Bittersweet

It’s very bittersweet to see an ex get married. We’re still friends and I consider them like family at this point in my life, and I’ve done everything I can support them and their relationship. I have wholeheartedly, and I’ve felt nothing but happiness for them. Yet, after watching the video of their vows, a quiet enveloped me that felt strange.

Bittersweet is really the only way to describe it. It comes with a sadness that has burrowed so deep within me it no longer feels like sadness, but peace. It isn’t because I’m envious or I miss the romance, our time as a couple ended as it should have. We weren’t healthy for each other and near the end, my heart wasn’t in it anymore.

It’s like watching life move on without me. Watching people find happiness in others where they’d once had it with me. I felt more alone than ever, just sitting here in this repetitive spiral of mental illness symptoms that cycle like clockwork, one phase after the other with maybe a day’s break in between. I haven’t been able to find anyone to be romantic with, and after searching for so many years, I stopped counting. I haven’t moved on with my life goals, my career as an author is at a standstill while I struggle to get my work in front of people, and my healing journey has reached a roadblock.

It’s like the Death card in the tarot, reversed; stagnation. I’ve drawn it enough times over the years.

It felt strange to smile so widely it hurt while watching my ex’s wedding vows, to be so genuinely happy that they found the perfect person for them. And I remembered what they’d once told me, that when they met their partner, they realized it never felt real with me. Not serious.

It’s something I’ve experienced many times. I’m second-best, good for keeping on the side when nothing else works, not to be taken seriously but okay for a bit of fun.

This sadness — bittersweetness — isn’t something I’m used to feeling. It’s like the sunset outside is setting on my life in a way, like a door is closing, and I’m sitting on my porch with a cool summer breeze on my face in the silence as I watch on with my head family — Zagan Lestan, Byleth, Darokin, Vexis, and Ghostie. My alters and spirit guides have always been there no matter my struggles, but I am reminded, again, that they are not flesh and blood. They cannot comfort me physically like I want them to. I can’t embrace them when I feel the rare need for intimacy or a hug.

This loneliness I’ve felt over the years is crushing. It became so unbearable that I learned to welcome the company of my and Vexis’ shadow man, a figure that’s the nightmarish embodiment of trauma and the void. They used to frighten me and keep me from sleep, but now, they’re another entity that at least has an interest in me. One that can exist here with me.

If I wasn’t disabled and I was able to drive, I’d try to return to what I used to have before the pandemic; my favorite coffee shop for the greater part of a day as I write while sipping on a latte, the beautiful park in my previous city where the small waterfall brought me peace as I sat by the lake’s edge, the bustle of people around me to remind me that there is life outside of my home, and I’m welcome to participate in it, even if I generally fear people and choose to make myself small to just exist among them.

Moving out to the country was a necessary choice for my own safety, as my previous home was hostile and my life had been threatened. While I welcome the quiet, it’s too much. Being alone day after day, just watching the clock tick down as I perform my morning and nightly rituals that I’ve repeated like clockwork when I wake up and go to bed, makes me feel like a robot. I’m going through the motions because I’m expected to. I can’t give up on this life because they always tell you that’s not an option, and I can’t very well write more books if I’m dead, even if death has seemed like a better option.

I’m no one’s first choice, nor am I a desirable choice. I’ve accepted this a while ago, after many failed attempts at dating apps and watching friends ghost me or disappear when I finally found the courage to admit my feelings for them. The last person I had a crush on ended up hurting me so deeply that my ability to feel romantic feelings shut off completely and I grew numb. Maybe it’s good he’s gone from my life now, although I’d tried again to add him as a friend on social media last year. I had some inkling of hope something could at least exist. It can’t.

I never really understood what ‘bittersweet’ felt like until now. I’m not sure I like it very much.

©2024 Shane Blackheart