When Z and I first started dating he had just turned 25 and was 115lbs soaking wet. He was skinny and cut at the same time, he didn’t have a 6-pack, it was more like a 12-pack. You couldn’t tell how fit he was when you first met him, his clothes hung off of him and he just looked like he needed a hamburger. His skin stretched across his face so tight it was like he was all flat plains and angles. I recently came across a picture from the weekend we got engaged and it made me cry. The kid in that picture is gone, I’m never going to get to kiss him again, and I feel like I forgot to say goodbye. The man that I’m married to now is infinitely more interesting to me. In a side by side comparison I’d take him over the kid in a heartbeat, but I’m sentimental as hell and I have trouble letting go of the past.
Really, I have trouble letting go of everything-hurt, bad relationships, Brooklyn, every home I’ve lived in. Moving around so much made me realize I wanted to be from somewhere. I wanted to have roots, to know the same people forever, to feel like I belong. Every change in my life feels like starting over to me, even when it really isn’t. For the last 12 years every time I’ve moved I haven’t had to start completely over, Z has been there with me. But in the moment I haven’t been able to see it. I just feel loss over everything and everyone I am leaving behind. Holding on to things too tightly can have its upsides as well. It’s part of the reason Z and I were able to work through our problems and stay together. It’s the reason I’ve kept in touch with one or two people from each phase of my life. It’s why I have an encyclopedic knowledge of the Harry Potter series.
But the fear of change and of letting go, the inability to move gracefully through lives phases is mostly a big problem. I’m starting to wonder if my body isn’t following my mind’s bad example. This morning I got the results back from the latest blood test. My HCG levels are 6. I am pissed. Acceptable levels are 0-5 for someone who isn’t pregnant. The doctor really wants me to be at 0, but I’d be happy just to be in the normal range. The three day 14 point plummet last week made me feel sure I’d be back down to zero by now. But to be one measly point out of the normal range? Give me a break. Just give me a fucking break. Tomorrow marks 8 weeks since the D&C and my body just can’t let go of the pregnancy. And I feel like a hypocrite for being so mad at my body for doing something my mind does all the time.
So Monday I’ll go back to get blood drawn. And Tuesday morning I’ll leave town for a month. I probably won’t get the results before I’m out of here and that makes me quite uncomfortable. I wanted this done before I was multiple states away from my doctor for an extended period. And I feel like it is my fault because my mind has been a terrible example for my body. The end. No hopeful little tidy sum up like usual.
Here’s that picture. Atlantic City June 1999. He sure was a handsome devil.