Thoughts whir about in my mind, spinning, spinning, spinning. Sometimes fragments get caught for a moment, and I can get a glimpse of what they might be. Mostly, they spin. I’ve been collecting these fragmented pieces, bit by bit, and generally find myself thinking two things.
One. He could have kept this boat afloat with only the tiniest of investments. I could have kept the life pattern we had on steady hold for quite some time. Years, or even decades. It wouldn’t have taken much, on his part.
Two. Why did he not love me?
Ultimately, I’m glad, even relieved, that he didn’t try to invest that tiny bit of himself in us, because the outcome would have been only a half-lived life. I don’t want a half-lived life. I want to live fully. To joy, and rejoice. To howl with laughter so rich that it hurts. To love and be loved. So we’re all better off this way. Truly.
But I think that I am also angry. Angry that he didn’t love me. He was free enough with those words, but not the substance that supports them. Without that substance, how could those words carry any weight? So yes, I’m angry, because what’s not to love?
The pragmatic part of me reasons that people are people and we’re all unique. Different. Sometimes we don’t mix well. It’s just the way it is.
He’s angry too. He wants nothing to do with me. He’s angry that I rejected him, but he doesn’t seem to get that I (r)ejected him because he rejected me.
~*~*~*~
BB wanted to see him this weekend. He kept asking about his dad. We called and left messages. We thought he might perhaps come by, but he didn’t call and he didn’t come by. Sunday evening he did call, and BB was at the dining table playing with his Transformers. “I don’t want to talk to him,” he said, and kept concentrating on his Transformers.
My heart wrenched, tied up and twisted inside of me. It nearly took my breath away, and I tried not to let my expression change or show what I felt. It’s hard to describe the thoughts and concerns those seven words produced. I looked at my child, and wondered if he was just being five, or if there was a deeper hurt in there. And I’ve been watching him ever since. Gazing at him intently, but not so that he notices me. Watching the way he plays, the way he acts. He seems fine. And yet. Today when I picked him up from daycare, he looked melancholy and said he didn’t feel well. My aching heart. I was cheerful and teased him and he snapped out of it within minutes, but it’s all new, this forlorn look. Of course he knows to try to play me for whatever he can, be it getting out of picking up after himself, helping him finish his dinner, trying to stay up later or watch more TV. But this time it was different. Or else he’s learned a new trick.
I need to remain vigilant and be prepared to make countermeasures to any emotional distress he may be feeling. I want to chase those demons away. Be gone! Leave my boy alone!
~*~*~*~
Today I saw a counselor, for the first time in my life. Overall, I feel a bit frustrated by the experience. We talked about several things, but the suggestions she gave me were nothing new. More like strategies to address the symptoms, but nothing to seek to expose and address the root cause. I know exactly what sorts of things I should be doing to make myself feel better and more whole. Eat sensibly. Exercise regularly. Get enough sleep. And so on and so forth. I know these things. Doing, that is the problem. I want or need help bridging the chasm between knowing and doing. Sure, I could eat sensibly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise. Sure, I could exercise regularly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise. Yes, there’s a pattern. Sure, I could get more sleep, as long as I didn’t have a toddler who kicks his blankets off and gets cold and wakes up unhappy, with just enough consciousness to see me tucking him back in, after which he wails if I leave the room, so I’m left with the choice of letting him cry himself to sleep, holding him until he nods off again, or taking him to bed with me, and hoping he settles back to sleep. I’m too blessed exhausted to do anything but the latter. And how can I let him cry? What could he be thinking, other than that he wants his mama to snuggle him until he doesn’t feel alone anymore, and why is she walking away and leaving him all by himself? Some say they are just manipulating you, because they can get what they want when they cry, and to an extent I agree, but I can understand wanting someone to hold me until I don’t feel alone any more, so why is that not a valid interpretation of those tears he cries?
Tell me what you need so I can tell you what you need. This counseling relationship is off to a rocky start. Yes, I need to balance my life and take better care of myself. Yes, I even know how to do those things. But what I don’t know is why I don’t. Other than, because I don’t feel like it.
