I started packing today. It was only one of our smaller book cases, but it’s a start. I unloaded three shelves of antique books and fit them in some boxes, keeping only three books aside. There were others – the 1916 copy of Eugenics, a DIY taxidermy manual with notes in the margin, a 1950’s medical encyclopedia set – but put them back in the boxes. If I didn’t look at them over the last five years – and the layer of dust on them can attest to that fact – there’s absolutely no reason to pack them and take them with me.
On various social media, people are pretty supportive of my move. I haven’t made it Facebook official, and probably won’t until things are pretty much solidified. I’m assuming most of my family won’t be as supportive as my mother is being. It’s terrible to make assumptions like that, especially after making a point in one of our therapy sessions that no one can read minds. However, my experiences with them has colored my idea of how they would react. And so I’m keeping things under wrap until it’s too late for them to get under my skin.
Call it self-preservation, or cowardice, it’s all the same.
A friend on one site, after a little back and forth about my (almost solid) decision, asked “None of my business but, did you forgive him and do you love him.” The question made me think for a minute.
If I’m being honest, I don’t think I ever stopped loving him. Dealing with everything would have been so much easier if I hated him. Instead, I just saw the whole situation as sad, and saw him as broken, sad man who hated himself.
As for forgiveness… I forgave him a long time ago, for my own sanity. Things happened, and that’s nothing that can changed.
“Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die”
Pinterest tells me this is Buddha, Reddit says it’s not. It’s the thought that counts either way.
I don’t need to accept his actions. While I took some blame for the situation in the past, I don’t excuse any of what he did. His actions are his and his only. Only, there’s no use in remaining angry over this shit, or letting that anger make me miserable. He was an absolute fucktard, and he knows it. But he has worked incredibly hard over the last 15 months to start earning back my trust and (more importantly) work on himself.
When I finished with the bookcase, I sent the picture to my unhappy little Discord server. A friend on there asked if I had decided what to do. I told her regardless of which direction I go, I’m moving, and if I can swing the logistics of moving two cats halfway across the US and then head north to Westerm Bumfuck, then I’ll go north.
It’s fucking scary, y’all.
The idea of moving kept me up most of the night. I don’t know if I’d be as scared heading south. My Discord friend made the observation, “if you want to stay with him, it probably does mean a move.” I told her the same thing I told his mother a few nights ago, he’s a fucking idiot and has done some ridiculously stupid shit, but I can’t see myself with anyone else.
The thought of not being with him makes my chest tighten and feels like a punch to the gut. Sure, we’ve had problems, but everyone does. I admit ours are a bit more towards the “YO THIS IS SOME BAD SHIT RIGHT HERE” end of the spectrum. However, I feel like if I ever get to the point where the thought of not being together doesn’t make me feel sick, that’s when I need to worry.
Last night, I discovered I have a second investment account that I opened about 20 years ago, before he’d even moved down here. I need to get them to reset my password on Monday and see what’s in there. My biggest fear is overestimating what sort of money I’ll have when I get out of here, which would put the entire plan in jeopardy.
For now, however, I’m worrying about packing, and cleaning, and getting paperwork in order. This afternoon, I inventoried the Lego collection. I broke things down into four sections: “keep”, “sell”, “donate”, and “toss”. I’m keeping the “keep” list as small as possible, because what doesn’t get carried with me needs to be shipped. I have a short list of things I’ll keep for family. The list of things to sell is the longest. Things that don’t get sold will end up donated, or just thrown out.
No one needs a ceramic pig-shaped scented wax warmer.
