July 6, 2020 – Day 112 of my quarantine
Sadly sweet, deeply romantic and achingly melancholy –
When I revisit in my memory every relationship that has left my heart badly broken – I listen to my Chris Botti collection …
I used to eventually emerge from having my heart broken with renewed optimism in life and love. I’d dust myself off and get back into the game. Because I guess I always secretly believed in my heart of hearts that “true love” was out there, somewhere, just waiting for me to find it.
After all, isn’t that what all our friends and family tell us after we’ve gone through a bad break-up? “The Right One” is out there just waiting for you” – “Don’t give up on love” – “Never Lose Hope” – “You just haven’t met the right person yet” – and on and on and on and on and on …
This last relationship left me in a far different place when it was over. Maybe it’s my age. Maybe I’ve finally grown too tired of all this. Maybe this last one destroyed my heart and soul in a much more insidious way.
I don’t know.
All I do know is that in that place in my solar plexus where my heart used to be there’s nothing but a cold, dry desert wind blowing across an endless stretch of starless night.
I’m so numb I can’t even cry anymore.
Maybe I was asking for too much all along. To find someone who could love me despite my being in the wrong gendered body. Someone who could see past that and not be ashamed of me. Someone who could just see “me”.
When I fell deeply in love with someone who chose to invalidate my very existence to avoid telling people in their life about me – because they were so ashamed of who and what I am – other than the death of my soulmate Sarah, this has to be the single most painful thing that has ever happened to me.
It broke something inside of me that I can’t seem to repair or reclaim.
I’ve had a few old friends reach out to me lately – concerned about me. They want reassurance that I’m okay.
I reassure them that I am fine. “I’m doing great!”
And I send them some funny pictures of my cats to distract them from the fact that my romantic life has, at the end, finally become nothing more than a seriously cautionary tale for idealists – a warning for those who dream of finding true love – nothing more than a damaged beyond repair rusting wreck on the shoulder of the highway of life. The sad remnant of an optimistic dream.
But I have my creative work. A few good friends. Four very busy young cats. Books to read. Movies to watch. A blog to write. Home improvement projects. Endless ideas and an imagination that never sleeps.
I will be fine.
And if you’re still out there – “mysterious romantic partner”, “the right one for me”, who everyone tells me exists – the person who will love and cherish me for the rest of my life – you waited too fucking long to get here. There’s nothing left.
Until next time …