The Wake of Love

Can I take my own advice?

Am I really the man I’ve portrayed myself to be?

A person who has written about strength, resilience, love and striving to be a better man? Of dealing with whatever comes my way, processing it, and moving on?

Because right now, in the depths of struggle, it feels lonely, insurmountable, and if I am being honest, I am filled with fear.

I have returned to where I was this time last year.

I took a chance on love, despite the risks, and while I won’t say I or we lost, there is, it seems, not much else besides loss.

And sadness, pain and a full dose of anger.

From the moment I got out of her car and literally and metaphorically walked away (almost two week ago as of this writing) I’ve wanted to fast forward to three months from now, six months from now, a year, when I know the anger and pain will have subsided.

But life doesn’t work that way, does it?

I have to go to bed each night, alone, until I get there.

I have to wake up and start each day, alone, until I heal.

And all the time in between waking up and going to bed, with all the thoughts, memories and emotions I’m flooded with.

There is no fast forwarding. There is no mute button. This is it. This is happening. And it leaves me with one big existential question.

What now?

I don’t need the self-help tips. Unfortunately, I know them all too well. Eat right, exercise, rely on healthy distractions (which I find in reading, writing and movies), seek therapy, try to be social and depend on friends, get outside, create things to look forward to that will provide a sense of anticipation, be kind, gentle and patient with myself.

I started writing on Medium to explore what it means to be a man today. And in the process I used this platform to also explore the challenges and benefits of relationships and love.

As I find myself amidst the struggle of a break-up, the final dissolution of love, I realize that what I’m going through is not unique to men. My now ex (man, does it ever sting to think of her that way) is going through a break-up just as much as me.

But even I, out of habit, fall back on myself and am tempted to take this hurt and deal with it and take it “like a man.”

What the hell does that even mean?

If I am to answer that question in the way men have responded to me after expressing to them the sorrow and depression I’m experiencing now, there are three options:

· Hope for us to reunite

· Start dating and having sex right away

· Ignore the feelings with silence and just wait to feel better

I’ve been to enough therapy, and frankly, am old enough, to know and see the folly in each of these reactions. It’s disappointing to me, to be honest, to receive this kind of feedback from men.

If this is the type of support men offer each other, then how can we ever provide the emotional and psychological support to women in friendships or romantic relationships?

No, I want to tell my friend, we are done. And I need to accept that — and feel the pain associated with it. To look it right in the eye. I didn’t open my front door for this pain to walk into, but it’s here anyway. I’m not going to be naïve and wish it away.

No, I’m not looking to replace my ex with another woman, as if that’s possible, as if women are interchangeable parts. And I’m not going to use sex as a salve, to use another person’s body just to feel better about myself. When the time is right, sure, yes, I’d welcome sex again, of course. But sex is not a band-aid.

No, I’m not just going to sit here and wait. I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen, and I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel like shit, because I do. And if that makes you feel uncomfortable, then you can wait patiently for us to talk and see each other again when I’m damn well and ready. I’ll remember how it was now, and know what to expect in the future.

To Hell with Stoicism and Being Tough

I cry. A fair amount, too. Sometimes, even while I’m working, I’ll get flooded with emotions and sadness, and just break out in tears.

We’re past the “men don’t cry” bullshit, aren’t we? Because when I write about my tears, that’s not what I’m getting at. I’m talking about experiencing pain. Actually saying out loud, “This hurts.”

I don’t punish myself for it. I don’t criticize myself for it. I want it to go away. Sometimes I measure my healing by how many days in a row I’ve gone without crying.

I cried yesterday. I’m tearing up writing this. So tomorrow, yet again, as it always is, will be Day 1.

So that’s my message to other men, and myself. You can’t change the way you feel. You can do things that might impact or manipulate the way you feel, you can meditate and attempt to course correct, but your feelings are there.

And that is totally natural and OK.

The more you push these feelings away, the more they will come back to the surface and distort your sense of being. Frustration, anger, sadness, pain — they are broken tires impeding your daily existence.

But just like you must fix a broken tire, so too must you address your emotions. Unfortunately, unlike a broken tire, emotional trauma leaves scars.

The pain I’m experiencing now will be with me forever. Not as acute, not as prescient, but heartbreak doesn’t disappear. It just finds a place to store itself inside you so you won’t forget about it.

All of our relationships leave emotional tattoos on our souls and hearts. Some we like to remember, some we’d like to forget. Some we wish we never had.

Today

I’m scared. Not in a tangible way. I’ll work out, see my therapist, read, eat. But I’m scared of the anger and bitterness within me.

Sure, anger is nothing more than a response to sadness. Well, fine, I’ve got that in spades. And anger, as I’ve read and heard, can only hurt me. I need to let this anger go in order not just to move on, but to restore my sanity and sense of self.

But I can’t. I don’t want to be social, I don’t want to be out there, I don’t even want to leave the house. I don’t think I can present myself to other people with so much inner turmoil.

But I will. I have plans for tonight, and for tomorrow night as well. It makes me wonder, if I’m feeling so much of what I am, what must others be going through that we don’t know about?

Tomorrow

My heart is broken. I miss her. How I wish I could re-write our script. How I wish we weren’t here, apart.

I was talking to a co-worker yesterday, via chat, of course, because how else does one talk to co-workers these days, and told her the latest chapter of my relationship saga.

She said something I haven’t been able to get out of my head, after I explained that the relationship had just become too difficult for us both, that we both, to different degrees, realized we weren’t sustainable.

That we couldn’t provide what we needed and wanted.

I told her about my heartache, and then she said how hard it must be for her too. That it is incredibly difficult to walk away from someone you love. That she is sure my now ex loves me.

It took my breath away. Does she? Did she? Of course, she does. Or did. In the midst of my pain, I stopped seeing that. In the midst of our unraveling, I stopped feeling that.

How can it be true, that she loves me, if we must part? How can it be true that she loves me, and can’t see a future for us? How can it be true, that she loves me, and can’t commit to us, the concept of us?

I will never understand why love is not enough.

And so here I am. Awash in the aftermath.

Caught in the wake with no direction out.

Shortly before reuniting for what became our last shot at being a couple, I write this piece about fighting for love.

This weekend, for the first time since then, I’ll return to that gym, put on the boxing gloves, and get back to that fight.

But I don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore. I don’t know what I’ll envision when I strike the punching bag. I don’t even know if I have the inner strength to summon the physical strength it takes to move that bag.

So it goes. One roller coaster is over. Now I’m on another ride I don’t want to be on.

Away I go, to somewhere I don’t know.

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This post was previously published on P.S. I Love You and is republished here with permission from the author.
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