Dream this morning … I was standing next to Bryan, looking out a window to our yard. “Look,” I said, “can you see that big cat in the tree?” It was spotted and spectacularly large and suddenly it was on the ground, eating a familiar black dog, aged and submissive, gray hairs lining its face. I didn’t know whose dog, but I watched in sorrow and acceptance.
And then, Bryan was gone and I awoke.
In reality, I picked him up at the airport last night, left him at my (formally our) apartment, and came to spend the night in the guest suite at my new complex. I couldn’t feel – or allow myself to feel – anything over this break up. It’s as if I need to conserve my whole self to begin this new leg of my journey.
The cat, if this article holds truth, is my femininity devouring… perhaps what is familiar, worn, and beaten?
Intimate relationships have always been a struggle for me. I give everything I’ve got to give until I’m depleted, and then I escape to rejuvenate. Our final weeks together were marked by temper explosions over completely opposing political points of view. He’s a passionate Trump supporter. When I asked him to drop his tone (intense energy level) in discussion, his temper flared hugely and the anger manifested with his throwing of a chair. This was in response to my playfully joking about the idea of the US and Mexico becoming one nation. In response to his loss of temper, I exploded and threw two chairs, the full garbage bin, and a bottle of Bragg’s amino acid that exploded messily on the wall near my mural of the wheel of life.
I knew at that moment I was done with the relationship, and slammed out of the apartment. It shook the whole courtyard.
But, moments later I pulled my shit back together, marched back in, and picked up my mess. I continued to be kind and loving to him for his birthday up until he left for work in Puget Sound area with his family but there was a deadness in the air between us.
After he was gone, he’d tell me he loves me, that he couldn’t wait to come back. I couldn’t feel the love. I couldn’t return the sentiment. His words felt like lip service and my heart felt like a block of ice. His eagerness to leave probably triggered the little girl in me whose daddy left to go work in another state. That’s not an excuse, but I have been waking up stressed and fearful about our future. Chanting and mantra alleviated the anxiety, but it always returns with dread.
He hurts. I must, too, but again I’m not feeling much outside of stress. He told me last night that I’m self-centered. Truth is, I am. A woman has got to be to survive. When he said this, I held my shit together and accepted his point of view without having to point out his “stuff” that helped contribute to my self-centeredness. When you can’t hold your temper so that your man can feel ok for letting his go, it’s not a loving, respectful relationship anymore. My patience level maxed out on holding the space for a passion that I find repulsive. I had fear that the next time a discussion like that happened and he raised his voice, I’d do something even more destructive.
If the above-linked article holds truth, the dog represents his loyalty and devotion. He was good to me in so many wonderful ways. While I can’t feel a thing, emotionally, I know I need some feedback. Or a good recommendation for a local therapist.
I question myself: Was I wrong to give the relationship a third effort? I broke up with him after day 3 of our meeting because I was overwhelmed by his energy level and couldn’t see myself keeping up with him. I let him talk me out of that.
The second time we split, I fled Phoenix and came to Denver to cool my engines. Six months after I moved here and had an experience of dating the opposite version of him, I let him join me here. I welcomed Bryan’s powerful presence as a force that was familiar, loving, and kind. Would I have been an idiot to just say ok come on back from Washington as if all is fine? I’ve lost my desire to hold intimacy. I can’t fake it. Romantic love surely seems like a fool’s game, and all the “I love yous” in the world were not comforting to me. Being in love with him has the energy of popping corn. I felt like corn that was getting burned for being in the kettle too long.
Like a big spotted feline who is stuffed with poisoned food, I retreat to my tree and will do my best to hunger no more and to use the poison as medicine as I digest it. I feel for all the women who silence their opinions and feelings to keep a man happy, to avoid the struggle of being alone. I ache for all the people who have to cover up their feelings to survive in this jungle of society. I understand the rage that rises from having to suppress one’s energy over and over again, but don’t want to put myself in places where I have to allow the rage to be freed, and then make love to it. I can’t even stand to allow my intimate partner an angry outburst or the decency of privacy around it. This is my samsara.
(Editing 18 hours later)
Bryan managed to get all of his stuff out of my place today. He flew his ex-girlfriend up to Denver so she could drive one of his two vehicles down to Phoenix. All traces of him are gone. I had some feelings when I came home to the empty space that he had filled up so completely. I felt empty. Clear. Peace. I was okay enough to go sub a yoga class. I wish him health, happiness, and loving relationships. I sent him away, literally wishing him blessings.
This morning, I sent the link to this blog to many of my friends asking for feedback. I got some. I think I wanted to understand why I seem so emotionless. Maybe I was hoping for a deeper interpretation of my dream. Maybe I needed someone to tell me it was all going to be okay.
But, right after I asked for that feedback Bryan called me and wanted to tell me he’d accidentally chipped the ear off my squirrel figurine. (I’m sure there’s some symbolism to that that will hit me later. I can’t hear? I’m not listening?) It was around 7 this morning. He let me know that I really fucked him up, pulled the rug out from underneath him. I opened with curiosity. “Is that so? Will you please share that with me?” I wanted him to explain what it is to have the rug pulled out from underneath you. How did I do that? What does that mean for him? He explained, and as he did, his self-pity disappeared and turned into gratitude. There’s waves of that in a break up, isn’t there? You feel so bad and sorry for the huge loss. Then, you realize all the amazing things that happened and how it taught you so much, and how it caused you to grow. It’s all about perspective, isn’t it?
I’m grateful for the experience. Sorry for the pain I caused. Sorry for the pain he caused. Grateful that I have some much-needed space tonight and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow night again to call my own before I move in with my new roommate. Grateful that I have a yoga teacher roommate to live with: A person who has a meditation practice that I didn’t force or coerce them to adopt. Something I’ve dreamed of for ages. Well, at least since 2012. Some dreams take longer to manifest than others. And those dreams often don’t look like what you thought they would when you stirred them up to begin with, but here they are. Dreams manifesting: full circle.