I told him I understood the pros and cons. One opportunity better for him than the other. That didn’t mean I had to be happy about it. Once again we’d be making a major life change based on his best interests and it would include something that would add misery to my life – a continuation of the pattern. Just let me have my bad mood.
Technically, the opportunity is not guaranteed or confirmed, yet. I could be spared, in one sense, but in another if this opportunity is missed I can expect things to go downhill in other ways and will just be dealing with some other stressful situation. Screwed either way.
Left alone I’d process and grieve and get as close to stoic acceptance as I could. That night I put on my noise cancelling headphones and listened to music, trying to immerse myself so that it could help ease the worst of the hurt. He wouldn’t just let me have my bad mood, though. Another heated discussion started. I decided I didn’t want to spend the rest of my night that way, though, so I told him I was going to the park to write.
He was incredulous that I’d go out so late at night, but I’d realized the park was so close to the police station it was unlikely anyone would be engaged in nefarious criminal activity practically on their doorstep. I put my laptop in its case, attached the headphones to the side, found a jacket that seemed appropriate for the weather and headed out.
It was after 11pm, windy, with a few scattered clouds and a bright, almost-full moon. The poles and netting around the sports area were rattling in the wind and the sound was almost musical. I went to the footbridge over the river, first, and stood looking first one direction, then the other. I had the park to myself. I went a little further and found a bench within sight of the police station and sat down.
I brought out my computer, put on my headphones and listened to music. I wanted to write, or to have a good cry, and my brain wouldn’t cooperate with either desire. I didn’t have the focus for words or the tears for crying, just an irritating moisture around my eyes. Catharsis denied.
Outside the park the world went on around me and I made no impression on it whatsoever. I was grimly amused at myself for how often I’d avoided going out alone after dark.
I walked home around midnight. The lights around the fields and ball parks were off, now, but the moon’s illumination combined with lights from the street and the buildings bordering the park were quite sufficient. I stopped and listened to the water rippling over a few rocks in the river’s otherwise placid course, fantasized about being able to enter fairyland if I could just catch up to the sliver of moonshine on the pavement ahead of me, and paused to admire how the light shining on a pair of evergreens and the large budding tree opposite made the scene look like a Japanese woodcut.
I went to bed as soon as I got home. I think the exercise helped me sleep, and in the morning my mood was somewhat improved. I researched meetup groups I could join in the area I’ll probably be forced to move to. LGBT gatherings, writers, walkers and a group that likes to indulge in conversations about things like philosophy, ethics and esoterica. Maybe I can manage to meet some kindred spirits – if I can push past the social anxiety.
I’m trying to move forward and I hate how life keeps giving me circumstances that pull me backwards. I can’t force myself to be happy in circumstances that make me miserable. It just doesn’t work that way. My options suck and there’s no pretending they don’t. It doesn’t help anything to feel like I can’t even get space just to feel what I feel.
Just let me have my bad mood.