And once again, I spoke too soon

First of all, I see that the picture of me in the slide didn't actually make it on the last post. Let's just forget that it ever happened, because it really wasn't a flattering pic.
And now, we come to that sad part of the blog where I tell you the curse lives on. No sooner do I post a picture of Ray than the relationship imploded. It's time to purge the feelings.
This is what happened: As you know, I've been having a hard time since the first round of Ray gone. Getting so low frightens me, and for whatever reason, I was feeling that way again on Saturday. Very little of it had anything to do with him, though there was some frustration there, and admittedly, some passive-aggressive texts sent on my part. I didn't mean it, and I apologized right away, but things are hard. Right now in my life, I've got to work on some things-- fixing myself, for myself. Still, it feels like it would be easier to have someone hold my hand through the process and tell me I'll make it.
After an evening filled with frustrations and tears, Ray did come over to tend to me. He was trying to be a good friend and I needed him. But we let our guard down and a little gentle hugging turned into passionate kissing. I didn't want it to be that way, but it brought me the most exceptional feeling of bliss. It was the way I'd wanted it to be when we "made up" in October-- nothing has ever felt so right to me as to find myself in his arms.
But it didn't last. A couple minutes at most. And then the real trouble began.
To make a long story short, he told me I'm not the one. I love him, but he is not in love with me. He does not choose me. And it's hard.
The worst parts? Everyone saw it coming... even me. I guess I fooled myself into thinking that we could just enjoy each other for a couple weeks. He could go back to Las Cruces and I would go to Europe, and we'd just slowly fade from one another's lives. Oh, we'd still check in with one another from time to time, just like I do with all my other old boyfriends. But it wouldn't be bad. We'd just replace one another. But of course, that wasn't meant to be.
Instead, I felt so desperately sad. And more than that, I could see myself slipping back to that awful place I was in a few months ago where I became this catatonic automaton. I looked at my fingers. I thought about bending each one, and each responded just as intended-- my nervous system was working. Still, it felt like there wasn't anything else left on the inside, and all I wanted was to cease to exist. I was hurt all around. I'm not mad at Ray, believe it or not, though I've since given him plenty of reason to be mad at me. I was temporarily mad at God because I certainly couldn't figure out why I had to go through this AGAIN. Except it's not His fault. Especially when I knew that it wasn't right. And then I was scared that I would do something awful-- I had no desire to kill myself this time, thank heaven. But I couldn't figure out how to go on. It's still a bit of a mystery, if I'm being really honest.
So how can I write about this so clinically, so cavalierly? As you know, it's my coping mechanism. And this is something I don't want to forget, because it's making me something better than I was before this all happened. My dear friend Mike told me the trick was finding the silver lining to such a dark cloud... and maybe I'm there.
Because that's not the end of the story. The other day, Sokphal posted about finding it annoying when people get all testimonial on their blogs, but this is important-- this is something real.
At times like these, how can you do anything but pray? Even when you don't feel like you deserve to (which is just Satan's lie anyway)-- but I was afraid. I have a testimony that Jesus Christ suffered not only for our sins, but for our pain as well... including heartaches. But having been a) unfairly angry with God for about an hour during the trial (guess I'm not Job, am I?) and b) feeling like I couldn't possibly deserve it, because I've already had so many miracles in my life, I wasn't sure I could ask for the help. But I did it anyway. I told Heavenly Father that I was at my breaking point, and I had to lay this all on His altar. I told him that I knew that Christ had already suffered this for me, and asked Him to take the pain away. And then I asked him to help my unbelief, to give me the faith to be healed.
This morning, I woke up feeling a lot of things-- but not the pain that was destroying me. That's gone. I know I'll still have to deal with some consequences, and I'll have to work through some hard things. I still have to swallow my pride and actually go to that counseling (oh my gosh! My blog so should be private! But until I can afford counseling, knowing that people occasionally read this might do). I still have to decide if I can join choir next semester and be so close to Ray's mother, who I love dearly, but don't know if severing all the ties is a better option. I still have to really let go, and I have to convince myself that I'm enough and that just because I'm broken now doesn't mean I always will be, nor does it mean I'm unworthy of someone loving me sometime. I've got to work on my faith. I've got to work on rediscovering me, and knowing that just because someone I loved so much chipped away a chunk of my heart doesn't mean that all my insides are gone. I have to work on keeping food down (no, that's not a bulimia confession-- I just have been too upset, and I think my body needed to be empty for a while to give my spirit some room to re-expand). I have to find a way to be happy now, because there is no possible way I can survive as the robot I was for the last several months.
So be patient with me, will ya? I surely appreciate those prayers. Somehow this is making me better. I choose to get stronger, I choose to keep my heart open. I thank you for not saying, "I told you so." And if anyone wants to come hold my hand, it's open. We've already established that my fingers still work.