Adrift

There’s a lot to be said post-divorce; or rather, a lot that you’d rather not say. After years of voicing every concern, petty grievance, and minuscule malcontent there is a freedom in not saying anything at all. I fought endlessly with the Ex. Challenged every single statement she made, questioned every difference of opinion as if mine was law and unequivocally accused her of mental duress because, more often than not, we didn't see a goddamn thing eye to eye.

Fast forward to my current relationship and it would appear that the problem is not she, but me. I don’t want to budge. I am a curmudgeon. I want to be left alone, free to speak when the mood strikes me and free to remain distant and aloof just the same. I spent ten years fighting the Battle of Codependence and realize that my definition of freedom may just be a bit extreme for the faint of heart. I speak a language unfamiliar to most. It’s a lonely space – this place stuck between trying to be ‘normal’ and trying to make sense of the lifetime lived with another person in cohabitation and complete dependence. How does one go from the tense ‘we/us’ to ‘I/me’ without missing a beat? How does one maintain a hard fought identity ensconced in a fairly solitary life while trying to maintain a relationship with someone who rightfully demands more than just the ghost of a gf? How do I keep myself while sharing my self, yet stand firm in my personhood?

I’m just one woman adrift, seeking an answer that is probably already apparent. I am easy to love. I am hard to comprehend. I am open and willing and funny and enticing. I am hardened and battered and stoic and cold. There is now a doorway so small, so conditional, that it doesn't really matter who approaches, I will cause a retreat. I will lay it bare and tuck it away so that no matter how hard she tries, I am impenetrable.