You are just some guy I used to know

"You'll tell them that it didn't work out because it didn't. You'll tell them that the next thing will be better because it always is. I've started over a lot, this is the hardest part." - Don Draper

I went to the American embassy yesturday as a family. For the first time in a year we three sat in the same car and ate at the same table. Infact, it has been almost nine months since I saw any more than just a glimps of his alcohol bloated face peaking out of his helmet as he picked up our child on the motorbike. It was strange and surreal and yet also firmiliar. 

At first I felt a sense of validation. He looked terrible and not like someone I would even want to spend time with, muchless date. But the firmiliarity of his presence and the sense of shared love for our child made me walk away with an ache that felt only like sore muscles days after a long run and not the stabbing pain of a fresh wound. 

Getting over things, getting over people. Moving on. Picking yourself back up. This is the work of life. I realised as I sat there in the car how far I have come. A year ago was when we floated down that tragic river of finality in borneo with new knowledge in our aching stomache. Carrying the sad news that infact this was it. The end, no putting things back. I still remember that hotel room we shared, with stained wallpaper, rough outdoor carpeting and two single beds. I banged my head repeatedly against that bleak beige wallpaper urging the pain to stop. I cried and pleaded with him asking through grunts and tears if he was in love. He was, he just didn't know it yet. Me, I was just starting the horrible grieving, the crying daily, the not eating. The ball on the floor of tears beyond reason. My mom inviting me out to lunch, a gentle offering to my lonley stomache which I picked over as I stared with a blank expression, unable to hold a conversation.

 

In that year so much has changed, that was then. I am over it all or at least mostly, I got over my infatuation with the russian who planted the unrecovrrable seed of divorce that lead to that fateful river trip. I let him go completely in my mind. Vanquished him like a bad spellI. I even finally let go of my partner of so many years. I now accept and even find moments of gratitute that he is no longer mine. I see him as an odd firmiliar stranger, someone I once knew who is only recognisable by his contours.

I now have a new letting go. Something I need to allow to drop like a heavy stone from my hand. Letting go of my best friend and lover of the last nine months. The man who scooped me up out of a pecha kucha line as I looked dazed and confused, still a walking open wound. Keeping me company, making me laugh and caring about my day. 

It was strange comfort to sit across from a man who was mine for 17 years and feel only mild nostalgia for what was, little pain. We sat there in this Indonesian mcdonalds eating cheese burgers and french fries and discussing the duty at hand of renewing our sons passport. It felt like an old shirt that still fits but you no longer want to wear.

I am strangely happy in my life now, I now only ocassionally battle a dull ache. Each day I discover new ways to vanquish lonliness. Now if I can just let go of this last one. I must find a way to let him go. Last night over dinner an aquantance argued my theory that he was quick to find someone to sleep with by telling me the story of how he got down to his underwear with a girl he had gotten drunk, who then left. This story helped, it hurt like a knife being sunk into my belly but I knew more or less the time he was referring to and thought deep about the technicality of our status as friends at that point in our on again off again relationship. It filled me with aching hate for this game I let him introduce me to and play with me, the game of just friends. I hated him in that moment. Hated him for not wanting me. Hated him for getting drunk and naked with strange women. I hated him for all of it. A little hate is required for letting go. Thank you for that image friend, so I can hold onto it firmly in my mind like clutching onto the last branch on the edge of a cliff. Look at it, see it. Naked, drunk in blue and white striped underwear, trying to seduce a drunk woman after only days earlier spending long sweet hours together. I will keep it as proof that this man is no good. An instagram in my mind. A souviner of the pain. 

If I can let go of 17 years, I can let go of this. 

It didn't work out, the next thing will be better, I have allready made it thru the hardest part.