Meaning in the Mundane {40}: Dad.

It’s been about six months since I realized our relationship was over — for good this time. I forget about it, mostly.

That’s a lie.

I never forget, but sometimes the ache is so faint as to go unnoticed.

Almost.

But when things happen — when I feel unappreciated or unseen or fundamentally flawed — I start thinking about how easy it was for you to walk away. I don’t even realize I’m thinking about you until someone posts something that I know is for you — even though I can’t see you because I blocked you — seeing your name was just too damned painful. And then, all over again, my chest gets tight and my stomach is tied in knots and I just want to run, but where would I go? And what am I running from?

And so now, my life is changing rapidly, unexpectedly, and I’m scared. People I trusted have told me that I’m worthless — this is not what they meant, but it’s the only way my heart can interpret what they said. I feel unappreciated, and unseen, and fundamentally flawed.

I have phenomenal support — I’m lucky in this, I know. But then I find myself, quite by surprise, scrolling through my contact list or refreshing my email to see if there might be…someone…anyone, really, that might be around, and I realize that I’m still just looking for you.

I know that the end of this relationship is a good thing for me. I know that the constant back and forth of waiting for you to be something you can’t — or won’t — be (at least, not for me — the other reason I blocked you was because it feels like a fucking kick to the gut every time I hear how generous you are to like, every other kid you encounter) was killing me. I know that every time I let you back in against my better judgement, a part of my ability to love and trust left with you. I know that the reason this stupid work situation is hitting so hard is because it feels like you leaving again.

And it kills me that as much as I can intellectually realize this, I’m still scared to go to work because I don’t trust myself to act professionally. I don’t trust myself to not lose my shit whenever I have to talk to the people who just made a decision — that’s it. They made a business decision, and while I might not agree with how they went about it, it’s still just that — a business decision. But to me it feels like further proof that I’m worthless. Unappreciated. Fundamentally flawed.

I keep telling myself that this will pass. That it hasn’t even been a year. But it’s been a lifetime.