in my dreams...

i've been missing J. missing his company, his touch, our intimacy, our laughter, our hang outs. i've put all the bad memories aside and i'm trying to forgive and let it go.

i know that the following are coping mechanisms but i am deeply spiritual, so whatever they are they are part of intelligent design and i am so grateful for it.

so, now that i've accepted the fact that we cannot be together, however, still suffer from the loss, i've been given J's company in my dreams. i suddenly dream of him every night. they are peaceful dreams. we are just kinda together. last night, i dreamed that we were sitting on the steps leading up to an elevated subway platform. we just sat close to each other, friendly, catching up. i was telling him about my dance classes. he had a big gash on his face as if he'd been in another fight (or maybe he was sick). i didn't comment on it. after a while he wanted to give me a kiss... just a peck... and i decided to hug him first and/or instead ... either way, we didn't get very far, for the moment we touched a man came up the stairs to stop us. it was a tall black guy with dreadlocks. J had come with a chaperone ;) ... and i was really happy he did, for we really needed that.

maybe it was my chaperone..but i didn't know the guy, so i assumed he was with j.

anyway, i thought it was kinda funny that i put a chaperone into my dream.

i don't know why i love this man... but loving him, i do. still. unconditionally. always. ... and, regardless of how i feel, we can never be, for he is completely and utterly dysfunctional. the only way he'll save his own life is if he stops _all_ intake of intoxication and accepts weekly therapy (and unfortunately, it seems, regular medication) as the way to keep it straight in life.

cold turkey ...

It's been exactly 14 days since my last contact with J.
[actually now that I finally post this entry it has been almost 3 weeks now.]

The fact that I am counting days is a testament to the tragic reality that I, myself, appear to be an addict. When I renamed my blog not too long ago, I thought I was just being witty, albeit certainly trite, by creating this little word play .. "addicted to my addict". Now, that I have finally mustered up the strength to _let_ the man walk away, I am confronted with a terrible omnipresent withdrawal effect. It isn't just a mild depression underlying my every activity (no matter how much fun is involved), it is also physical. I don't have much appetite, I've lost a lot of weight, my chest hurts (I suppose, this is what they call heart-ache), and when I think too much about the fact that I have really lost the love of my life, I begin breaking out in hives. 

And so, I count the days and I acknowledge every hour I spend _not_ thinking of him. There aren't many of those, yet, but I trust that this feeling of loss & grief (or maybe it _is_ addiction) cannot last forever.

I try to distract myself as if the devil were chasing me. It's ridiculous. I'm in dance classes all weekend, I go to the movies, do volunteer work, hit the gym, bury myself with paperwork in the office and, and, and. Also, I've signed up w/ two online dating services, not necessarily because I want to date anyone (_soo_ not ready) but because it helps to redirect all my romantic thoughts. Instead of reminiscing sadly about the past and wondering about a future that could never be, I read about all these seemingly good/down-to-earth guys who are interested in me. I hardly talk to anyone. And if I do, it doesn't go past an email or two. What a waste of money.

Those guys are probably all just trying to get over someone, as well. Or, as my friend G says, they're all married. - What? No!

There's this funny quote I read on thinkexist.com today: "According to a recent survey, men say the first thing they notice about women are their eyes, and women say the first thing they notice about men is that they're a bunch of liars." I think, I'm finally getting/accepting this. 

What hurts the most, though, is the way J spoke to me in this last interaction two weeks ago. He sent me a slew of horribly insulting messages. It was heartbreaking and enraging at the same time to read the garbage he was sending.

I tried to remind myself that he had just not reached the level of emotional maturity needed in times of distress ... in times of break up. My ex-husband turned into that same disgusting foul-mouth when we split up and he very well knew (and admitted) that it was _he_ who messed up our marriage. I had been the best wife I could be to that man…for 12 years we were together. Anyway…that’s another story.

I don't understand, how this sudden discard works. I don't think I could ever blurt out whatever insult springs to mind just because I'm upset. Certain things you _just_ don't say, no matter what. After all, this is a person you supposedly love (or loved)...someone you (should) respect, and (should) overall wish good things for.

It was hard to keep my mouth shut. God knows I wanted to yell right back at him. Ask him how he could possibly be saying such awful things after all that I had done for him, after all the love I had given to him, after everything I've stood by him for.

I wanted to bark angry insults back, as well, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings! ... Something is seriously wrong with me. Man insults me in most horrific ways and I don't respond because I __don't want to hurt his feelings__. It would be comical if it weren't so sad.