It's Like Rehab

Besides a brief and accidental glimpse of Jeff and a short IM conversation, I was relatively Jeff-free today.

And I found myself feeling better. Not happy. But better. I sang along with the radio. I may have gotten watery-eyed once or twice, but I didn't shed a single tear.

I thought about how he didn't deserve me. I thought about the wreck his life is turning into and how much better off I was not to be with him.

I wondered if this is what it's like for a drug-addict in rehab. They are so addicted to their drug of choice, they would kill or die for it. They marvel at it's perfection...and then once in rehab, they suffer. They shake, they vomit, they sweat...they are so certain they will die without it. They want to die without it.

Until one day it hurts a little less. One day they begin to feel...and it's not as terrible as they thought. There's a long recovery ahead, but the glimpse of healing has come.

I suppose that is how I feel.

I avoided anything that could remind me of him. I actually felt better. Feel better.

When Taylor went to bed at 9, I found myself alone. Watching tv. A phone just inches from my hand. I thought of 3 funny things to tell him. I remembered 1 incident I wanted to mention. I wondered how he was. I wondered why I cared how he was.

I wanted to ask him if he missed me. Once, I was so naive and open that it's just the sort of thing I would do..."Do you love me?" "Do you miss me?" Now I know I can never ask these things again. I don't want to hear the answers.

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to hear his voice. He could either be cold and remind me of why he is not worth loving or warm and friendly and stir up some tiny, foolish hope in me.

I didn't call.

I did feel a bit like a recovering alcoholic holding a glass of rum on the rocks instead of a phone though.

I did slip a bit. I IMed him the link to the song that I posted below. It made me think of him.

Sometimes I let myself believe we were in love. I believe he has to miss me. He has to still love me.

Then I remember. He is a monster, physically incapable of loving anyone, including himself. It's the disease, the defect, the illness. A psychopath is not capable of feeling emotions...and when they reveal some emotion you have to remember that it is faked for the purposes of manipulation.

To believe otherwise is a mistake. It makes me think of those people who adopt some savage wild creature as a pet - like a tiger or a bear. They nurture it, cuddle it, love it and care for it and it responds to them. It appears to be tamed.

And one day, Channel 4 reports that the family pet just ripped the person into tiny pieces.

It's his nature. He is incapable of anything more than faking the illusion of caring about another person. He is the scorpion.

So why on earth do I still care about him?

And how soon will it go away? (Note: Hey, doctors? You really need to design some pill for this...)

Still, it was a better day. I missed him less. I didn't cry. I felt better.

It will come. (For me...something much different is coming for him...)