The unraveling

Well, fuck, man. I feel like I have whiplash over here. Here’s what happened. — In September/October – roughly – I was dealing with a little bout of depression. Here’s how I characterize it: my depression is a friend who comes around every once in a while. It stays for a while, we make some memories together, and eventually it goes away. It’s a cyclical thing that – luckily – I’m pretty used to; I can identify it and have strategies for managing our time together. This little round in October was a little more intense than I’m used to. I was having thoughts I’ve never really had before. Thoughts that people would call “warning signs” if I voiced them out loud. This time, it was partly because I was off balance. Not really leaving the house, not going to yoga. The loss of a friend contributed. Usually my depression manifests as negative thoughts at night. But this time I was spiraling – extrapolating from that one experience to believe that I am worthless and unworthy of love. I was full-body sobbing in bed, unable to sleep, unable to move on from what had happened and what I thought it meant about me as a person. I’m not sure how much detail to provide here. I feel a lot better now, and mostly want to provide context for what came next. — I found a physical therapist, a talk therapist and a personal trainer. My little band of women helped me get out of the house, process some of my feelings, and begin recovering. As I was finding momentum again, Caleb started his process downhill. It’s interesting how we kind of passed each other in orbit. Or maybe he was just holding during those months so I would have stability. As I was on the rise, he finally let himself sink into his feelings. He’s questioning a lot about his life and what he wants from it. Not surprising; he’s 23. In fact, a part of my mind is saying “I told you so,” I predicted it. We traded places. He was in the upside down, I was trying to manage our life in the light side. Slowly, we each started to hold back from the other. He tried to hide the depth of his struggle. I withheld small complaints, the beginnings of small arguments that I thought could wait. That’s how we ended up in February: managing, but just barely. In the driveway, with groceries in the back, arguing because we forgot to use the coupons at the store. “What else?” he asked me before I could turn to get out of the car. He’s astoundingly good at holding me to my emotions, he always knows when I haven’t said everything. “I want to have kids.” I struggled to say it, even though I knew he knew. “I don’t know what I want,” he said. And I knew this as well as he knew my thoughts. — Here’s what I will remember. The rise of his forehead and the perfect line of his nose. His mouth twisting strangely in a way I’ve never seen before. His internal conflict manifesting on his face. I know, I know. What a fucking tragedy to see someone so clearly, and know their needs well enough to know “I’m not it.” Fucking story of my life. — Yeah, so we’re changing our paradigm. Best friends for life, hopefully, but we’re not going to get married. I’m no longer engaged. I bought a bed. We’re just friends. — Today, my feelings of regret and loss triggered a flash memory of a comparable goodbye. When I was 24 years old, I gave Manuel a final kiss and let go of his hand to walk through customs in Santiago. Back toward home, away from my life in Chile. I did look back, many times. No sense in pretending I didn’t question my sanity for leaving a perfect man who was an amazing partner to me. But at that time, I needed something different for my life. It was a classic “wrong place at the wrong time.” I needed to explore and create my own future. How could I possibly deny Caleb the same thing? Soundtrack: Sister Golden Hair, by America Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed I ain’t ready for the altar but I do agree there’s times When a woman sure can be a friend of mine