I spent the day putting Ikea furniture together in my new place. That is right next door to my old place. Where I have lived with my husband and daughter and dog for the past four years.
I painted her room Cadillac Pink, because, of course, pink, and mine Manchester Tan because it seemed soothing. I picked out a new sea foam blue quilt for my brand new bed with a brand new mattress from Casper. It was cool how the mattress arrived all rolled up and deflated square on its own. The Warby Parker of mattresses. I am impressed. The tan and the sea foam blue are very soothing together. I desperately want to be soothed.
Self-soothing has never been my forte.
I can’t believe I am going to be living alone, again.
An’ here I go again on my own
Goin’ down the only road I’ve ever known,
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone
I am forty-two years old, though, this time with a four-year-old daughter. It feels slightly different.
Although I have always loved moving. Not packing and unpacking, necessarily, but the newness of a new place. Like starting over. That first night always feels right.
I am hanging on to that idea. Excited to be in a new place with my little one.
Another good thing I realized, I don’t have to deal with his ex-girlfriend bullshit anymore.
No more feeling crazy because I can’t quite put my finger on why their “friendship” bothers me so. Why she feels so weird to me. I don’t trust her. Never have. And I don’t think, for one second, that she wants to sleep with My Husband, her ex-boyfriend. But she does want to make sure that she continues to be, the most important woman in his life. At least, emotionally. And she certainly succeeded at that.
So, yes, I will not miss enduring that.
I made a bad joke about My Husband not wanting me sexually, and he laughed with me. He thinks it’s funny.
I felt my heart hurt. Like someone was twisting a knife buried deep inside of it.
I curled in and under. I cried. Silently. I wailed. Silently.
My daughter was playing in the other room.
I had to pick myself up and pull myself together.
For some reason, I hoped that he might, just might, have a speck of something more than patronizing condescension left towards me. But it’s cold in there. So cold.
How could I be so wrong? I thought he was the forever one. I honestly did.
He is Avoidant. I am Anxious.
We didn’t stand a chance.
I have been reading Attached! About Adult Attachment styles, and I will say this, reading about Avoidants and how they withhold sex from their partners and idolize their exes, sure makes me feel that this whole mess could be more about him than me. I take some comfort in that. I think I am allowed to.
My anxiety was activated last night when he didn’t answer his phone for a few hours. I think he was on a date. Brutal. I hate that feeling.
I was passive aggressive on the phone in the morning until he called me out on it. I finally blurted out my suspicions. First he told me I reminded him of his mother; whom he hates. Then he proceeded to make me feel small and stupid by telling me that we needed to be honest with each other if this was going to work. Last night, he wanted a break from his phone and emails, so he turned them off.
He has not turned off his phone or shut down his computer since I met him almost five years ago.
I wondered if he felt weird at all about me inviting Highland Park over to have sex in the middle of the day.
He said No. Not at all. He wants me to feel good, have fun, and see Highland Park as much as I want to.
I am going to be honest now; I wish it did bother him. I wish he had said that it was hard for him, but he would be okay, he would get over it. That any of this was hard for him. That he had feelings for me at all.
I wiped my eyes and carried on, soldier.
Highland Park is coming over tomorrow night anyhow.
And man, does he make me feel good. Like really really good.
Although, it’s bittersweet.
I hear my friend telling me, “It will never evolve into anything other than it is.” and a part of me dies a little.
Is it worth it? For the immense physical pleasure that I derive from being with Highland Park for the emotional gutter I am diving head first into?
Fuck yes. I say.