4 Feb 2016. That was the title of your last blog post.
It's been more than 2 years since I dared to look at your old blog, and somehow I found the courage today to do so.
I'd always been afraid to know what I'd find there. Pictures of a new life perhaps. Or words that would bring me back to my emotional turmoil.
What I found was your last post, even way before our troubles. And yes, troubles that I started and restarted.
So there's nothing new for me to think and ponder. I don't know what I would have thought if there were.
I don't know if you ever understood why I dared not look at your words. In an alternative universe of mine, I wished you would; but then again you were never meant to be my or anyone's therapist.
...............................
So it seems I can put down here in words that last day, because I think you'd maybe or somehow or not would read them? I flipped through Jordan Peterson's Beyond Order: 12 More Rules For Life recently, and he wrote that if something in your past was haunting you, to write it down.
On that last day, when you'd flown, and you sent me a message that I could never get away from you - I wonder if you'd known how true that was: that I had never and could never get away from you - years before, the years we stopped talking, and till now. There's someone in my family you know that has a very good memory; mine is somehow more focused on emotional aspects.
That message triggered me thinking of two things: of my own other memories of everyone else - and yes, I know it's not something any woman would like; and also a reminder that you did mention or suggest before you have an alternative choice.
I sent you a message sharing my uncertainty, of myself. I take responsibility for all the hurt it caused all over again, so I am not saying it's your fault for reading it that way ---- but could you see I had no one else I could share those thoughts with but you.
The emotional turmoil then overwhelmed me and I literally crashed and fell into an exhausted sleep. Naturally this meant I missed your attempt to reach out; and when I woke up, I saw your furious message to me and I had been blocked.
I sent you a reply regardless, to explain that I had crashed. Naturally you wouldn't have seen or received it.
My sister asked if she could reach out to you on my behalf, but at that point I thought maybe that was the best - that that was the alternative outcome we talked about a few days prior, that this was the end, the final break, to let you go free. To someone better and a more hopeful life.
And then I sought to be busy and get busier, to meet people and engage in things. The city moving in a blur.
And then COVID hit, and I didn't know whether to reach out or not, but I guessed that it would only accentuate any hurt that might have lingered. Who would want to hear any thoughts of concern from those that hurt them, right? I am always sorry if it were otherwise. You said something along these lines before: that years pass, life and events happen... what's the point I guess, if someone isn't there. And I wasn't there.
Perhaps Jordan Peterson has a point after all. I guess in writing this down I realise perhaps that that was what you accepted fairly quickly. Enough of the emotional roller coaster and complexities for you.
...........
Naturally, in times of trouble and selfish aloneness, I am thinking of you.
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