of my soul that harbored him. He will always be able to tell himself that this was "what needed to be done", whereas I will live out my days wondering what error I committed to merit such a unilateral and vicious demotion.

I've tried to hate him, but I cannot.
I've tried to forget him, but I cannot.
I've tried to give up the fight, but I cannot.
I've tried to forgive him, but I cannot.
I've tried to forgive myself, but I cannot.

Part of me is thus indefinitely in repair while the rest of me navigates my perfect life with my perfect job, my perfect degrees, my perfect family, and my perfect boyfriend with ease.

I am somehow defective.

I am drowning.

Help...