I feel old. It’s ridiculous to say at 35 but I feel my life passing me by and I don’t feel in control of it. I got an MRI today on a bung knee. I have no idea what I did to it originally, way back when I first noticed it in 2017, but it’s been aggravated by three personal training sessions per week. I feel healthier than I have in years, despite the continued drinking, and yet I feel old in my bones.
In the morning there is pain where there wasn’t before. My back aches when I’m bent over to cut my nephew’s hair or carry my niece. I take forever to recover from a boxing session. I have a paunch above my cunt that won’t shift.
I know my general fitness is improving; every day it gets better, but I feel old. The baby announcements now are second, third and fourth kids. I’m still struggling with not having one.
I have a new psychologist. She seems nice, relatable, realistic. She doesn’t give me handouts copied from a textbook that tell me not to think about it when I’m having bad thoughts. That woman was an idiot. She listens. She doesn’t judge – out loud. I feel like she gets me or at least pretends to.
Meanwhile, C … it came to a head on Friday, like a demolition ball. It was bound to happen soon or later. He loves me. Has for months. Told me for months. I just don’t feel the same. I tried. It would be easier if I had. We get along so well. It’s easy. Comfortable but it wasn’t right, for me. I’ve ended it a dozen times now. Tried to cut contact. It’s better for him but we enjoy hanging out. It was like having a best friend except I knew in the end it would hurt him. It did on Friday.
I asked him to leave. This thing we had going couldn’t continue. It was helping no one and then there was the architect.
We only had our first date a bit over a week ago, but we’ve seen each other five times since. He’s nothing extraordinary – intelligent, funny, nerdy, a workaholic, independent – but I like him. Our first date lasted 17 hours, without dinner. We talked and played Jenga and walked and slept and fucked and it was easy. I felt zero pressure. I felt safe. Comfortable. It’s super early days, but I like how I feel when I’m with him.
Problem: he doesn’t know everything yet. He knows some of my history; my sexual escapades but he knows nothing about my infertility. It scares the shit out of me that once I tell him that will be it. I’m trying something new, like I talked about with my psych. I’m not sharing everything about me all at once. It was harder than I thought it would be. I’m innately honest.
He asked about my five-year plan. I said it included kids, but I didn’t elaborate on the challenges that posed. We talked about tattoos, he saw mine and asked what it meant, and I told him I didn’t want to share just yet. He knows I have a secret.
I don’t know when or how I’ll know the right time to tell him.
Married has been emailing me. It’s so fucking hard. I miss him terribly. He has left a massive hole in my life, but I can’t and won’t let him back in to fill it. His situation hasn’t changed. There’s nothing for me behind that door but more heartache. But I can’t deny the pounding in my chest when I see his alias pop up in my inbox. It’s ridiculous the pull he has on me.
Ridiculous and palpable and deep.