Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Broken Peices

Image Detail

"I have nothing but my memories. Pieces of broken glass scattered across the floor. I frantically try and piece them together as they cut me."

I wrote the preceding as the first lines to a short story. But as I kept looking at them I realized they were just as good as a metaphor to my own life. I have spent the past few months, years maybe, trying to piece fragments together. Fragments of relationships, jobs, money, my sanity, there could be no end to the list. In the past month I have experienced the loss of just one part of a relationship. The best part. The part that was sustaining me. The friendship remains, but the rest is gone. The realization that I have to go on without ever feeling his arms around me again almost killed me. Almost. My rational self realizes what was done was for the best of everyone involved. But my irrational self screams in her pillow and throws things at the wall. Because it was him I truly loved. Broken and as messed up as he is, he was one I understood. Now I feel as if I have nothing. And I can't even admit I am mad at him for it. 

Yes it seems I have spent a lifetime of trying to glue things together. Lately I just want to push the pieces under the rug. Maybe that's what needs to be done. Instead of trying to put things back together, maybe it's time to start fresh. 

A few months back I received an email from my best friend. We had been together threw marriages and child birth, the death of her father, followed by the death of mine. She had seen me at my worse, and we had held each other up. Or so I thought. It seems that she had been harboring a resentment of me for a few years and had decided it was time to write me off. I had sensed that the friendship was not the same. But I had always kept reaching out and holding on. Her confession took me by surprise.I had reached out to her during my affair. Grasping for a life line and a way out. Her opinion of me had been forever changed, I was not a "good person" anymore. 

I sobbed for days. I was blindsided. I had been to confession in the church, had been to counselling with my husband. And she opened the wound again. I was not a good person. The glue evaporated from my fragile glass and it crumpled to the floor.

Yesterday I learned her husband is in ICU. Gravely ill, and the doctors have no idea what is going on. I want to reach out to her so badly. Hold her in my arms and help her. My husband called her and she was very curt with him. He has been her husband's friend longer than we have known each other, and she is shutting him out. The pieces thrown in the trash.

So I guess that's what I am trying to figure out tonight.When it's best to try and keep applying the glue, or to give up on the fixing. After twenty plus years of fixing I am losing the will to try. But giving up on it would seem like giving up on my true nature. I like to please people. I like to feel needed and wanted. (But usually that leads to being used and betrayed.)Maybe I should concentrate on gluing myself back together.         


No comments:

Post a Comment