I am in Rome this weekend for one of my nephews’ wedding. It was lovely, they are a beautiful, loving, kind and sweet couple, that loves each other so much you can taste it. I was very emotional during the wedding, partly because he is the first to get married of that generation in our family but also because looking at them on such a beautiful day, all I did was wish so hard for them to make it, because the Ex and I were like that too, yet here we are. And I hate how sad and cynical and jaded I’ve become. 

This weekend the ex is away on a meditation retreat. So he sends me a picture of them preparing a bed of hot coals and of his feet after he walked on them. And I stopped breathing. That’s how panicked I was. And then I got angry, so fucking angry I could have murdered him. But I tried to rein it in, because I’m no longer technically responsible for him, although I am anyway since he’s the father of my children and I feel the need to “protect” him, for them. The anger I felt was the same as when he jumped out of a plane without telling me, or went bungee jumping. 

I panic and can’t breath. Because every time he does something stupid, like jump out of airplanes or off bridges or walk on hot coals (which is just as risky, since his immune system is suppressed), or like when he texts while driving on the highway, I want to grab him and yell at him that for the love of God he’s hanging on to life by a thread already, he’s survived leukemia three times already, he no longer has his nine lives, why is he tempting fate.

I know, it’s his life. I understand that after all he’s gone through he needs to do these things. I understand. But I can’t breathe. I wish he would be grateful for the life he has, instead of constantly seeking the thrill. I wish he held his life in more esteem, he cared more. It’s his life. Not mine, not really. But it still hurts me, it still sends me into a panic. Worrying about his health and his well-being has become such a huge part of my life that it’s hard now to let go. But I have to find the way. I have to stop worrying about him so much, keeping him alive is no longer my job. I have to let go, but I don’t know how. What I do know is that I hate this feeling. I stop breathing, it almost feels like my heart stops beating, I feel a pain above my sternum, and then I get so angry, just so, so angry. It’s a response to stress, I get it, but it can’t be good for me.

Worrying about him is no longer my job, my job now is taking care of myself. And I don’t want to feel like this anymore, I don’t want to get so tense and stressed that I can’t breathe and the only way for me to ease the pain in my heart and my sternum is to cry, in frustration. I want to be happy, to smile, to laugh, to have fun, and not worry so much. It’ll be hard, I’ll need help, but that is what I’m striving for and I know I’ll get there sooner or later. Because I want to breathe.

If ever I had any doubt in my mind that we never actually grow up, I now have unequivocal proof that that is indeed the case. I am my own proof, because I’ve now become a forty-year old teenager. I’ve got a crush… a giggly, blushing, heart quickening, hiding behind plants, and driving past his house at night crush. It’s completely ridiculous. It’s also an awful lot of fun. And angst. But also fun.

And I’m so surprised because who would have thought, you know? I’ve been reprimanded already because I’m acting so out of character and how the hell am I going to attract a man if I hide behind plants when I see him, we’re all adults here. Because, I did, I literally ducked behind a plant. He didn’t see me (thank goodness) because, humiliating! Let me be clear though, I’m the first in line to look at myself in total shocked incredulity, when I extricated myself from the foliage I was like what the fuck was that? But it truly was one of those fight (or in this case flirt) or flight responses, my heart was doing triple time, my palms got sweaty and my face blushed, honestly the plant saved me from humiliating myself, or stuttering, or talking uncontrollably. Plants are great.

Also, I’ve apparently lost all ability to interact with men I find attractive. I was never totally great at this, but I also wasn’t quite this terrible. Right now it’s a cute distraction, but how many times can I drive by his apartment before I get cited for stalking?

So I’m a teenager again, and not even the cool as a cucumber teenager that gets all the boys, I’m the nerdy one who makes an ass of herself. I’m just going to go shut myself in my room and listen to angsty music for awhile.