Clouds in my coffee

I wasn't going to write about this but looking over my posts of this past week, I realized how solemn they all sound. I also realized how difficult posting anything of worth has been this week. I owe you an explanation, and in giving it, I hope that I can resume my regular posts, get this out of my system and move forward.

One year ago this week, my heart broke for the very first time. I didn't think I would recover from it. This week, though, has not been one of mourning for the one I lost, but rather an introspective look at how far I have come since his betrayal.

This post is not about him. That statement is rather like Carly Simon's "Clouds in my coffee" though, isn't it? Her whole song was about her unrequited love, and yet the subject would be vain to recognize himself in her words:

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't You? Don't You?

Again, and I mean this free of irony, this post is not about him.

Like Carly, I had some dreams. They were lost when he and I said our good-byes (although he didn't so much as say those words, just vanished completely from my life). The point is that I was terribly silly to think that things would work -- looking back there were so many red flags and signs that I chose to overlook. But being the romantic, wistful dreamer that I was then, I forged ahead, allowing my heart to take over logic's domain.

Afterward I was a mess. I'd find myself crying over the kitchen sink, gripping the counter and silently pleading for him to come back or at least, at the very least, tell me why he'd left. Even now, knowing the reasons (have I mentioned my penchant for research?), I am still occasionally gripped with the lingering question: why wasn't I good enough?

I will never know. And I don't need to know.

In order to recover, I fully immersed myself in the task of living. I did laundry. I painted. I scrubbed the toilet, the sink, the floor until they sparkled and my knuckles were near bleeding from the effort. I put one foot in front of the other and walked the balance beam of treacherous emotions -- this was almost worse than the death of a loved one, a pain I did experience about a month later when my beloved grandfather died.

My dreams had died. My confidence was nearly decimated. I made poor choices simply because I valued myself less and didn't think I could or should demand as much from a partner. I clearly was not deserving, I thought.



Months went by and I thought about him less and less.

I learned to trust again, but that trust was tempered by a weariness that wasn't present before. I guarded my heart, second-guessed anyone who showed an interest in me, kept everyone at arms length until they jumped through the appropriate hoops and were granted entry into my private thoughts.

I met several men from online forums. Some of them translated into lasting friendships, most of them I do not know anymore. And one of them sneaked his way into my heart.

In the eight months that we have been together, I have thrown many roadblocks D's way. In fact, and I hope you know how uncharacteristic this is of me, the first night we met I cried while he held me. I told him the whole story, sobbing into his shoulder and then curling away from him while his body embraced mine. He let me cry, encouraged me to cry, recognized my need for it.

I owe much of my healing to him. I don't owe him my self-confidence -- that I regained on my own -- but I owe him my recovered faith in people. He showed me that people can be who they appear to be and free of ulterior motives.

I don't know what the future holds. I can't guarantee that a year from now I won't be crying over the kitchen sink again. There is one major difference: I will never allow anyone to define my worth again. I define it. I do it every day.