Scabs

As a rule, I no longer let people in. No one here knows about Henry, except where he lives and works, and I speak very little about my boys. Yet, this morning a coworker was talking about one of her boys and the difficulties she is having with him - and I brought up Hunter and the time he played the choking game. I showed the gals the two pictures I have of him from that day and explained what happened. 

Now, I am in a quiet place at work having lunch by myself, which is how I like it, and looking back to this morning, I should have left that particular scab alone. There are so many pieces the scab covers that if I pick at one, all the others come to the surface - and wait. It waits until I am trying to stuff it back into the gaping hole to wrestle control away from me and pulls me under again.

On the edge of tears right now, I was hoping that if I made a post for my blog about it that I wouldn't drown.

I cannot help by feeling that I am all alone - inside my head - and not another soul in the world has the same problem.

I have no problem being whatever it is I am - married and single, or married, or just plain single. Talk about an identity crisis.

When I look back on my entire school career, I realize I never fit into any one box. I had a diverse group of friends - several of whom I still talk with - and I was good with that. Even now, my circle of friends - outside of those I have known almost all of my life - is very small, and I like it that way. I prefer it that way.

The city I returned to, not by choice, one year ago is the area I lived in from birth through to my early 20's, and I hate it. I feel as though I am in some sort of hell and I cannot breathe. Everything here is shades of gray, which doesn't help my moods at all, and I feel as though I am stuck here; that I will die here and the same funeral home who has handled arrangements for my family for 50 years, will handle mine too. No scab here; nothing to pick at.

Last night I was pleasantly surprised when Henry asked for my help with something. In the past seven years he has asked me for nothing, and the help he needs I am able to do and I will. I have ripped the scab off this wound so many times that it will probably will never heal.

How do I stop loving him? How do I stop wanting to call him every time I experience something that he would be excited about?  Surely seven years is long enough for me to realize this is all I will ever have with him and things between us will never be more than what it is right now, right? In which case I am clueless about how to let him go. He is so much a part of ME that I would have to tear myself apart in order to let him go.

While we made some great memories together, those times are not what this is about. This is about two people coming together, supporting one another, respecting each other, and more. Now both of us are in differing places in our lives and although I think to myself that this could be really good for us, because it means we can start from where we are now and move forward.

Admittedly, I was more than difficult to live with at times, and caring for Hunter too was an enormous drain on Henry. As much as I wish I could go back and do many things over, things that hurt Henry, I know that I cannot. There is no time machine to take me back there, nor take me back for a do-over with my kids.

Why would Henry want to start anywhere with me?

Why would I when I still do not know why he left in the first place?

It is what it is, and it hurts.