I Need the 90s

This weekend was hard.

I’m not sure exactly how I got it in my head that one week would be a turning point, but it was just the same heart-wrenching discouragement as all the days before. I haven’t heard a single word from my significant other, not so much as a Skype notification saying he’s online. No one else has heard from him either.

The upside is there aren’t any news reports or obituaries that worry me just yet either.

But I miss him. And I run through a dozen intense emotions a day, which is a lot for me, just thinking about it. Even when trying not to think about it. I still have no idea what’s going on. I don’t know if it’s deliberate silence, which sometimes annoys me, sometimes angers me, sometimes scares me, sometimes comforts me – and of course then I feel guilty for being annoyed or angry because I think maybe he needs it, or maybe it’s not deliberate at all. And then I’m more scared because if it isn’t that he won’t message but rather that he can’t, then oh God, what’s happened?

Yesterday, I was just tired. Not sad exactly, not anxious, just drained. It took a lot more trying than usual to get chores done, which worked out okay since sleep was pretty elusive until late too.

When I started this blog, I said that my primary goal was going to be to learn to actively love myself and that included learning how to feed my soul good things.

My entire life I have loved movies and tv shows, in part because of the escape into a different world, a different life. Something I can see more objectively. Or simply something different. Something away from here. That’s what I gravitated towards this last weekend, and it became so easy to just…sit and watch episode after episode (thank you, Netflix). And not think.

Except every bloody episode of the three different shows I was switching between included either a missing person or an incredibly close relationship ending (or coming very close to it). Less helpful. Less escape-y.

I finished two of those shows, put the third on pause (it’s one I watch while doing chores, and I’m taking a little time to avoid them), and then decided I needed another sitcom. Something light and encouraging.

I needed Fuller House.

I hadn’t started it yet, although I’ve been ecstatic about this renewal of the Full House series that is in my very blood. So last night I started. Teared up a few times in that series premier. Teared up a lot because DJ lost her husband and I’m trying really hard not to think about the possibility that I’ve lost my Love. And failing miserably at least once a day. But oh I love this show. I needed this.

I realised a lot of things while watching the first few episodes between yesterday and today. First, that there is something about Full House and Fuller House that my soul craves. Maybe it’s the family. Maybe I just really want to a Danny, Jesse, and Joey in my life who sit me down with violin music playing in the background and talk to me about life and then we hug it out. Maybe it’s the nostalgia. All these moments, and nods to those moments, that shaped my perceptions at such a young age – I never advocate for letting tv raise one’s kids, but this show was a good influence on me. Maybe it’s the fact that I never had sisters and the idea of having someone I could talk to about the things that scare me and that I struggle with and that bother me and makeup tips and boys and whatever is something that a part of me wants. (Maybe not, I’m not keen on sharing my room.) Maybe it’s how both these shows take almost simple struggles, nothing overly out of the ordinary, and show how deeply hard and painful they can be. And it’s still all okay. Maybe it’s the catchphrases.

Regardless, this helped. A lot.

I slept a lot, despite having done a lot of sleeping this weekend (I need to watch that, I know that can go to an unhealthy place), but when I did get up to start my day, I was in pretty decent spirits. My heart’s always heavy right now, I’m always thinking of my significant other on some level. And I want it that way. I don’t want him out of my mind. I want to be praying and hoping and loving him as much as I can. But, without anything being resolved or any clue that there is going to be any semblance of a happy ending yet, I was good. I enjoyed work. I enjoyed my daily dose of Philip DeFranco. I enjoyed my chocolate chip muffin (I think I’m allowed daily doses of chocolate at least for another week, I think that’s reasonable given the circumstances). I had a bout of intense anxiety while driving to work, that was either me or a sign that I needed to pray for him, and I did, and it abated, and that was encouraging.  I was actually able to genuinely chat with people, even if they were brief chats, such that I was fully engaged and not having to tear my mind away from being so preoccupied. I even thought I might like to start something Christmassy this week.

Until a few minutes ago. When I thought of all the plans we have (I adamantly refuse to make that past tense). When I thought of all the things we want to do, all the things that I want to share with him still. All the things that I finally get to share with someone. How I can’t tell if he’s actually hugging me or I’m so desperate to feel him that it’s just my imagination. How I just want him back. I don’t want it to be over. I know I can be strong. I know I can keep the faith. I know that I can get through anything with God. But it still hurts.

It doesn’t quite hurt all the time. I miss him all the time. I am preoccupied to some extent all the time (today was more focused, I hope that’s a continuing trend or I’m going to be in a bit of trouble). But now the pain and the fear, it comes in a wave, at least once a day. And I just let it. I let my heart ache and I let myself cry. I let myself pray and beg him to come back. I let myself feel alone and sad and scared and helpless and abandoned. And then I really pray until I feel like I have a little bit of hope again. I remind myself of everyone who has been so considerate and compassionate, especially those who keep checking on me, thank you so much. And I remind myself of Who God is and what He has done. And apart from not seeing any sign at all that my significant other is still around, that’s enough to get me back to my hopeful place. And then I re-apply my mascara and go back to my day.

I’m okay with that. I’m okay with having a little time every day where I have to process all the sucky emotion and being able to trust God and be emotionally stable the rest of the time.

I think I love him too much for it to be any easier than that.

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