Over the Labor day holiday weekend (which I realize was about forever ago), I decided that a broken foot was no excuse to stay home feeling sorry for myself. Instead I headed down to Flaming Gorge with my family to feel sorry for myself there.
This was during my depressed, pity party stage.
Seeing as how I couldn’t boat or float down the river, I had a lot of time to myself to just think. It was a very reflective weekend.
The reflecting started on the drive down. I’ve gone down to “The Gorge” most of my life, but never so much as when I was with my ex-husband, Derek.
Yes, I am going to go there.
Over the course of our seven years together, my ex-husband and I made the trip to and from The Gorge I about a million times. While driving down there this time I couldn’t help but be fascinated by how well I knew every turn, every rolling hill, even every diesel truck on the road. I remembered making this drive in the winter through a blizzard, through torrential rain and of course through scorching heat. I remembered driving there in my little brown stick-shift truck that I loved so much, in my green banged up Sentra, the back of a truck bed, with family, with friends, my boyfriend who eventually turned into my husband.
Back before iPods, we would rotate through our favorite CD’s and sing along because we knew them all by heart. We would talk about everything. Dreams. Fears. Sexual positions. Everything.
Most of the memories made me smile. A few made me sad.
I got divorced five years ago. I normally do not think back to that time in my life. It doesn’t even seem like my life. I feels as if it was a movie I watched about someone else. Was that naive girl really me?
Yes, yes it was.
I had a man who adored me, did his best to do everything he could to make me happy, and I ended it.
Don’t get me wrong, I have never regretted my decision, but it was hard not to think back to our young love and how intoxicated we were with each other. Two hopeless romantics without a care in the world, except for each other. It was only when the cares of the world intruded upon our playground that things fell apart. But, I dare say that he loved me more than any man ever has, or at least more than any man has ever been able to show.
When I first arrived at the cabin, the field next to it had been freshly cut and the bales of hay were still sitting there uncollected. Of course that scene took my thoughts back to my recent break-up with ED. Memories of road trips with him to help out on his families farm came flooding back. Not that memories of him are so distant – they are always around every corner.
All of this is to say that I had a long weekend of comparisons, reflections, and creation of new standards. The most important of which is that I want a love that will fight for me.
My break-up with ED was a mutual decision. A very hard mutual decision, but mutual none the less. Even though I’ve told myself our break-up was for the best, just like every other break-up, a part of me couldn’t help but wish that he had fought for us. Tried… I don’t know, to be there? He knew what was lacking in our relationship, we both did, but our love was not enough to fight for.
This train of thought has stuck with me for over a month now to the point where it has turned sadness into anger and yes, resentment.
Two nights ago ED told me he wanted to fight for us. It was as if he had read my diary. Only he read it entirely too late. Instead of having the movie scene where we ran to each other, embraced and said, “let’s never be apart!”, I turned furious at him. As in, how dare he come into my life three months later and tell me what he should have told me to begin with? How dare he figure this out too late? If he knew what I needed all along, why didn’t he do it back then? What in the world gave him the right to waltz in and set my emotional healing back when I have come so far? Where was he when I needed him? How dare he love me now?
I realize that all might sound harsh, believe me, the words felt harsh as they came out of my mouth.
I don’t regret them.
As hard as it was to say them, I know my worth and I will never again live my life for someone else, putting my needs/wants/desires second. My life is on my terms and I deserve someone who will adore me and fight for me.
I know he is out there somewhere… but even if he is not, as my father says, there are worse things than being alone.
Anklegate, Emotions get the best of me, TMI Friday