October 9 (same day)–I am experiencing a very strange sensation. Something akin to a near-death experience. There’s a vibration pulsating through me, like a second spirit, rising up and taking over where the other one lies slumped in a corner, dying. I am in awe of this unknown second spirit inside me, coming to me just in time to save me.
P dumped me.
The moment he left I froze. I remained numb on the sofa where we had both sat down to talk. And then it happened. A vibrating. A hissing. A hotness. I became completely anesthetized by a protective force that would not allow the true weight of the pain to hit me. A Gelinda the good witch, a Blue Fairy. A guardian angel. Is this the definition of hope, dumbfoundedness or insanity? Or is it, perhaps, long-awaited redemption? I don’t know. What I do know is that I eventually moved like an astral body down the hall and into my room because I am now here, awash with tranquility. I am not completely at peace, and yet, I have a sense of untroubled relief.
It’s over. My instincts were right. My gut was right. And I no longer have to find the strength to fight the good fight that I was fighting to ignore them. I expected to be devastated but I am not. I am strangely feeling like the flame in me has grown. It is lit again. Soon it will be a raging wild fire capable of destruction, capable of clearing the ground for new life.
He was so cold. So emotionless. Like a sharpened blade. I can’t shake the emptiness I saw in his eyes. It still petrifies me. There was no feeling behind his words whatsoever and he became utterly unrecognizable. And then, with no clear segue or prompting, with no real question on my part–because why would I have questioned?–he offered up, almost laughingly, “I don’t think I ever loved you.” I didn’t snap into bits and pieces right then and there. It took a good long while for me to disintegrate. And I didn’t do it in front of him. No, the outside of me was steady, fixed, enduring. I gave every indication of resigned acceptance. But there was a small part of me–this foreign second spirit that rose up out of nowhere– and violently crushed those words of his with furious, monumental words of my own, words that I never knew I had in me: I am free.
All my nightmares have come true. My fears crawled out from under the bed, out of the closets, behind the curtains. They shook their ugly, dark figures at me. Scratched at my eyeballs. Grabbed me by my most vulnerable parts. They left black bruises all over my delicate skin. I didn’t fight back. I just couldn’t. But, I am still here, and I am OK. My face feels hot. I do feel sick. But I am here. There’s a conclusion to write tomorrow. Or maybe the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. I’m exhausted. But I can rest now. It’s like I haven’t slept for eight months.