Last night I had a dream – Inamorata and I were curled up in bed together, talking and joking as we so often did afterward, when i ran my hand over her belly. In that moment i knew from the smooth curve and the feeling of life within that she was pregnant with our child…
I can’t describe the mix of emotions, it just somehow felt right…..
With the seeming resolution of the Inamorata situation i find myself once again adrift….
With one solution found another, older, problem has resurfaced – too much free time and not enough alcohol have left space for dark thoughts to worm their way back into my conscience.
Depression and suicidal ideation are not foes that can be vanquished, they are parts of our very being that must be fought with, subjugated, by repeated conscious effort.
My oath to take Inamoratas secret to the grave wars with my desire not to make my father bury his only son, but this conflict eternal is once again wearing heavy on my soul……..
It seems my wish has been granted and the old Inamorata is back….
The last few days have borne witness to an almost seismic change in her attitude and behaviour around the office – gone is the quiet, sullen, passive aggressive Inamorata of the last few months, and back is the smiling, enthusiastic, carefree Inamorata of old; and whilst I’m not privy to the happenings of her personal life anymore i do like the think i had a hand in this almost miraculous resurrection.
A few days after our most recent chat something that she had said was still playing on my mind, so i messaged her to put accross my viewpoint, and ended with words to the effect that “I’m sure of my love for you because I could hurt you, but all i want is to see you safe and happy, even if that’s not with me.”
She thanked me for the reassurance, and since then things have been on the up and up…
But every silver lining has a cloud.
Seeing the woman I love but know i can never have going happily about her work has brought about mixed emotions (as ever) and ultimately lead to a strengthening of my resolve.
She knows she’s safe, i know she’s happy, but knowledge alone is enough for me, i don’t need to be reminded of it every day.
With other parts of my personal life now falling into alignment i feel it’s time to update my CV and start looking for a new job in earnest.
Or – Excusing the Inexcusable
“If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one your with”
This simple phrase became something of a mantra in the hayday of our affair. I always knew Inamorata loved her husband, she told me regularly, but she also told me she loved me too. It wasn’t until we finally had a conversation of sorts a few nights ago that i realised the difference – she loves me, but she is in love with him.
It hurts to know i will never know her as he does, but then he will never know her as i do either. Inamorata has an amazing talent for separating and compartmentalizing parts of her life, a talent i envy greatly, but in one sence it seems i am not without my own skills in this department.
Of the half dozen or so women i have had ‘relationships’ with since i split from my ex, none have enamoured me enough that i would think twice about cheating on them with Inamorata, and i think the phrase at the beginning of this post explains why.
To me Inamorata is the One, and there is a chance that she may retain that crown through the simple fact that I know i will never have her as i wish to – she is unobtainable, a dream that i have tasted but can never live.
So, to rationalise my lying cheating ways i have come to the simple realisation that when i sleep with Inamorata I’m not cheating on these other women, its when i sleep with these other women that I’m cheating on Inamorata.
Luckily I can forgive myself easily enough – in my own self-deceiving way i don’t see her as cheating on her husband when she sleeps with me, rather she cheats on me when she sleeps with her husband.
And because we both sleep with other people with each others knowledge and consent its not even really cheating – in effect were in a covert open relationship, free to sleep with whoever we please whenever we please, an arrangement that seems to suit us just fine……
I miss the old Inamorata, the one who couldn’t help but speak her mind, but it seems shes gone, replaced by a woman who barely acknowledges me apart from brief work-related queries or requests.
She had a hair-cut over the weekend, obviously designed to boost her professional image – word on the office grapevine is that she’s approached a executive recruitment agency and is looking to leave.
With the loss of professional distance caused by our affair and her subsequent assertion that we are no longer friends – she’s a manager, I’m a colleague, and nothing more – I don’t blame her for wanting to move on, I know I will be in due time.
Maybe when the time comes for one, or both, of us to switch companies or even sectors we’ll have a chance of building a new friendship, but until then its life as (the new) usual – head down, work on, ignore the heartache….
I’m worried about Inamorata.
When I was growing up, before my mother’s illness came to dominate family life, my father worked in a position similar to Inamoratas. He, like she, was a self-made professional, clawing his way up through the ranks to reach a position of power and importance through sheer guts and determination. He wanted to provide for my mother and I in a way his father had never been able to provide for him, but this drive, along with the ever increasing pressures and responsibilities of work, caused him alot of stress. My father initially delt with this by withdrawing – he’d come home, have dinner, then sit and work or play solitaire for hours on end until he finally went to bed – but towards the end of his career he was a functioning alcoholic – he’d have a pint and play the fruit machine in the bar near where he worked on his lunch break, come home and have a glass or two of wine with dinner and another couple as he sat in his study, then go to bed just numb enough to get a bit of sleep before he did it all again the next day.
Slowly this routine began to take its toll on family life – his temper shortened and decisions, especially those made under pressure, became erratic and occasionally unsound. My mother’s illness didn’t help matters, and shortly after her diagnosis he pushed for early retirement and a well deserved ‘golden handshake’ and finally received it, but even after this it wasn’t until he saught professional help that his problems faded and we were able to be the happy family he’d worked so hard to provide for.
I don’t know all of Inamoratas problems, and it pains me to think that I’m undoubtedly one of them, but I suspect another is stress.
She was once candid enough to tell me she believes that depression is only suffered by people too lazy to deal with their problems – but tell me, if that’s her description of depression, how would she define stress?.