Monday, May 26, 2014

Bearing the Beams of Love*

As y'all learned in my Not Yet blog post, the statue of limitations, regarding my ex-boyfriend breakup grief, have Not Yet expired.

And yes, I'm fully aware that it's been nine months since I've seen him, AND our 'relationship' should have ended a year before that, but to this day, I still carry a sadness in my heart that screams to me, 'I will NEVER again do another relationship again.'

And, because I am not to be trusted, when it comes to matters of the heart, I've made a conscience decision to stay away from the two social media outlets that I know he participates in - Facebook and LinkedIn.

Back in January, the last time I logged into LinkedIn, I could not stop myself from viewing his profile, but as I shared in my blog post, The Gift of Desperation, I've been part of a Grant Writing internship and, as of last week, I'm now a full-fledged Grant Writing Associate.  Due to my new position, it has been suggested that I update my LinkedIn profile.

While I logged in to LinkedIn, I inhaled deeply and promised myself I would NOT stalk his page.  And because I could not help myself from stalking his page, months ago, his face populated on the right of my screen, where it lists recently viewed profiles.  

 As my eyes went from the peripheral glance to a focused zoom on his new profile picture, my breathing stopped.  He had not updated his profile picture since we first got together, back in October 2010.

First, a thirty-second internal struggle followed and then, probably due to lack of oxygen, I broke the flimsy pledge, made seconds ago, and clicked on his page.

He's now moved from San Diego to the Greater New York Area.  He's employed at a company located in his home state of New Jersey, in a position that allows him to draw on his areas of training and expertise.

A hairball of grief rose from my stomach to the center of my throat.

Minutes before I logged into LinkedIn, I'd been proud about the various ways I'd taught myself to stay safe. In my war to convince him I was worthwhile, I assaulted him with desperate pleas.  The shrapnel of his steady rejection debilitated me.  Out of desperation, I found cover in meditation.  Going within, I realized my only enemy was ME.

I learned that I provoked each and every attack and the only path to peace was through surrendering my desperate need to have him love me.  One day at a time, I stopped contacting him.  After some time, he was no longer was the first thing I thought of when I woke up - where he was, when would I see him, whether he would ever hold me again.  I'd wake up and think about my son.  Foundations I was going to research. Meetings I was going to attend that day.

My meditation practice grew.  I stayed sober and began writing again.  I was asked to participate in a grant writing internship and I'm finally going to be back in my own apartment, in a few weeks.  I've been blessed with consecutive days of knowing I am okay without him.

Then, a new profile picture and all my zen-like knowledge - gone.  I'm sent reeling.  My defenses were leveled.

The distance between San Diego and New York provided me an illusion of safety.

I email him.  Congratulate him on his new job.  Tell him he looks great.  Confess that I still think of him; I still miss him.  I still hope to run into him someday.  Love, liz.

I breathe deeply, press send and remind myself, 'NO EXPECTATIONS.'

The next morning after church -

An email from my ex:
breakfast remains

He politely thanks me for the words of encouragement; congratulates me on having a boss, participating in an internship, and achieving a level of mental stability.

There are a thousand ways  
to interpret
one word.

He reassured me that I wasn't wrong for still thinking about him.  He, too, thinks about me sometimes.  'BUT this DOES NOT mean there is any optimistic hope for our future.'

He hopes my son is OK.  He then encourages me to, 'keep in touch!', and without salutation, he curtly ends with his name.

The tsunami of rejection drowned me.  The scab that had once formed to protect my wound was ripped open, again.  Gasping and bleeding all over, I called my best friend.  She lives over a half hour away and insisted on taking me to dinner that evening.  Midday, a couple of friends, that live in my building, invited me to lunch. They refused to take no for an answer.  These are the ones that love me.  Always have; I think, they always will.  There is nothing to prove to them.  The love I so desperately thought I lacked has always been in my life; in front of my face.

Yesterday, in spite my feelings of rejection, I basked in the beams of love that shine on my life.  Dying of thirst, I consistently kept returning to an empty well.

The art of surrender has opened my eyes to the overflowing cup of love in my life.  Day by day - finally - I'm learning to sip from it.

*Title taken from the William Blake line seen above.

1 comment :

  1. I know how it feels to love someone and them not feel the same:( I really enjoy reading your blogs as I can relate to some of them. Keep writing!