Saying Good-Bye

I feel like I've done a lot of that lately. A wonderful friend of mine passed away earlier this year. It felt like my heart would break. I was supposed to call him, but I put it off. I won't every call him again. 

The other good-byes feel less tangible but equally as potent. I don't really have words to describe those moments or events, but I know they're endings. Sometimes I'm ready for that end, as in the case of Darrin's father's death. That event felt like a gift - permission for me to live and breathe again. There was no sorrow at that passing. But other times, I'm not ready to let go.

Then there are times when I know a good-bye, spoken or not, is coming. This is especially apparent in relationships. I feel the increasing disinterest. Attentiveness is non-existent. There is an overarching impression that interactions are taking place by habit, or perhaps because of some odd, displaced sense of duty. In the past, when those circumstances evolved, I jumped ship. I hated good-byes. I got out as quickly and cleanly as possible. I realize now that fear dictated that motion. I was so afraid of being left behind, outgrown, or rejected, that I simply sped up the process, got it over with, and ignored any residual pain.

I haven't done that for a long time now. And I have to say, I'm not sure it's better. At least when I left, I knew exactly where I stood and what would happen next. When I stay, I feel constant uncertainty. I'm so very afraid of taking a misstep. And I read way too much into any interaction. 

The problem is probably 75% PTSD. I'm sort of proud of the fact that I've been able to nurture relationships in spite of the daily battle I wage with that monster. But it doesn't make me stronger. My need for reassurance, especially verbal, simply increases. And if that need isn't fed, I feel broken.

It's an odd thing to confront. I am one of the most capable people I know. I'm fairly confident in my ability to do anything I wish. And I know I'm not a pariah. People want to like me. I am approachable and friendly. 

But maybe that's the extent of me. Meeting me is actually the best part. Getting to know me is a downhill road. Maintaining a relationship with me is nothing more than work. Lots of work. Lots of work with little reward. When I am very old, I'll be alone and probably friendless, but I will be one heck of a Walmart Greeter.

I guess I feel like I'm on the verge of losing something and someone I value. That's not a good feeling. Someone once told me that feeling badly about losing a loved one is a positive trait. So I'm allowing myself to feel that. But the good-bye is so very long and drawn out. Neither of us wants to say the words. We will, though. Probably sooner than I wish.