What a week!!! This is sure to be a long post, brimming with depression, anxiety, therapy, strength, epiphanies, and maybe even a little pleasure. I may leave that last one lacking in concrete details, but allusions will be made, take them as you wish.
Two months ago, on my birthday, I received a Facebook PM from an old friend. I’ve alluded to him in a few posts, because he’s done quite a bit in helping me regain my old self. I started listening to music and singing again, via his suggestions; We started watching the same series, following each instance by philosophizing the relationships and plot lines of each; We’d spend hours on the phone together: last weekend, from Friday to Sunday we spoke a total of 13hrs and 45min, finally putting down the phone at sunrise on Sunday morning.
In two months, after 8 years without physical interaction with each other, we were physically and emotionally in sync, regardless of the 1,204.5 miles separating us.
I was falling in love. I was falling in love at the most inopportune time of my life: during My Season.
On Monday, I had an appointment to check in with my pill-pusher to see how my new medication regimen was going. My ducts sprung the usual leak and my Buspar dose was increased from 20mgs a day to 45. I was given enough Xanax to have 1&1/2 each day(also upped from the 1/2-1 he initially prescribed). I was aggravated by the need for the increase but there was also relief… hope, that maybe this was the time they got it right.
Afterward, as Monday’s usually progress, work ensued… in some sense. The former, open ducts, continued their fluid lanes, streaming with animosity down my cheeks.
I was a mess.
I was a mess because of Him.
But it, once again, was all my fault. I’d gotten ahead of myself; At 12am on Monday morning, prior to my appointment, I listened to Him, tell me about a “not date”, turned flirty, with a girl who didn’t live 18 hours always from Him.
My tired, half-asleep heart fell. A switch flipped: I had disregarded My Season; I had played our song, over and over and over again; I wrote Habits; I found no solace in my country roads; my depression lapsed.
At work, my demeanor was frightful. I snapped at employees and voiced my desire to cease human interaction. I hid from sight and bawled my eyes out as I contemplated my stupidity–my irrational happiness. I sat down at my desk, opened my personal gmail and started an email, destined for his gmail account.
I told him I loved him and could no longer continue on the path we’d been forging.
I pressed the send button.
Automatically, I hoped for Russian interference; surely they could have intercepted the message, making the entire situation disappear.
It was 24hrs before he mentioned its existence.
He didn’t understand at first.
He didn’t catch my drift.
He thought he’d made a misstep.
My heart sunk again.
That was Tuesday evening, but, I’ve gotten ahead of myself, once again. Let’s rewind 10 hours: my first talk therapy appointment:
All I can say is I love my therapist… after only one appointment! After an hour of introduction, I discovered a few things: I am on the right track; I have taken steps to recovery without professional assistance; I know who I am and who I want to be. Next time, I will tell her these things–that is my assignment in mindfulness.
She reminds me of you, my readers, and that being said, I should take a minute to thank you for reading–especially if you’ve made it this far down in my ramblings! Your support, your likes and your follows mean so much to me. Without you, my progress in recovery would be waning on a daily basis. I appreciate you. I appreciate my doctors. I appreciate Him.
Him. We should get back to that…
We should get back to My Season.
I told him he put me off my track. I told him I was consumed by butterflies which amounted to irrational happiness–an emotional rebound. I told him that 14 hours of talking kept me from my recovery. I told him the “not date” put things in perspective. I told him I mattered too much, to mix the physical and emotional. I told him we couldn’t sync up our song anymore, over the phone.
It was unhealthy.
I stood up for my needs–for the first time in my life, when it came to getting the attention of a man…
I put… myself… first.
Subconsciously, I must have know this, but just now, putting this thought to text… I’m currently flabbergasted at this discovery.
I have never put myself first.
That must be the “something” of this title.
Wow. Just… wow.
In an hour, Saturday will be underway. A new week will ensue and I will have gained more strength than I ever imagined. I have found my voice. I have discovered my needs. I have discovered me. He… will be a part of my life, for the rest of my life because he has helped pull me from my recluse shell. He, has healed my jaded heart and sent me on a path to discovering what I want.
What I need.
What I have unconsciously conquered…