Here's an account of the damages: my heart is still floating somewhere up in my throat, making talking difficult if I'm not well-distracted; my appetite is non-existent: yesterday I subsisted on a croissant, handfuls of dry Cheerios, a pear, and, at 9pm, a few bites of some fettuccine Alfredo I ordered, while today I've had a bowl of Cheerios (with someone else's milk I'd pilfered), a bar of chocolate Pex brought me, and a few more bites of the same pasta (the same leftovers might stretch over for days, which is at least easy on my budget); and my body is downright exhausted, as if I've been exercising or awake for two days straight.
And the tears. It's been great waves of sobbing, until I'm wrung out, followed by a chemical stupor of calm in which I read or make calls I have to make while stable or fact-check an article. Then I last usually a couple hours before another thunderous wave comes crashing from out of nowhere--when I think about my toothbrush in his bathroom cabinet, or the movies waiting in our Netflix queue.
I feel a massive clusterfuck of emotions; eroded self-esteem topped with depression glossed over with a heavy veneer of shame and humiliation. The thing I keep saying to my friends, over and over, is It's Ridiculous, like I don't get to be this upset and I'm violating a deal I had with myself wherein I got to have a fun little fling type of relationship with an attractive Frenchman on the condition that I would not get too emotionally involved. Or, I was cavalier about the effects of that involvement, because goddammit I was going to have a relationship and going to experience all these things you're supposed to experience--heartbreak, large or small, didn't seem like a legitimate concern. Didn't even cross my mind. Because I hadn't sobbed before.
I am not inconsolable; I am casting about for healing mechanisms. I bought "Eat, Pray, Love" on a magnificent impulse with a sort of extraordinary need. I need things that metaphorically rub my back and bring me tea, things that tell me not to be ashamed, things that start making little repairs. (The phone conversation with my mother, the manhater, didn't particularly help: "Well really, I think all men are bastards.")
Meanwhile I am taking a reprieve from replying to his follow-up apologetic email which was basically the French version of "It's not you, it's me." I know he means well; he's not a malicious guy. But what I want him to see of me is not a human puddle of emotions. We didn't even exchange talk of love, and we kept a steady and consistent emotional distance, in speech. But I was burying a lot in him, silently. I was building up capital. I was preparing to love him.
But you know. He never called me beautiful. I want to be with someone who not only thinks I'm beautiful, but tells me so... at least once.
3 comments:
I know the feeling, as of very recently. I found out my boyfriend had cheated on me and subsequently spent the day in bed. I think in 24 hours I had a half glass of water and five crackers. Not to mention the headache from the muscle pull you get in your forehead and temples when you cry all day. As much as you never want to feel this way, how badly you react to something like this really lets you know just how you felt about that person that may have not been so obvious during an average day with the one you love, or may love. I see in your later posts that it's getting better. I hope the best for you.
Wow. :(
F. didn't cheat physically, just had some sort of emotional connection for an afternoon. Although I suppose it's fairly vague territory, faithfulness. I am running on the belief that it was some sort of Pavlovian involuntary reaction, the way falling is, but it still is something I'm not comfortable with, and makes my insides a bit cold.
Had he cheated, I'm sure I'd have wallowed in a much weightier emotional clusterfuckery; unfaithfulness has left a pretty intense mark in my own family. From what I've seen, the cheater can change, but I don't know if the other partner can ever really let go of it emotionally.
I hope you do what feels right for you.
Thank you. I've heard cheaters can change too. I suppose that's what I'm hoping for. And I agree...even if he never cheats again, I can and will never be able to forget that he did once.
(Btw, I enjoyed reading the word "clusterfuckery.")
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