Spoke Too Soon.

I read for a bit, meditated for 10 minutes, and then cried for an hour.

It’s Friday, I don’t have plans. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to meet anyone. Before I met M, I used to go often on Fridays to the Chain Drive alone, get stoned and listen to loud music because I liked the Friday deejay. Maybe there’d be people there I knew, maybe not. Maybe I’d make out with somebody. It was all very mindless and fun and low key. I don’t want to go there tonight -- that’s where I met M. I don’t want to sit in the corner of a gay bar and cry. Jesus.

I’m halfway through When Things Fall Apart, and somehow it’s not as convincing as it was when I read it last time. It’s all very wise and true, but it hasn’t struck me as the lesson I need to learn now.

How did the story of this heartbreak become all about my unreasonable expectations? My inability to relax with impermanence? I think I’m pretty good with impermanence, thank you, and I believe my expectations were extremely temperate and flexible. M worried that I was hanging everything on my relationship with him, and he said that scared him and made him lose interest.

Yes, I loved the comfort and safety of his company. I loved knowing that he wanted to be with me. I loved getting his texts that started “hey sweetie,” and I loved returning his affection. I loved sleeping with my arms around him. How is that wrong? What is love supposed to be, if not that tender feeling? And it hurts like hell to have it one moment and then have it snatched away. Maybe it hurts for a long time.

How about this story: I’m despondent because I fell deeply in love with a man, thought with good reason -- he told me he did -- that he felt similarly about me, thought with good reason -- we expressed the desire to each other -- that we both wanted to be together for a long time, and then, out of the blue, he told me that he didn’t want to be together any more. That seems like a damn good reason to be freaked out and very, very sad.