I feel like I’ve been stumbling along, bumbling, sure that I can do this (‘this’ = whatever my new life is) and I’m sure I’m doing fine and maybe I feel better, maybe I don’t, maybe I’m just having a bad day or maybe just a good day.  Things happen.  It’s all okay.  I can freak about moving, about heartbreak, about whatever, but I can rationalize it, compartmentalize it, explain it.

I was flipped the fuck out after therapy today.  I started feeling a little mildly panicky in the waiting room beforehand, which hasn’t happened before.  I felt shaky and disjointed through most of the session, although I suspect I was outwardly maintaining, as I usually do, indeed I often appear the most calm when I am the most freaked out.

We talked about moving and having my own space and what I’ve been thinking about/planning, and about not wanting to make people feel bad (I returned an expensive gift that Hawthorn gave me because I didn’t feel I could comfortably keep it and he was visibly upset and tried to talk about how guilty he felt but I let it go because I didn’t want to make him feel worse).  We talked a lot about my relationship with my mother. My therapist asked me if I was ‘softening’ how I felt about the things I was telling her.  And we worked on that for a while, I guess on more intense things I tend to minimize them verbally somehow or by laughing nervously. I don’t know how aware I was that I do this.  She’s concerned about making me feel self conscious (too self conscious to keep talking), but I asked her to call me on it when I do it anyway.  I mean the point of therapy is that I don’t do shit like this anymore anyway, right?

At the end of the session as I was leaving I apologized for not shaking her hand (since mine was full of snotty Kleenex) and she said I didn’t need to be polite because she was my therapist and our relationship wasn’t about politeness.  I quipped that my whole life was about politeness and facade as I left. Yeah, uh, I’m pretty sure we’ll be talking about that next week.

And then I went to my car and sat there until I could drive.  I drove 25 minutes in rush hour traffic to the used bookstore and bought $4.50 worth of cookbooks (4 books!) and then I went to hit the grocery store except that I felt like I was going jump the fuck out of my skin or start screaming and never stop. So I drove around a little, parked, walked, went to DSW and looked at shoes I can’t buy because I have to move and I don’t have any furniture. Still it was calming enough (mostly the quiet empty, huge store) to allow me to make it through grocery shopping and get home.  There was something soothing on the radio on the way home.  I came home, ate, left the non-perishable groceries for Hawthorn to deal with and took to my bed with a book. And then sat and cried for 45 minutes (with periodic tenative knocks from Hawthorn saying he wasn’t sure how to comfort me, or was there anything he could do until I told him to go the fuck away).

Let me just be clear, so that I am not minimizing, nervously laughing or softening anything in this space. I am hurt.  I am so heartbroken and betrayed by Hawthorn that some days I feel like I don’t even want to get out of bed.  He is insanely thoughtless.  Incredibly selfish.  I’m sorry that he feels guilty but even that is selfish and not at all supportive of how utterly fucked over I feel by my life right now.

Even without the Hawthorn stuff I already had no emotional reserves left.  None.  Nothing.  I can not offer anything.  I can not help, I can not take care of you, I can not listen to your problems and offer genuine understanding.  I am sorry I keep not calling my mom back, but she keeps bringing up her problems and not just everyday ones, but grown up ones that she should be talking to her friends about, not to me, because right now I have nothing left to offer.  I need my mom.  I do not need another friend going through more drama.  I hurt for all of you, I really do.  I am sympathetic.  Indeed I am empathetic to the point that your hurt becomes my hurt and right now, today, I can not bear the weight of it.

I am, quite literally scratching my way up from the bottom.  I have to find a home, find a place for myself in my own life, plan my future and it is fucking hard work.  I am lonely, I am sad, I exhausted.  I know there is light at the end of the tunnel.  I can find things to smile at.  I can still see God in the sunset and the way icicles hang on the limestone outcroppings by the freeway.  I can relax for a moment and take a deep breath.  I can forgive Hawthorn, I can forgive myself.  I can be full of love and admiration for my friends and family.  I can laugh at Dahlia’s clever texts because she is the funniest smartest girl who ever lived (and not just because she’s my sister).  But I am clawing, with ripped and bleeding fingers, up the dark well of hell and I am about broke down right now.

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