the fabulous life of a queer femme in action
Almost a year ago I watched an 8-year relationship fall into pieces. Mine. We were the couple that would never break up. We were the smug little fuckers who sat there holding hands watching friends build love houses just to have them torn down again. We fell in love with each other and our equal passion for non-monogamy. Score! But then. One day. There I was. A furious amazon walking all over the bloody piercing pieces of the life I had built around this love. With an Ikea bag full of the most necessary things on my bike while pulling my confused dog around Vienna as I moved from couch to couch for a place to sleep. Bitter much? Hell yeah. How the fuck did this happen? Who was to blame? Who could I blame? On the inside I blamed myself. To the rest of the world I blamed everybody else. I didn’t want to be perceived as a loser. Because only a loser would not follow her inner feminist 101 common sense of being aware of and honest with her needs and issues. “All relationships end.” Yes, yes. I should know. I’m the one who walks around repeating that to my crying heartbroken loved ones. Death or divorce. That’s it. Well, fuck me, I should shut up more often.
There are so many levels of heartbreak and grief, and it’s so hard to deal with it if you are a cynical, sarcastic worshipper of logic. No matter how little la-la-love has to do with la-la-logic. I’m still very confused about what exactly happened these past three years. Two years of pain, anger and screaming. And now finally approaching the end of almost one year of ice-cold silence, where I was the Snow Queen who did “not wish to talk about it”. Now we do it again. Talk, laugh and love. The thing, my dears, is that there are no answers to be found. There is no explanation that makes sense. There are no words to make it all good. There is only love, laughter and passion that after years can easily turn into frustration, anger and a competition over who is feeling offended and is not taken for granted. Time. There is only time. Time washes the pain away, well not away, but it makes it bleaker. Until it doesn’t matter anymore. Until you start to remember again how good times felt like. Don’t be unforgiving unless what happened is absolutely unforgiveable. Don’t be petty. It’s not worth it. Memories should be polished as well and not only twisted into different signs of “Aaa-ha! I knew it all along! I was always fucked over!!!” You weren’t. You loved and you were loved. Life is just a laughing asshole at times and shit happens.
Denice would like to thank Nick for an amazing ride.