moments

I am not sure if I should be proud of myself or disappointed. Actually, who cares? What is, is what is. Why label it good or bad. It just is. I cleaned my bedroom about an hour ago. I took all the crap I had piled on top of my bed. I took off the sheets, while crying, of course. They are in the wash machine now. Although I doubt I will use them again. I had not taken them off since the break-up. That would be more gross had I slept in it. There was something about leaving them the way there were, as if by some strange logic they would be there waiting when he came back. You know, because that is what he would want, dirty sheets…
I wish I could say that I had did this because I have completely moved on and healed. That would be lying. What start now? The futon has begun to hurt my back. Don’t know why it has waited six months to start this, but it has. The pain is nearly becoming constant. Therefore, I have to do something. I thought about moving my mattress downstairs, but I have to snap out of it. I have to face the fact that my bed is empty, that it is no longer ‘our’ bed, and that he doesn’t want it to be ever again. I thought maybe I would get on here and talk about getting ready to sleep in it tonight, but I can’t. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not. It has to be soon, or I am going to end up doing permanent damage to my back. The other part is that I have been sleeping with Dunkyn the past six months, and Dolan by the futon for the past month. Dunkyn can’t sleep with me in my bed. He is too clumsy and if he fell, he would break something or die. I have fallen asleep and woken up every day for the past six months with him, now, I have to go back to the bedroom where I spent so much time with the man I ultimately wanted to spend my life with, alone. With my dogs back in the garage; the other side of the bed as empty as my arms. TB offered to come sleep with me for a couple nights so that I wouldn’t have to face it alone (my friends amaze me, how they put up with my patheticness, and love me in spite of my brokenness). For some reason, though, it would hurt more to have someone there, even someone I love dearly, simply as a replacement for who I long to be there. So, not tonight. The bed is ready for some new sheets, and then ready for me… Sometime this week. It has to be. I am afraid of being in there. I have not spent more than five minutes in there, and only then to pick out clothes. I don’t want to have to face his absence there. My mind has warped it into some strange time/space continuum, and in there, we are still together. He is still whispering soul-mates to me, and holding me close. His lips still meet mine in there. That reality will be burst when I lie there when he is not. It is the moment I have dreaded for months. Well, for awhile looked forward to, because he would reenter it with me. How can one room hold so much power, so many memories, so many hopes, and safety? The safest I have ever felt on this Earth was in that room, in his arms, his gentle snoring in my ear, the feel of his breathing on my neck, and the tang of morning breath on my nose. I have spent so much time analyzing this and trying to tear it apart, and I still can’t comprehend it entirely, but there it is.
I was so angry the last time I wrote. Angrier than I have been in months. Not at him, just life. I am not angry now, just sad. However, I am more resigned and accepting of the fact that he will never be in my life in the same way again. I have to put the pieces of my life back together, keep the treasures he gave me close to my heart, and truly live again, and I have to do it soon. Both for my back and so that there may be some hope of at least a friendship with him.
Therapy ended yesterday, btw. Can we feel the mountains tremble?