Hypocrisy and Instincts

I don't even know where to start with this one... Cause this one is ugly and possibly beautiful. And the hypocrite is me. All me.

A long time ago... many many moons ago I got myself out of a bad situation. It was hard, and trying, and all together, absolute torture. I was married and needed to leave for safety reasons, sustainability and sanity. It was the right thing to do, on absolutely every single level. Hard but right. I left with little to my name, took up my roots and pretty much hid for about 8 months. It didn't feel right to file for divorce, so I guess I just put it off. In my heart I was done; the rest was just legality.

The only thing I could do was put one foot in front of the other, not look back, not look to the side, only one step in front. Head down, walls high, lips sealed. Keep my heart closed and not expect anything from any part of this world.

Until I met him.

He was everything I wasn't. And he honored my quiet world. He didn't ask many questions about the past. He seemed to instinctively know. Until a few months later we were driving back from dinner and he looked me straight in the eye and asked if I was sure my marriage was over. He didn't want to be the wedge, and didn't want to tread where he shouldn't be. I held that look and told him I was sure. If I hold ANY look, that's got to be an indicator of where my heart is at. I had all but hidden from this world. This was not a relationship I was seeking. It had found me.

(This is the hypocritical part. Because I totally get the heebie jeebies from guys who are married, albeit separated, or whatever, who seem to be checking the field.)

I'll be damned if within a WEEK of that conversation, the tables were turned again. I had just started to trust. Just barely. And the man I was married to walked back in. Almost a year earlier I had left and given an ultimatum. BIG things needed to happen. Life changing. Not just change but sustained. 3 major things. He had done ALL of them. Happiness and fear simultaneously took hold. What the hell was I supposed to do?

My personal life is built on respect, keeping promises and following through. So I kept my promise. He had done everything asked of him. And so I went back. It didn't seem fair to the other guy. But I hadn't told him I'd never go back. (I guess this is how I justify it.) I had told him truthfully that I was done. I absolutely was. I didn't ever think that these other things would come to fruition. But I had put years into this marriage. A marriage is a marriage and should be stronger and more sacred than any other relationship.

When I told him I was going back... I wanted him to be mad. I wanted him to be angry and say mean things, so I could close that part of my heart and it'd be easier to leave and never look back. He didn't. No guilt trips. No bitter words. No questions.

I would see him in passing for the next year or so. Only a handful of times. Once at the gas station. He didn't make it awkward... waved, smiled, asked how I was. Once on a small road where we were the only two vehicles. Me going one way and he going the other. Eye contact. And pass. I pulled into the driveway a few houses down the road of a friend. He turned around, which made my heart skip a beat, and pulled over. "Are you OK?" And I was. The friend I was there to see, then (because when is my life not super weird) came out, assumed we were old friends, and invited us both in. (Gotta love a pastor's wife.) He declined, respectfully, and that was the last time I saw him.

I knew I had made the right decision, but I always felt guilty. It may not have fit the standard definition of an affair, but was this an emotional affair? I couldn't live with that either. I blocked him from memory and dove head first back into my marriage. I rid my life of anything that would remind me of him.

I heard that shortly after that he had left town. Actually more than that, he had left the state all together. That was probably good. He was moving on to bigger and better things. I was happy for him, and glad that there wouldn't be a chance of running into him in town any more.

It's been 5 years since then. A lot has changed. More than I could have ever imagined. Life got a lot harder, when I thought for sure that things were starting to get easier. But apparently life doesn't get easier just because you make the right choice.

My last year in particular has been hard. I am widowed and heart broken. I am barely holding it together. Sanity is nonexistent; it's just an image I manage to portray. My instincts tell me the only thing I can do is put one foot in front of the other, not look back, not look to the side, only one step in front. Head down, walls high, lips sealed. Keep my heart closed and not expect anything from any part of this world.... seems familiar eh?

He's back. After 5 years he is back. I don't know what it means, probably nothing. But he's back :)

My heart says this:
It's a Philippians 4:6-7 kind of day.
I can't control what other people do. It's not my job to try and protect everyone- I'm also not the best person for the job. If I worry about/for other people, all that changes is that I feel awful. I can pray, & I can be here for them if they need me. That is all I can do; it's the best thing to do.


But the words come out like this:
Apparently everyone in the world is mad at me right now... if it were just a few of you maybe I would try to remedy the situation, but with such overwhelming numbers I'm forced to instead just not give a fuck. xoxoxox

Oy
=/

The neighbors

I lie in bed, startled awake by the neighbors upstairs. Damn near stomping on the ground and rattling all my walls. Could they be any more heavy footed? Why does the sound make my skin crawl? Why can't I catch my breath?

Stop.

Open my eyes.

I am in my bed, yes. But I am in my house. There are no upstairs neighbors. What the hell is that sound? My skin is still crawling. I'm gasping for breath. I can't get enough air in. Oh my God; it's me. IT'S ME. It's my heart that's racing, that's pounding out of my chest, constricting my breath and my rational reasoning skills... and holding me hostage.

The panic attacks are back with a vengeance.

In theory, I get the general idea of reducing stress, and having coping mechanisms to help me get through the day. I do. I do. I promise I do. I promise I do my part. I don't sit passively by *hoping* I can maneuver around them. I take an active role against these little bastard demons of mine. Yet they can STILL come out of no where, and have the power and audacity to wake me from a dead sleep.

Leave me alone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Please?