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Previously on “Nodus Tollens”
A lot of packing, spiralling, and second-guessing before she left her old life behind.
30th March
I just slept for 17 hours. Straight through. Feel very dazed. Took me a long time to figure out where I was when I woke up.
I’m home.
The trip was harrowing. I don’t think I fully comprehended what was going on until my plane took off. It all suddenly hit me. Spent the whole flight crying. The man beside me was not thrilled about his seat allocation. Sympathetic at first, in fairness. I think by hour three, he was just straight up freaked. Kept glancing over. I tried to be discreet. Don’t know that I succeeded in that.
Also, nearly missed my connection. Should have just booked direct. Anyway. Doesn’t matter. All behind me now.
I can’t put into words how weird it feels to be back in Ireland. A warm hug. Enveloping comfort that leaves something to be desired. I’m not whole. Left part of myself behind. I feel it. An aching crevice in my chest. Can’t be filled by anyone or anything here.
Mum’s trying to fill it with food. The amount she’s cooking. It’s excessive. Seriously excessive. Don’t have the heart to tell her that I have no appetite. She’s trying. Fussing. A lot. Dad is being… how to describe it. Sternly silent? Does that make sense? He’s disappointed. In Shane. Also, in me. For vaping again. I’m stressed. Leave me alone.
As if he’s gonna read this. He better fucking not.
They don’t know how to be. Relatable. Neither do I. I can tell they’re biting their tongues. Don’t want to speak out of turn. In case we get back together, I guess. I should decide about that at some point. Not now. Not yet. I want us to be together. I think. I really do want to be with him. Stay with him. I’m just not sure he’s worth it. I don’t know who he is. The man I married is hard to recognise in him.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. Or what I want.
Or what to be doing with myself now that I’m home. It’s a lot of moping about, at the moment. Darkening every room I enter with the big old cloud hanging over my head. Accompanies me everywhere. My new life partner.
Weird to be here without Lucy. In the midst of all this, I’d forgotten she died. That was a fun little reminder to come home to. Missing her a lot. I could do with her company. Even taking her on a walk would be a good excuse to get out of the house. Give me something to do.
Although it has been raining nonstop since I touched down. Like the country is crying for me.
Oh. Wow.
I just physically cringed. That’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever said. This journal is changing me. Glad I’m the only one reading this. People will think I’ve gone very New York if I start coming out with shit like that in public.
Anyway, it feels right. The rain, I mean. Not being sappy.
Also, if it were sunny… The pressure to socialise. It’d be too much. Don’t feel ready for that.
My friends are all trying to make plans. I’m avoiding them. Don’t know why.
Well, actually, I do.
I really feel quite embarrassed. Like a failure. Returning home after 3 years. Tail between my legs. Failed at marriage. Failed at emigrating. Failed at my career. At adulthood. At everything. Nothing more humbling than moving back into your childhood bedroom at nearly 33.
So much to rebuild.
Now that I have a fresh start, I don’t really know what to do with it. I guess there’s a freedom in losing everything. Nothing left but a fully blank page. Rewrite the story. Alone.
After a decade of thinking for two, it does feel odd. Having full control over my life. My future. Quite terrifying, to be honest. Maybe not terrifying. Overwhelming for sure.
Might start dancing again. Soon. Someday. I want to feel excited. And free.
I do, a little already. Free from the weight that was sitting in my stomach. From the cobweb that clung to me, smothering me with obligations. Sticking tighter every time I tried to wriggle out of it.
In other good news, the pulsing stopped. As soon as I got back. I guess my body was telling me something. I’m so happy I listened to it.
Look at me. So positive. More upbeat already.
I’m going to try to sleep again. Probably shouldn’t because of jet lag. Whatever.
I’ll survive.
1st April
I’m hungover. Not too bad, considering my current baseline. Could definitely be worse.
It was wonderful to see everyone yesterday. To be back in a proper pub. Cosy, woody smell of stale beer. Homey booths. Sticky floors. Though those were commonplace enough in New York as well. It felt comfortable. Like getting into bed after a long day.
My fears were unwarranted. Nobody’s judging me. At least not in a way that I noticed. But also, they’re not. They just feel bad for me. All have the same look. Sympathetic eyes. Widened, softened, light furrow of the brow. Identical, every single one of them. Would be funny if it weren’t so fucking tragic.
Nobody can believe it. What Shane did. Makes me feel better. Their shock. At least I wasn’t an idiot, overlooking glaring red flags. Small victories. I’ll take what I can get at this point.
I did do something kind of psycho last night. Not that psycho. I could be doing a lot worse. Smashing cars, a la lemonade and all that. Don’t feel so much anger, though. Just sad. And numb. Which I recently learned is not a good thing. Oh well.
One thing at a time.
Anyway, I texted her husband. Already had the message written out. Work of art, that message was. Basically, telling him she was as much a part of this as Shane was. I’d want someone to do that for me. I don’t know what she’s told him. They’re still together, though. She gets her happily ever after, dancing on the ruins of my life.
I showed the girls. They told me to send it.
He read it. Like, instantly. Within seconds. No reply, though. I freaked out. Spiralled very quickly. Remarkably quickly. Had halfway convinced myself that I’d made everything up when Anna brought me back down to earth. Spoke some sense into me. Mostly. Outwardly. The internal babbling remained deafening.
I need to put it out of my head. None of my business at the end of the day. Still stings though. Just want her to suffer. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t care. Maybe I should be a bad person. Maybe this is the start of my villain arc. I don’t think I’d be a good villain.
Let’s see how things unfold.
Won’t rule it out.
5th April
It’s been a long week. A lot of people. So many people. It’s easy for a while. Fun, even. To bury the sadness in the back of my mind. But it always creeps back up. Steamrolls me out of the blue. Smacks me right in the heart, robbing me of all my oxygen.
It’s a battle to maintain the facade. Doing it for other people’s sake, it feels like. Food tastes bland, still hard to swallow. Forced laughter. Conversations are laborious. Can’t talk about anything. My past, all him. My present, too sad. My future, too uncertain. Doesn’t leave much. People are tiptoeing around me. Makes me pretty terrible company.
It all feels so stifling. I get claustrophobic when people come close to me. Heart races towards a panic attack. Red-hot pressure shooting through me, settling in my ears. And my toes. So tense. Makes me violent. Irrational, I know.
I snapped at Dad for standing near me. I was pretty nasty, actually. He was offended. He didn’t get it.
What’s that all about? Self-protection or something?
I think I might be a little traumatised.
I want to escape. Again. Being back here doesn’t offer the relief I thought it would. The only place that would make me feel better is the one place I cannot go.
Spoke to him briefly today. He’s not doing well. He’s moved back into our apartment. I don’t envy him. He’s gonna come back in a month. He thinks. Seems long for him to be so far away. But it’s good. I guess. Gives me time to figure things out.
He’s angry at me for leaving. His whole family is. Think I’m in the wrong. You should see how much my grip tightened around the pen while writing that. Nearly snapped it in two. My leaving was not a choice. Not really. It was a lifeline. It was he who made the choice.
Anyway. Whatever. Fuck it. Maybe I am angry.
I’m thinking of booking a trip. Little solo adventure. Haven’t done that. Ever. Could be cute. I’ll look into it.
My family just got home. There was talk of the aunties popping by. Don’t want to talk. I’m going to hide in my room. Pretend to sleep or something.
God.
I’ve regressed to my 15-year-old self. Hopefully will be making better choices this time. Let’s wait and see.
Don’t have high hopes.
Keep Reading Here - Entry #5 - Advice On Surviving Limbo
Thanks for reading x
This felt very real and emotionally raw in a good way. The diary style makes everything feel immediate and believable.
The way you balanced grief, humour, embarrassment and relief all at once made it impossible not to feel every part of it. Beautiful 😍