“What are you going to do now?”
“What do you mean?”
I didn’t know what her first question meant. I had just made a big decision but not the kind of decision that required any next steps from me. It was tough and sad but it wasn’t the kind of thing that would make me do anything else. It was the kind of thing that would make me think about stuff.
Thinking can sometimes be dangerous for me, but tonight it’s not. Tonight, my mind is empty (and so is my stomach). Tonight, I don’t have anything to think about.
I could think about good memories, I could think about bad memories, I could think about past decisions, I could think about future possibilities, but I’m not. Now doesn’t seem like the time or place for empty memories. And it feels like the future and past are both places I’m not interested in going to.
I didn’t know what to expect from this moment and part of me feels bad writing about it because it seems like it may be a confidentiality breach or just a mean act after an abrupt end. Still, as I write, I’m less worried about the first concern because no one has read this blog in a while and I know the second concern is untrue, even if it may seem that way in certain lights.
I’m not happy but I’m not really sad, which is different than I expected, though I don’t really know what I expected. I wonder about hurt feelings and I hope and pray that isn’t the case. A part of me wants to take it all back (not exactly, but kind of) and send a text or make a phone call. A smaller part of me wonders about the future.
I expected to mourn a huge loss – and who knows, maybe it will set in eventually – but I’m acutely aware that most of the mourning happened two and a half years ago and most of the wavering since then has been a feeble attempt to regain something that was long since lost. That doesn’t mean I don’t think there’s hope for the future – though, admittedly, I hadn’t thought about that before tonight – but I definitely recognize that there’s no hope for the past and that lots needs to happen between now and the future.
The one thing that does make this hard – the thing that’s made it hard for a while – is the possibility of better times. That possibility has made me re-evaluate this decision for the past 2 years. That possibility makes me sad now, because I can’t help but wonder if this decision makes any kind of future impossible. I hope it doesn’t.
For the past two years, I’ve been not wanting to feel how I’ve felt regarding this friendship. And for the first time in a while, I came home tonight okay. Dazed, surprised, even incredulous, but ultimately okay. Like I said, I’m not happy – I feel like only a robot would be happy about what happened – but I’m okay. And I know I’ll be okay. I know there are people around me who will help me be okay if I can’t do it on my own. I know it’ll get harder before it gets easier. I know there will be times I probably cry for no reason at all (like right now). But I know, in the end, it was all for the best. And I’ll make it out alive. And I’ll be better for it.
Okay, now I’m sad.