More new adventures in abandonment

It's interesting, I guess, if you want to take an observer point of view on it. Remember how happy and pleased with myself I was on Sunday when I'd got everything, all by myself, out of the storage place, and even risked a nostalgia trip to Killcare, and it was all done? I realise now, well, no, I knew at the time, that I was using being able to call S. to tell him about it as a reward for my hard work. And I called him that night but got his answering machine, and didn't want to call the mobile in case he was in Germany or South America on a motorcycle trip or on Mars or something and the timezone differences made it an inappropriate time. So I emailed him - hey, got everything out of storage, were you serious about wanting the Jag back?

Nothing. Nothing, nothing. No reply. Two days of no reply. I'll tell you, dear readers, that really threw me. Remember, I spent ten years with this guy talking to him on the phone four times a day. By about Year 8 it felt like we were two parts of one person, I just existed with him alongside me as part of my personality and brain. And even in this past year, I guess I have always got a quick response whenever I had to talk to him about anything. This time, nothing. I didn't know where he was, he could have been anywhere, but where could he be that he couldn't check his email for two days?

This upset me far more than I expected. I feel just like a little kid whose mother has just left to go out to dinner. Separation anxiety. Abandonment. Sheer, body-cavity-filling pain. Tears. Fear. And wondering what on earth I did to deserve it all. It's still in there, people, even when you are a very grown woman and should have control of your emotions - the little 3-year-old kid who needs her mom, and whose world collapses when she thinks she has left her forever.

Except he has left me forever.

Tonight I finally heard from him, and no, petrol prices being what they are, he doesn't think he wants the car, so now I feel worse -- a little kid whose mother has gone out to dinner and will never come back, with a $230-a-month storage bill to maintain, and a month more of Sundays trying to list the stupid car and liaise with buyers and go up to Gosford AGAIN to show it and hopefully finally meet someone who will pick it up. I thought it was all done, I was feeling chuffed at my brave accomplishment, but it's still only just beginning (and there are five boxes sitting outside on my front porch waiting to be filed).

I need some fucking closure on this situation. I need to be rid of that albatross Jag full of memories and dashed hope.

And I wish he still called me four times a day and would give me a big hug when I feel this way.

But perhaps the fact that I can actually feel this feeling is important to moving through it and getting over it. I read an analogy recently that something or other was like peeling onions - you keep getting to deeper inside layers, and it makes you cry. Maybe this is like that, and it will be good for me in the longer run. I think in the early days I couldn't even let myself be the little abandoned kid, because I really couldn't have bourne it and would have collapsed.

Please let me know if you all are getting bored hearing me whinge about my broken heart. I am continually impressed, when it backs up on me like this, at the magnitude and duration of the pain involved. I don't think he has any idea. Probably a good thing - I try to deal with dignity.