September
16, 2017
I
forgot the dates of the relevant transit that lit up like a light bulb when I
found it, and told me, “This is when he shows up again. THIS RIGHT HERE.”
I
thought it started on the 24th
and went til October. Nope. It started on the 14th and goes til the
24th.
My
heart plummeted. I thought, Nine more
days! There’s no way, no fucking WAY this person will speak to me within nine
more days. But, as previously reported, I did get a browse from some anonymous individual on LinkedIn right about the time Chi and I last saw one another two years ago. Which, incidentally, was right before his anniversary. The same way someone browses me on Valentine's Day...around the holidays...all significant dates for me and Chi.
I think back a lot to the last time I remember seeing him. All the time that we were speaking, he never let me--or anyone else--see him look at me when we were around other people. But that last time, I remember him making eye contact with me, and those big blue eyes following me around. I knew there had to be something significant about that, because he had told me he was very deliberate about not being seen to look at me or watch me in any way.
What I didn't know was what was significant about it. What the fuck did he want? And how the hell did he expect me to divine this, exactly? I remember making eye contact with him, and then turning my gaze away. He was married and he had expressly told me it was over, and not to speak to him again. In the absence of any discernible instructions to the contrary, I was left with no other choice but to do as I was told. (Before the affair: Catch him outside in the parking lot, say, "How are you doing?" After the affair: Catch him outside in the parking lot, say, "How are you doing?" and then possibly get barked at for speaking to him, even though he'd let me see him staring at me all night? No, clearly this interlude should never happen.)
So I'd turned my eyes away, thinking, Sorry, but if you want to tell me something, you're going to actually have to TELL me. I have no idea what your looking at me means, and you told me to stay away from you. So, I am.
And he didn't speak to me, and that was the last I saw of him. When he missed two meetings, that was when I knew: He'd moved back home, and he'd told her, which was why he'd never come back. If he did, she'd know where he was. And he disappeared right before their anniversary, so I could only presume they'd agreed in marriage counseling, after about four months of therapy, that they'd give their marriage another try, and their anniversary was going to be his move-back-in date.
Of course, I don't have to tell you how devastated I was. That was horrible. Horrible.
Having gotten another LinkedIn visit on such an anniversary date, sort of felt the same way. But I had resolved, if he ever hit me up again, I would browse him back--as myself, this time, and not under the cowardice of private mode.
I think back a lot to the last time I remember seeing him. All the time that we were speaking, he never let me--or anyone else--see him look at me when we were around other people. But that last time, I remember him making eye contact with me, and those big blue eyes following me around. I knew there had to be something significant about that, because he had told me he was very deliberate about not being seen to look at me or watch me in any way.
What I didn't know was what was significant about it. What the fuck did he want? And how the hell did he expect me to divine this, exactly? I remember making eye contact with him, and then turning my gaze away. He was married and he had expressly told me it was over, and not to speak to him again. In the absence of any discernible instructions to the contrary, I was left with no other choice but to do as I was told. (Before the affair: Catch him outside in the parking lot, say, "How are you doing?" After the affair: Catch him outside in the parking lot, say, "How are you doing?" and then possibly get barked at for speaking to him, even though he'd let me see him staring at me all night? No, clearly this interlude should never happen.)
So I'd turned my eyes away, thinking, Sorry, but if you want to tell me something, you're going to actually have to TELL me. I have no idea what your looking at me means, and you told me to stay away from you. So, I am.
And he didn't speak to me, and that was the last I saw of him. When he missed two meetings, that was when I knew: He'd moved back home, and he'd told her, which was why he'd never come back. If he did, she'd know where he was. And he disappeared right before their anniversary, so I could only presume they'd agreed in marriage counseling, after about four months of therapy, that they'd give their marriage another try, and their anniversary was going to be his move-back-in date.
Of course, I don't have to tell you how devastated I was. That was horrible. Horrible.
Having gotten another LinkedIn visit on such an anniversary date, sort of felt the same way. But I had resolved, if he ever hit me up again, I would browse him back--as myself, this time, and not under the cowardice of private mode.
I told myself it probably wasn't even him, and that if I did that, he wouldn't browse me back. Very
sad, I went back to Linked In to check anyway.
Once
upon a time, I was told I had some kind of occult gift. I basically blinked and
went, “Huh? Uh, no. Not that I know of!” Well, I must, because that’s three big
predictions in a row. One was when Simon would die. I was exactly one week off,
and if I had’ve remembered the date of his first wife’s death, I would have
amended that and been right on the money. The second was Rory and her
“promotion.”
The
third happened last night. My anonymous browser has hit me up yet again. Please
note, all of the above predictions involved a LOT of educated guesses. (Maybe that’s my gift.)
It
HAS to be Chi.
Not that this means he will actually get brave enough to drop the private mode and SPEAK to me.
And, if he doesn’t, I can’t help that. Running after him and trying to grab him by the collar and drag him back into my life would be codependent. If he doesn’t speak to me, there will be nothing I can do, and that will be the end of it. If he won’t speak to me, there is nothing more I can offer him.
Doesn’t
mean I can’t offer it elsewhere, though. Because, and I don't know why these should have occurred coincidentally, but I also had this thought about my writing:
About this What’s the
use? attitude. What do I want to do
all this writing and work for? I fucking HATE self-promotion, and I don't want to learn to do that shit. No one will see what I do, or care, anyhow.
Whatever I do will reach the people it’s
supposed to.
Maybe
that won’t be many, and that has to be okay with me. It
may be that it isn't supposed to reach anybody. Maybe the important
thing about it is that I achieve the self-development in the doing of
the work. (We can’t all be Suzanne
Collins.) But it will go where it’s supposed to, and reach the people it’s
supposed to, and that’s ONE reason to do all that work.
The
SECOND reason is—and this is the other epiphany I had—if I’m sitting there
planning and writing a novel and trying to start a writing business, THAT IS
MY CHILDHOOD RECOVERY WORK. Living alone, taking care of myself all alone and
all by myself, self-starting something I want to do, believing in it, and following through and
learning to make it work all on my own IS
THE REST OF MY CHILDHOOD RECOVERY WORK, the same as codependency recovery
is Chi’s.
I know that tragedy will befall him if he doesn’t finally get his
done, but tragedy will befall me if I don’t get mine done, too.
If we somehow ended up together, and it just so happened that we didn't get our childhood recovery work done, that time would end
very, very sadly. My whole issue is lack of confidence and lack of will to
focus on myself, me, my work, my worth, and to do it all myself.
If I’m writing
and trying to publish, I’m doing that; if I’m not, and I decide to try to live a
sick codependent’s life for him instead, Hell and Damnation await. A veritable
Hurricane Irma of mutual emotional dysfunction. Which is why our Davison is
saying, Affairs don’t happen unless I am unable to complete this task. Me and my writing are the centerpiece of MY
life, not Chi and his low self-esteem and codependency.
So
I need to stop procrastinating on pulling writing out and going to work on it, or
doing any of the support things like housework that enable me to do that,
saying, What do I want to do THAT for?
There’s no point. It’s the childhood recovery work I am supposed to be
doing, and I avoid it at my peril, just as Chi avoids his at his peril.
DO OUR GODDAMNED WORK, and we could enjoy a
beautiful life together. (Or Chi and Rory can, if THEY do their goddamned work.)
Ohhh,
but if anyone DOES NOT…
SO:
Does He Speak? Tune in next…
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