If I were male I’d be wearing a toupee, driving a sports car, and macking on women half my age…
I don’t even know where to begin… I’ve been in such a funk the last couple of weeks. I’m not sure if I’m ill, tired, depressed, or just in the throws of the aforementioned crisis.
I think it is a combo platter of all of the above. (well, I’m not ill, but I was terribly sick for a couple of days, which possibly caused some damage that I’m still feeling the effects of)
I’m struggling right now with the “sads”. I talk a good talk about enjoying my life and my independence, but I don’t think I really believed for a second that I would find myself entering the final act of my life (ok, maybe not the final act, but certainly post-intermission) alone.
I guess it really wasn’t an issue before now as there was no “possibility”. But then I went and sort of fell in love. In love? In lust? In like? In “deep like” with someone.
It happened a year ago, and it wasn’t reciprocated.
And I got over him.
But I didn’t.
And every time I see him, I fall in love with him all over again, and a little more.
And he doesn’t reciprocate.
And my heart breaks a little more each time.
So there I was last weekend, at the race in Mid-Ohio, when I didn’t think he was coming, but suddenly there he was, at the bottom of the stairs as I rounded the corner from above, and I felt my self and my face light up in a way that was soooo obvious to me.
I reacted as if someone had thrown me a surprise party, and was holding out the keys to a Lamborghini, and a puppy. I couldn’t stop smiling.
God, I wish someone would react to seeing me in that way. At the very least I would hope I would notice someone reacting to me that way. It was “Bacon Eyes” times 1000. (long story)
Anyway, we hung out at the track the whole time. We walked and talked and took pictures and talked some more. Rinse/Repeat.
And every time we saw each other from a distance we would smile and come together and hang out some more. And it was bliss. And I knew I should be doing other things, but I didn’t care. Selfishly I blew off all of my duties, and enjoyed every moment of our time together.
It was like a three day date. And I shirked my “duties” for the weekend in lieu of hanging out with him, because it made me happy, and I’ve not been happy lately.
Except at the end of each day, he would leave, off to his hotel, and I would leave, off to my hotel. And I would eat alone at a restaurant, and then retire to my room and wonder what he was doing, and wish he was there.
And then it was Race day, and as much as I would have preferred to just hang with him the whole time, I did have an obligation to “work” that day, so I spent the first part of the race with him, then had to part ways, and climb fences, and shoot race cars. And when I got back to the media centre he was gone. No goodbye. I texted a a quick “you left without saying goodbye? :-(” and then wished him a safe trip and told him how much fun I had hanging with him all weekend. A couple of hours later I got a “ya, had to leave, ya had fun, safe travels to you too” And then nothing…
And just like all the times before, I spent the next week “recovering from a break-up” , or at least that’s how it feels.
It’s so frustrating. And I want to be brave and reach out. But then I go over all the reasons in my mind why he wouldn’t/couldn’t/shouldn’t be interested.
I’m too fat, I’m too loud, I’m too old. I’m not worthy.
He’s 34, I’m just shy of 48 (when the fuck did that happen?!) He is in his prime. He should be looking for a woman who can give him babies and a home. I’m a gypsy with old eggs.
Based on my family history, I’m likely a ticking time-bomb where my health is concerned.
Just typing this all out, makes the tears sting the back of my eyes. My heart breaks for the life I didn’t get to live. The love it seems I’ll never get to share.
My stomach churns with envy for all the people who have done me (and others) wrong, and yet somehow have been granted love, and success, and a life filled with both.
And every morning, I lay there curled up in my bed, lacking any motivation to carry out another day in my empty life. Yet, every day I force myself to get up and go through the motions. And every day I force myself to leave my house and feel the anxiety coursing through my veins. The first few blocks are filled with shallow breathing and choking back the tears, and yet I push through it. And every day I manage to find something to do, and someone to talk to, and a reason to laugh. But then I come home, alone, and all I want to do is go to sleep, because in my dreams I’m brave, and I say how I feel, and in my fantasy world, it is reciprocated.
And there you have it… the brain purge of a lonely woman…