You know that feeling of deja vu, like you’ve had that same feeling before, or you’ve seen someone before? These days, I feel like I get that feeling a lot – like I’ve somehow lived through a particular scene or see familiar faces in my head. Why is it that everything once familiar can become so strange that it feels like faces floating in the crowd?
Just a year or so ago, I felt like I was sure I knew what I wanted – with someone who’s the love of my life, someone who was gonna be the father of my kids. Since then, I have felt less and less sure, and sadly, less and less connected to K, who is the great love of my life just a while ago. Time and routine, unfortunately, can be a cruel killer of even the strongest emotions and conviction. Is that what happened? Or, maybe we weren’t really that connected in the first place – maybe I, and he, was just blinded by our mutual need for affection and attention and newness. And once that newness is no more, we are back to our regular selves. Our less attractive, flawed selves, weary only of our limited shelf life and vested self-interests.
I find myself weary of having to keep up, always having to be on top of things, always having to be the best I can be for him. I am so weary and drained that sometimes I consider what it would be like to be back with my deadbeat husband and actually feel a sense of short relief. Relief from not having to try so hard to be perky, to be young, to be what I am not and don’t want to be. And then I consider, “am I the deadbeat in this relationship now?” and wonder if I’m the butt of some cosmic karmic joke. Sometimes, I’m so weary that I don’t know how I feel toward anything – like there is a chilling numbness traveling down my intestinal tract, like I’m about to be sick, but am not – at least not yet. When he asks me if I loved him, many times, I indeed do not know the answer – as I can only feel the aches and pains and unspeakable disappointment at somehow having missed something along the way. Yet I don’t know what I missed – what went wrong.
As with most women, I’m inclined to acknowledge that the fault lies with me. Although I know for certain that it doesn’t. But doubt is a powerful emotion – and one that plagues me so much so that I constantly second-guess myself and wonder if I am indeed going crazy.