She’s leaving home

Wednesday morning at five o’clock as the day begins
Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more
She goes downstairs to the kitchen
clutching her handkerchief
Quietly turning the backdoor key
Stepping outside she is free.

Time for another song; for those who aren’t familiar with the Beatles album tracks, this is from the seminal Sergeant Pepper album and is probably one of my favourite Lennon and McCartney songs ever.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I strongly associate songs with how I’m feeling. This one came into my head when I was on the way home tonight and I can’t get rid of it. Was it sent by Fred? Or did it just find its way there of its own accord?

I appear to have reached the point of no return; there is no way back other than going forward. If I stay then all I will have in front of me is discontent, regret and eventually resentment. In fact, I have the discontent already; it has been there for many months to a greater or lesser extent. Living with the discontent alone is fundamentally dishonest and is probably a greater lie than some of the things that I have fabricated over the last few months.

I realise that this is a rather strange way of looking at honesty, but there it is. Living a lie, in my book, is far worse than telling one as dishonesty to the self is far more destructive.

Regret? I decided some years ago that I would rather regret the things that I had done, rather than regret the things I have done. For some time now I have found myself getting stultified, held back, discouraged. I can’t carry on like that; it will gradually crush me, sap my strength and confidence.

The resentment would certainly follow; at myself for lacking courage and at him for not being the person I want to be with. That’s not his fault, but I know that wouldn’t stop the resentment.

So I have to go, need to go. It’s going to be the toughest thing I have ever done, but there really seems to be no other way. I won’t quite be going like the thief in the night, or the early morning, like the girl in the song. I must find enough within me to have the decency to face him. But when the deed is done, I must go quickly. I can’t leave behind any false hope as that would be cruel and heartless.

I’ve already started the withdrawal process. My body language did it for me this morning; I awoke so near the edge of the bed I was nearly on the floor. I had obviously crept away from him in the night, the classic desire of wanting to be apart from someone. I am slowly detaching myself from physical contact and it hasn’t gone unnoticed; it would be quite possible to cut the atmosphere in this house with a knife at the moment.

At least this way there may be some inkling of what’s going on. There is nothing that will soften the blow, I know that, but I have to try and satisfy myself that I’ve been humane. I have to deal with the guilt, but at the same time I can’t allow it to crush me.

But I have to go.