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The Birthday Dance - Friday, Dec. 20, 2019
Wednesday, Jan. 23, 2019 @ 11:49 pm
Feeling OK, feeling not OK. Waves of panic. Overwhelm. The dread of telling him that I'm leaving.
Working on a design project for work, finding moments of flow, where all of my emotions disappear while I draft. At coffee, Dave asks me how I'm doing. I respond with a shaky "Okay..." that elicits extended eye contact but no further questions.
I go to yoga to delay going home. During class, the instructor comes over behind me and places her hand gently on my shoulder blade. Her warm hand, not pressing or pulling, just there.
Who are you? Who are you when you let your ego stop talking to you? When you allow yourself space without thoughts?
I drive home slowly. Taking everything in. I don't want to leave.
I make him dinner and sit at the table, anxious and afraid that I'll let the news slip. And I know that it will. That it has to. That telling him and watching his reaction is part of the whole thing.
An hour later it happens.
"What did you want to talk about in session tomorrow?" he asks.
I pause. Waver back and forth. Gauge his temper. Dive boldly into the abyss.
"I want to talk about us taking a break."
Watching his reaction in slow motion.
The conversation that follows is full of the usual push and pull, him trying to get his point across. It reminds me of why I can't do this anymore. He remains strangely calm, however, and I can't decide if it's from extreme restraint to show me that he's improved or if he's realizing that the illusion is shattered and that his words have lost their effect on me.
I end the conversation and say goodnight. It's all different. I feel flat towards him. I truly wish it were different, I don't want to be doing this. I watch him and see a different person from 13 years ago. I see so much struggle and pain, our interactions so unfulfilling for both of us.
I experience a wave of anger. I am walking away from the house, the car, my bedroom, the ski trails, my yoga pass. My friends. The mountains. Betrayal. It's not supposed to turn out this way. I let the anger concentrate into the centre of my chest. I press my balled fists into the centre of it, and then the anger dissolves to reveal an aching bottomless fear.
I don't know where I'm going. And I have to go there alone.
This. This right here.
I found the abyss.