With the last installment of the Kaleidoscope series, we come full circle to a sense of abandonment. Because… that’s where I ended up. By the time I came to you and told you that I thought that you needed to go and start talking to someone about your depression, I was alone… and had been for some time.
This should be apparent by the other kaleidoscope posts, and yet, it’s more than that. It’s that clear and aching sense of being left bereft and alone. An odd dissonance, because I was and am still in a relationship with you… and yet, I was also alone. Left alone to deal on my own. A situation that created a sense of betrayal and resentment, because without intention I had come to depend upon you.
That secure spot of comfort and safety was removed from my reach. I had tried so hard in the beginning to not depend on it. To not need it. And then when I did, it was taken away like a handful of sand slipping though one’s fingers.
Two years passed while I slipped further and further beneath the surface of hurt and betrayal and loss and anger and resentment. It didn’t happen all at once, but one fraction of a millimeter at a time, nearly imperceptible in the moment other than those few rare sparks of occasional awareness.
I had to bury that part of myself, that soft and vulnerable need. I had to, to protect myself. It only made this sense of abandonment worse to put that small part of me in a box and close the lid.
Abandonment is separate in the series because it is its own animal. It’s own monster. It stands on its own and feeds the anger in ways the others don’t. That’s why its last and alone as I reveal it to the light. At the core, my anger comes from here. All the other hurts and slights feed this one. It is the monster in the closet, lurking and ravenous, eating up every slight, every hurt and ache and sadness. It swallows it all up and keeps the anger burning.
It is the beast that lurks in that ball of fear in my gut as well. The one that reminds me again and again not to trust, the one that says its not over, that you’re not back. It is an insidious whisper in my ear, always there to remind me not just of where I am, but what happened to get me here.