Home is me, home is me, home is me. Remember this.
Reading the last post as a witness to my own innocence and purity of love hits a nerve that plunges me into deep sadness, if only for a moment. Seeing the Gowri with nothing but love to give, to seal all the cracks, to hold the foundation, to hold a person and kiss away their psychological pain and show them the way of the light is hard. A Gowri from only three weeks ago. So innocent. So fucking innocent.
Irrational; since I of all people know that trauma cannot be be kissed away by the love of another being; rather it requires courage, clarity of mind and a commitment to inner work with a strength that some people display and others don’t. “It is not our abilities that determine who we are, it is our choices”. I am frequently reminded of Dumbledore’s wisdom in trying times.
There is no real easy way to say this so I had better just say it exactly as it is. R- walked out of my life almost as quickly as he walked into it with just under four years betwixt those two snapshots of time. Two nights after I wrote my last post, he revealed to me that the life we’ve built together is not the life his heart can cope with. His reality: he craves to fly solo, his needs are unmet (not that I can meet them, that’s his journey after all) and his wounds fester; unhealed in forced dormancy, cloaked in denial, entitlement, selfishness and streaked with narcissism. I know he has turned the other cheek. It appears he had been lying to himself for almost a year and taken me for a ride with a lie he suppressed through fear of facing the consequences that he’s paradoxically, now facing anyway. Yet, R- spoke his truth; an immensely courageous act for which I am both proud and grateful. Sadly, with a co-owned house, wedding plans paid for and in the pipeline, the intermingling of two lives and two families and the immense pain associated with all these things, a trail of emotional destruction has been left in his wake. For want of better words; a mess. A fat, fucking emotional, raw, shit-show of a mess.
I’ve moved out of my home in Birmingham and in, ever so fortunately with my aunt and uncle who took me in with open arms, ready to hold space for my broken heart. I thank the universe for this blessing. I do not underestimate its grace.
And just like that, equipped with the resilience gained from three years of therapy and a dark night of the goddamn soul, we hit refresh and start all over again.