I am not holding onto his memory as a way to keep him in my life. He is simply there. Every day he weaves in and out of my awareness. I am no longer over taken by the realization of his absence. It is a pervasive muting of everything good or beautiful. I am living in a period of mourning, slowly recovering and learning to adjust to the new normal. A world where he is not part of it and never will be again.
I am unable to move forward. I have absolutely no desire to be desired or to desire. I have physical needs that occasionally flare, but even then, they are murky, slow moving, cold and finite, barely worth mentioning in the absolute banality of almost adequate. I just don’t care to care. It’s not even that I am afraid, I’m not, I am truly not interested in introducing anyone new into my life.
I have some treasured male friends I speak with occasionally and it seems that is certainly partially filling a need. If they lived closer, perhaps things might be different, but who knows. I think I have reached a point where the damage of my past is such that I don’t trust myself or anyone else to protect me. The walls that I used my entire life to protect myself with came down and crushed me. I am not bitter; I don’t really even qualify as ‘hurt’. I am at the place where I know I have suffered a serious injury, but the sensation indicating pain and trauma has somehow been blocked.
It’s not even a matter of not trusting someone to not hurt me; I simply don’t trust anyone, period. It is the strangest vantage point, seeing things from an entirely different angle. One where the only need I see myself filling in an affair would be simple physical gratification and the idea of that is verging on abhorrent. It makes me resentful of a situation that hasn’t even occurred which means it would be completely unfair to even consider a relationship with someone when the thought of them cheating with me, makes my stomach turn.