I woke up in my head. That’s not very unusual. I have vivid dreams and have been having some tough, very realistic conversations with people - all in my dreams. I wake up exhausted. For some reason, today, I woke up with an image…the last image I have of my ex as my loving boyfriend...the last time we saw each other in person...about 13 months ago. Ironic, because I got so upset when we weren’t going to be able to see other for 3 months that we ended up fighting. He broke up with me a couple months later.
Of course I didn’t know it was the last time. It hardly felt that way. I remember the scramble to get out of his car at the airport. He put it in park, got out, and helped me with my bags. I pulled my mask down for a quick kiss. He pulled me back for another. And then I promised him a better kiss next time. Why did I do that? Why wait? Because I was anxious. I felt the pressure of people waiting for us to leave. There were too many people around. Too much hustle and bustle. My hands were full. Mask regulations. I had to pee. And so on and so on...Because I thought there would be a next time.
We had two really good visits within just a few weeks of each other. I was feeling good about our relationship. My doubts were fading. We were making plans. We weren’t just picking fights because of distance or lack of communication or unmet needs. His actions were finally aligning with his words. I actually started to believe maybe I could trust he really did want it to be me. And maybe that was true - maybe he did want it to be me. It just wasn’t me. It wasn’t going to be me. I often felt he loved me…just wasn’t in love with me. I guess now I know.
I remember we watched Schitt’s Creek “together.” And by “together” I mean we called each other up (sometimes FaceTimed), queued up an episode, said “ok play or 1, 2, 3, now” - and we watched it - at the same time. We laughed together…and sometimes we laughed at different parts. We both got hooked.
During that same time period, he flew out and met me for a wedding. I booked an Airbnb. Let’s say it was quaint…a studio. But it was very cute and cozy. We tried to fit in as many episodes together as we could snuggled up in that bed. I loved those moments in that little Airbnb with the stinky water.
We continued to watch long distance and we were able to watch more episodes in person when he came to visit me again. If you haven’t seen the show and plan to watch, stop reading now. Spoilers ahead. For those of you who have watched, do you know what episode I am about to reference? One of the most bittersweet moments that I can recall watching on any show.
Season 6. Episode 8. “The Presidential Suite” Gah! That episode! That episode brought the most heartfelt tears I had cried in a while. It made me feel. It was beautifully executed. Beautifully written. Beautifully delivered. To me, it was bittersweet perfection. And it was hard to know exactly what I was feeling. It wasn’t quite sad or devastated. Not quite crushed. Not quite happy.
But it was just right - a mix of longing for the characters who I watched grow and fall in love, a mix of knowing they were making the best decision for each other, a mix of knowing the love was still there - maybe stronger than ever - a mix of knowing the sacrifice being made for their dreams, a mix of knowing the strength behind that decision - the love behind that decision…knowing their love was real and strong, even if the decision meant them not ending up together - and a big part heart wrenching.
I read an article that quoted Daniel Levy describing the approach to the scene:
It's really hard to tell the story of a love story that in the end is still a love story.
When I say that scene hit me hard - I mean...It. Hit. Me. Hard. It tapped into an emotional reservoir I didn’t know I had. And this was one of the episodes I actually watched in person with my boyfriend (at the time). It affected him too. The scene itself was meant to elicit that kind of bittersweet feeling. For me, though, it went deeper. There was a part of me watching my life in parallel on the screen. It stuck with me.
I thought, one day, that might have to be us. And I deeply hoped if he and I broke up, it would be with that kind of love and respect still existing. Mature and amicable. Not with a maddening hope of getting back together but of knowing we were both better and stronger having known each other - having been in a relationship together. That our relationship mattered. Understanding maybe it was only meant for a season. Knowing we could look back fondly at the time together. Being full of love and respect. Feeling joy and warmth. Also the pain of heartbreak. And then continuing on, separately, with whatever path we find ourselves. Smiling from afar at one another’s successes. Wanting the very best. But never looking back in anger or resentment or bitterness or doubt or foolishness or deep hurt…agonizing hurt and disappointment.
I longed for that as I watched. I longed for it early in the breakup. I longed for it later. I tried to get us there. And I long for it now. Instead, I find myself in the latter option. I find myself empty. I find myself navigating the most unnecessary and painful of emotions. To know a peaceful and loving resolution was within grasp…but so mindlessly tossed away. It hurts.
And it continues to make me angry that this is my life currently...that I have to do so much work while also navigating life without my dad. That I never know day to day which part of my heart will show up - so incredibly broken, grieving, loving, joyful, thoughtful. But I will continue putting in the work. I guess there technically is a choice, but it doesn’t really feel like I have one.
It hurts to be hit with a memory of my ex that brings a brief smile and fuzzy feeling only to be hit with a second emotion that burns like alcohol in a cut - that leaves me feeling sucker punched again, but deep in the gut…not to be seen by anyone else. My stomach drops. And this happens every day…because I have a good memory (with some things) and there were a lot of good memories - some of my favorite memories.
I don’t know what to do with that - a simultaneously sweet and bitterly tainted memory. I guess the bitterness will go away...eventually. I don’t want to just shut off the memories...nor could I. That would be years of my life and fun, new places that I would have to forget and experiences I would have never had. But I don’t know how to quit following the good memories with some chaser that ruins it. It's a perfectly mixed recipe topped off with one wrong ingredient - added at the last minute.
Do you throw the whole thing away? Do you start over? Do you try to separate out that one mistaken ingredient? Do you try to salvage parts of it? Do you just go with it, wrong ingredient and all - and just deal with whatever comes out?
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