I shared a few of my old blogs with Him (oops there he is again) , particularly the one in which I was processing the death of my sexless marriage, the impact it had on me, and the tools I used to find the courage to date (I can’t say again as I never really dated before!). As I write these words, by the way, I am still wonder struck at the transformation in my life in this area – from the person who felt so deeply unattractive that no one would want to sit opposite her in a pub, to someone considerably more sure of their appeal and a clear understanding that one man’s meat is another man’s poison.
I digress. He said he was mortified by the sadness in my writing. How could someone externally so full of joy, write such sad material? He, said he, would ensure that I wrote a happy blog. I’m not sure he got my attempt to explain that I’ve only ever really blogged to process sadness and make some kind of sense of it all; that periods of sadness are usually followed by periods where the new information from processing suffering, is taken on board and enjoyed. But of course I was secretly delighted. To have him care in that way is what I wanted more than anything and to have had that promise so spectacularly undelivered….
So I can find things to write about all the time but am not compelled in the way I am when I’m sad or struggling.
I was reading a wonderful blog this morning, so truthful (and man can he write), about a man who has had an affair and is now working on his marriage and he described his life as being like a soap opera. At many times mine could be seen as the same over the last 10 years. From the affair which highlighted the state of my marriage, to going to Australia on the world’s most dramatic marriage rescue attempt, to accidental pregnancy, final marriage breakdown, dealing with my pathological fear of dating all the while resurrecting my career and bringing up my daughter, culminating in the last year of desperate love for someone who was only partly available.
People have said that I have done late in life what most do as teenagers. That the time for experimentation and mistakes takes place in your late teens and early twenties where I was busy being studious and square and perfectly behaved. The height of my rebellion was to go to a university in London rather than one on my doorstep, and to get my ears pierced at 19 without permission.
My latest drama really does feel over. I hardly think of him with sadness any more. I don’t feel any desire to jump on the dating bandwagon for a while. Work is hard right now. Grinding through budgets which don’t stack up, pushing water uphill to get some plans to inspire us all post event. Things have reached a lower level of equilibrium.
My idea of hell is my mother’s idea of happiness. To have a life where nothing much happens.
And If I’m honest part of me misses it. I miss the drama.