Day 33: The Man and the Oneirocritic

Oneirocritic, from the Greek oneiros (dream) and kritikos (skilled in judgement). Oneirocritic, one who studies and interprets dreams.

A sure sign of when I’m on the road is a) when the posts are consistent and b) they come around 3am. A full day on the road, an escape to the fitness center, and a dinner alone take a lot of time before I can write. Hey PostADay, this still counts, right?

As mentioned in the last day’s post, I had a particularly painful nightmare whose meaning was not lost on me. I’ve had the day to think of it, mull it over, absorb it, fear it. I’ve had the day to realize I’ve had it easy this past month, and that I haven’t moved as far or as fast as I hoped I have.

Beautiful came home yesterday. She was on vacation the past month in Hong Kong and Australia. If any of you dear readers are keeping track, yes that means that she cut ties to me literally a week before her long vacation. Convenient for her, extra painful for me. I felt like she viewed me as nothing more than a tether. Holding her to the past, our past, or maybe holding her back from what she believed she wanted. I was cast aside to sink, crushed by every memory, every reminder that surrounded our two neighborhoods while she flew to far and distant lands to run away from all of the problems.

But her being gone helped me forget about her and the pain. It let me avoid answering the questions that remained. Her return has brought back too much too soon. I booked her trip when I was still an agent. Subconsciously I knew the dates of her trip. I remember when we were together I would worry and study her itinerary and want to make sure she was safe and taken care of. All I wanted was for her safe and secure return. Now her homecoming just predicts pain and sorrow for me.

I must have known her return and my subconscious triggered something to cause that dream. Those words that my high school girlfriend spoke to me, that cut through me like a jagged knife, delivered with that cold dehumanizing smile, those were the words I wish I could say to Beautiful. I still haven’t found a way to make myself angry at her. I still can’t find righteous fury or indignation. I can only feel pain, and longing, and sorrow.

There has never been a shortage of space in my life for anger. I have always been an angry person, quick to judge and immovable in my decisions. I hold grudges with every breath. I used to be much angrier though. Quicker to act on blind rage. I could be mean. She softened me though. In college she taught me to round out my edges. She blew out some of those flames. Now, for everything she has done to me, for all the pain she has caused, I can’t find any fire. I wish I could say those things to her. Tell her how bad she is for me. That I need her like poison. But I am too afraid that, given the chance, I would take her back in a heartbeat. She’s robbed me of my anger and my opportunity of expression. Anyone like you and I, who live by our words, knows and hates the feeling of being dumbstruck. Mute. And yet when I think of her, I find only silence. The words do not flow. The feelings are blocked. I want to find the words to tell her how I feel. One day, I want to be able to address her with the confidence and intent that I deserve to be able to address her with. Now I feel so…small and weak. I know I have no control with her, and I am afraid our conversation would somehow end up with me surrendering what pride I have left and begging her to return.

Her being back is slow torture. I didn’t have to think about feeling like navigating a minefield to avoid her while she was gone. I didn’t have to worry about how to feel comfortable and at ease in all our old familiar places. I didn’t have to worry about what she’d do when she returns. If she would call her ex. If they’d get back together.

That was and is my greatest fear, and the material for the second half of my dream. A sudden, unexpected breakup is hard enough. Digesting half-truths tastes like bile. She made it seem as though it was just about our hobbies. How we couldn’t share in hers though I tried and would have been supportive to see her pursue it on her own or with her friends. I thought it was such an unworthy reason to end a relationship I had been hoping and dreaming for since we broke up in college. I was pouring my heart and soul into this relationship, working to fix all the wrongs I caused last time and redeeming myself in her eyes and in her heart. I pursued her interests with an honest and open heart but I couldn’t see myself investing as much as she did and I thought if I were open and honest about that we could move forward and find a way. When she said it was bigger than I or even she thought it was, how important this hobby would become, how much of it was her life now, I couldn’t see our relationship ending but I could see him again, how many pictures and memories of the past four years apart she had made with him. I couldn’t see that she was running away but I could see where she was trying to pull me. To have to discover, after everything, after all the talk, after me reaching out to her after she made the decision to destroy my heart so I could see how she was doing and if she was taking care of herself, to have to discover that she was lying and not speaking the truth unless I went to her blog and read what she could so easily share with the whole world but not with me, she successfully broke the last fragment of me that was trying to remain whole.

Words she could never say to me. Words she had never shared to me. Beautiful emotions and expressions that were never going to be addressed to me. I read how she missed him. How he defined her growth and grew so much in her heart. How her birthdays were not enough without him. I read beautiful things that I never even knew she was capable of.

She never saw me in that light. Maybe she did once, in college. But she never really gave us another chance. I was not me. I was another attempt at a better him. I would never see those words directed to me. Not for my love.

Now here I am caught unprepared for her return. With no words, yet hungrily seeking any from her. I have realized today that I am not ready to be part of a world where she is around again.

I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to hear what my mind will make her say.

Day 33

Man: 24 Loneliness: 9

 

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