Trust

First, an apology for the bitty-ness (bittiness?) of late. I’m struggling with some difficult decisions of the sort that cannot be summarized neatly (or even messily) in a blog entry. There is too much history, and frankly, too much present. And I am so very, very tired.

I need to do something about BN2. I know that I do. And yet I can’t. I am a reasonably intelligent 33-year-old woman who survived life perfectly fine without a boyfriend until BN2 came along. In fact, I think I survived better. I said to him several months ago – with the sort of honesty I am increasingly less inclined to, given the results it’s brought thus far – that I wasn’t myself around him. I’m not sure I’m myself around anyone these days. Who am I? I’m not sure I recognize this person who… this person who is too embarrassed to finish the sentence because it isn’t pretty.

A friend got engaged today and I felt – reader, I am ashamed to say – an overwhelming dose of self pity. Her life is moving forward and mine, it seems, is moving back. I know that the longer I stay in this relationship the more damage it is doing, and the longer it will take to recover and maybe, just maybe, find my own happy ending.

Why is it that I cannot just say: “I am unhappy. I’m leaving”? Why do I think I need a smoking gun to leave – something I can point to that is so glaring and awful that of course I would be justified in leaving? (A couple of friends who’ve heard my stories would say that he’s already given me plenty of justification.) Why do I feel the need to have external sources (my friends, my counsellor) ratify my feelings? As a good friend said at dinner the other night: “It doesn’t matter if other people think what he did wasn’t normal. [I was asking her opinion on an incident that has disturbed me deeply.] You were hurt by his behavior, and that’s all that matters.”

I fear the emptiness and the loneliness. I fear the unstructured days with not enough work – or not challenging enough work – to take my mind off things.

And yet. Last night BN2 insisted on a night apart (something he never does, which made me instantly suspicious). I didn’t want to sit in my horrible messy little flat and I wasn’t sure who to call: Frankly, I’ve cancelled on so many friends at the 11th hour (see “who is this person?” above) because of him and some fight or another that I’ve been feeling isolated. (A vicious circle…) And around midday, I got an email from a casual acquaintance I’ve met up with a couple of times. I’d emailed her a couple of days ago about a 10k I’m planning to run (the British 10k, in case anyone else is doing it) to see if she wanted to join. She wrote back saying if I wasn’t doing anything that night, I should come up to Hampstead for drinks with she and some friends.

I thought then of a conversation I’d had with my counsellor, about my need to over-control things because I fear not getting what I need. (Or because I fear there won’t be enough.) Because of my Troubled Childhood (capitals to show I am aware this phrase is somewhat ludicrous when most people would consider it privileged), I grew up believing the universe was not a benevolent place – that I’d have to fight to survive, and that I could only count on myself.

“You need to let go a little and trust that you’ll get what you need,” my counsellor told me.

Last night wasn’t a remarkable night – it was some banter with four other people at a (ok, slightly remarkably cute) pub. As we left the moonlight on the damp cobblestone path made it look otherworldly – not out of place in a Harry Potter or Twilight ad, frankly. It certainly seemed like another world to me – one in which I had, just a tiny bit, started to trust.