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Previously on “Nodus Tollens”
She’s back in Ireland. The scenery changed, but the feelings did not.
7th April
Ten days since I got back. Time has stopped making sense. Don’t know where it’s going. Days feel like weeks. Hours feel like seconds. Passing by in a blur. A whirlwind. Been busy, but also been doing nothing.
Have caught up with everyone. Nearly. Everyone I want to see. For now. Taking it one group at a time. Pretty exhausting telling the same story over and over again. And over again. Especially this story. I can get through it without crying now. That’s a win. The bar is low these days. The recounting has become somewhat robotic. Just rattle through the events, then sit back, nodding politely as I’m showered in advice.
God. The advice. Practically drowning in it at this point.
Telling me that “Time will heal”. That’s great. Wonderful. I’m so happy for this future version of myself who has reaped the benefits of time’s magical healing powers. Hurts now, though. What about this version of myself? Any tidbits to help her?
That’s not the worst one. Not by a long stretch.
“Every relationship has its ups and downs”. Can actually feel the scalding sparks of fury shooting up from the pit in my stomach with this one. It’s not even the sentiment. I mean, it is. But it’s more the way it’s uttered that really gets me tensed up. Always in such a dismissive, blasé tone. Like I’m making a big deal out of it. Rolls off the tongue with the same intonation you’d use to tell a child to stop having a tantrum.
“Everything happens for a reason”. Less liberally used. Thankfully. Feel the need to smash something when I hear this. A car, perhaps. With a hammer, ideally. Doesn’t have to be a hammer. Just something heavy. Because what reason? What reason could justify this? What grand plan does the universe have at play that will make this feel okay?
It’s all well-meaning. I know. Comes from a good place. I know. I know. I know. I’m just sick of it. They don’t understand. They can’t relate. They don’t know what I’m going through. It makes it worse. Adds to the noise in my brain. Loud enough in there as it is.
Starting to feel like our old car when we burned out the brakes. Can practically see the fumes billowing from my ears when I look in the mirror.
As you might have noticed, I’m living right at the edge of my fuse these days. Doesn’t take much to tip me over. Great fun for those around me, I’m sure. Had breakfast with my parents yesterday. The chewing. Honest to God. Never noticed it before. Don’t know how. It was deafening. Each chew sounded like a sharpened acrylic nail being scraped down a blackboard. Rage settled behind my eyes. Felt the heat emanating from my laser beam glare. I ignored it. Played it cool.
That’s not true. At all. Did a lot of passive-aggressive huffing before I stormed out. Even slammed my door. I think.
Like I said. Full regression. 32 going on 16.
All that’s left to do is dig out the old High School Musical posters. Plaster my walls with Troy Bolton. I’ll be set. I should watch those movies again. Think they would heal something in me. When I’m trying to sleep, maybe.
Sleeping again, but now I keep dreaming of them. Together. They are so vivid. The dreams. Getting worse every night. Fingers crossed, tonight I get a fun little basketball-inspired musical number thrown into the mix. Add some variety. So I don’t get bored.
8th April
Just read over my last entry. Wow. What a bummer.
Have decided to try being more positive. Starting now.
The clouds looked very pretty today. Grey dabs of upwards brushstrokes. Background tinged with splatterings of pink. Like a painting blanketing the sky. Very nice.
I’m finally getting into this journaling thing. I guess I need somewhere to unload my crazy now that Shane is gone. I do miss our evenings together. Taking turns ranting about the day’s events. Journaling will have to do for now. It’s better, in some ways. More unfiltered. Though I sometimes catch myself not writing something because I’m worried about what he would think. Like he’s peering over my shoulder. Feels like the first place I can be truly honest, and still, I’m censoring myself to appease someone who will never read these words. Weird.
More good things.
Oh God.
Why is this so hard?
Saved a dog on my walk yesterday. Well. Kind of. She was trapped between two bars in a gate. Big panic. Yapping and floundering. I helped her get free. Brought her back to her owner. That was sweet. Made me feel useful. Made my day feel worthwhile.
Those walks are the only thing anchoring me at the moment.
It’s been hard to know where to walk. Was avoiding all the places we’d ever been together. Not easy. Impossible actually. Dublin is really not very big. Feels smaller now than I remember. Decided to change tactics.
Exposure therapy.
Armed with a playlist of all our favourite songs, I visited the spots haunted by the ghosts of our memories. First kiss. First date. The café we found when we got lost after eating those brownies. The shop where that man screamed at Shane for buying the same jacket as him. Good times. Wanted to dust away all the cobwebs of the past. Make space for new experiences.
It was rough. Very not fun. The songs made it worse. So much worse. The lyrics felt too meaningful. Too loaded. Too triggering. Don’t think I can listen to any of them anymore. Sucks. Some of my favourites. Hopefully, the sting will be taken out of the places I visited. Will think of this next time I go there, instead of him. Unsure if it will work. Jury’s still out. Will report back.
I still haven’t unpacked. Suitcase is at my bedroom door, where I dumped it when I got home. Splayed open. Clothes littered everywhere. Have to step through it when I come in and out of the room. Don’t have the energy for it. Too much of a commitment. Won’t feel like a holiday anymore. Mum asks me every day if I’ve unpacked yet. Pitch gets higher every time. Like her throat is tightening, clenching around the unfinished task. It’s actually pretty funny. It’s driving her crazy. See her eye twitching when I tell her I’ll get around to it. She’s really suppressing her instincts.
Everyone’s treating me very delicately. Handling me with kid’s gloves. I feel bad. Don’t want to torture her. I’ll do it today.
I need to start looking for a job. Opened a website yesterday and shut my whole laptop down before the page even loaded. Not a promising start. It’s too soon. But I want some semblance of certainty. About where this is all going. Where my life is heading.
Feel torn. Not in my past life anymore. Not in my future yet. Stuck here. In limbo. Just me in a roomful of unanswered questions. Prodding at me.
Haven’t been thinking about the future too much. Not sure if that’s wise. Been talking to Shane a little more. Daily now. Also, not sure if that’s wise. Don’t care though. It’s too difficult, this no-contact thing.
Three weeks till he’s home.
10th April
It’s like 5 am. Or something. I think I need to go to the hospital. I probably don’t. But I don’t feel normal.
Put the symptoms into Google. Provided nothing useful. Feels like pressure. Skin tightening around my bones. World upside down, gravity pressing down on me. A headache like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Skull splitting open, one layer at a time. From the inside out. Agonising. It woke me up. Which is good. I guess. Was having another dream. Or, nightmare.
This was the worst one so far. Started, same as all the others. Them. Dancing, hugging, glowing. A halo around her head. Coy smiles and suggestive winks. Pretty standard. This time, though, they were naked.
Very. Fucking. Disturbing.
Even just remembering it coats my mouth in a thin layer of bile. Anyway. Rest was the usual shit.
I watched them from a distance. Screaming. They didn’t hear me. Didn’t want to hear me. They disappeared. Spiralled from there. Ran around some house I’d never been to, stumbling through doors that led to nothing but empty rooms. Thumping of lead-laced blood in my ears. Couldn’t find him anywhere. Don’t remember what happened next. The last thing I saw before I woke up was her smiling face. No basketball number yet.
So grim. Longing for insomnia. Better than this.
I miss him so much. I hate him. But I miss him. Constantly. Every single thing about him. There’s this like, fucking yearning, like a hunger, I don’t know, a deep primal something inside of me that wants to see him. Needs to see him. To talk to him. To forgive him. To go back in time and make all this not have happened.
I need to find a therapist. I’ve been researching. About the dreams and stuff. About everything, actually. Who knew there were so many blogs about infidelity? Anyway. Seems like it can give you a ptsd type thing. Sounds very dramatic. Bit daft. But still. Therapy will help. Can’t make it any worse, at least.
I’m not going to sleep again. I can’t. I don’t want to. I’ll unpack. I’m actually going to Galway in a few days. My little solo trip. Nothing crazy. Should be nice. Hopefully.
Keep Reading Here - Entry #6 - Pause. Breathe. Escape. Again?
Thank you for reading x
I really liked how unfiltered this felt. The mix of anger, grief, sarcasm, and tenderness reads exactly like someone trying to survive one day at a time. 🩵
The tightening skin. The noise inside the brain. The fury at advice. The strange humor people develop while trying to survive emotional devastation. Every entry feels immediate and unfiltered in the best way.
Also, the untouched suitcase may be one of the strongest symbols in the entire piece.