Not Life as I Know It

Mercury must be in retrograde again...or something.

After work last night, I met an old friend for sushi. The conversation was pleasant until it wasn't. We were doing the general catch-up thing, telling one another of our lives since we haven't visited in about a year. Then, the chat turned into a fight. I was resisting his attempts to manage my life, something I will almost always do. He started into the example of how he had lived through a divorce and a highly destructive girlfriend after the divorce; I replied that I do not play the "Who Hurts More Than Whom" game since no one wins it. He finalized our chat, saying we were done, and left quite miffed.

I lost another friend last night for no particularly good reason.

After that abrupt ending, I went to get coffee with a different friend. I ended up crying. The pressures of these last 18 months and the insanity of the day all got the better of me. I was feeling defensive again. Most of the time these days, my "defense" either sounds offensive or equates to holding my forearms in front of my face and hoping the other person will get tired of hitting me. I do not like this "new normal", not one little bit. I hate that everyone in the world gets to think that my expressing my grief is some kind of invitation where I am assumed to be asking another person to live my life for me. The situation happens less often than it once did, but it still happens.

Yes, I am hurting.

No, I do not think I am the only person in the world to have ever felt the sting of losing someone to death.

It would be a nice change if people would actually listen to me. Most of the time, I am not looking for solutions. Frankly, I am not seeking them because they do not exist. "Bring Phil back to me"or "let me die so this painful life is over" are the only solutions I can see most of the time! When I express my hurt, more often than not, others stop supporting and start wanting to fix. Almost all the fixes include some version of "let Phil and the life you had with him go", an idea I fight against rabidly.

Phil was the best part of my life. For 13.5 years, he was my partner, my best friend, my beloved Bear, and my most constant companion. He kept me safe. He held me when I was sad or scared. I knew we would always be alright as long as we were together. Even in death, when I am sad or scared, I will turn to him. It occurs to me that he is the spiritual equivalent of a security blanket. I know he is dead and that nothing can be done to resurrect him. I wish it were otherwise. I miss him. It hurts seeing other couples together. It hurts watching families. It did not used to hurt because I had one of my own with Phil.

I wish he was here again. I hate being single and hate even more being alone in the world. Ultimately, I am alone. I am here, but he is not.