Month: November 2018

The sads and you

It’s been three months since you tried to break up with me before we even started … well, anything. Your decision and your words made me feel ill inside that night. We didn’t talk for several days which was, frankly, torture for me. I finally caved and messaged you. You messaged right back, like you were waiting for me. And we continued with this dialogue that, for all intents and purposes, was eerily similar to all the other dialogue we’d had before you lost your damned mind. That’s what I told you — that I refused to accept that the “serious,” mid-coitus conversation had even happened because you had lost your g/God damned mind. You laughed. You agreed.

Things were strained the next few days in that I wanted to just keep going like nothing had happened while, at the same time, never really succeeding at forgetting that it had. We went to dinner one night and watched football and, when you dropped me off after, I said I’d invite you in but that I didn’t know the rules anymore and you needed to set them. You parked and came inside. I sat far away from you while we watched the game and you said I didn’t have to be like that. Again I said that I didn’t know the rules and I was earnestly trying to follow your lead. I want to respect whatever boundaries and rules and preferences you have. But I also don’t. Not for nothing but I also really don’t know exactly what your preferences are and now it feels kind of unsafe to broach that subject because it was SO weird the first time. So I just try to navigate without a map. It’s going great, as you can imagine.

Three months later though, we’re basically back to where we were. And that makes me really happy. I’ve loved the time we have spent together over these months and I always, always want more. I never get tired of you which is super rare for me with … any human, but, as we’ve both said out loud, there’s also really no opportunity to get tired of you. There are times when I feel incredibly happy and times, like earlier today, when I am worried if I allow it spiral too long, that you are intentionally or unintentionally drifting away. We see each other, on average, once a week right now, sometimes every other. I don’t know if it’s the whole winter blues or your basketball schedule with the kids or what, but I don’t like that at all.

I like to be alone in these shorter days too but I find myself still thinking about you every day, multiple times a day, wether you text or not, unless I’m super busy at work, yet hesitating before initiating a text because I don’t want it to be too much or too often or too needy. That’s some high school nonsense. And as much as I also recognize that’s patently ridiculous to feel about a man you are with and have been for several relatively blissful months, I can’t help the feeling. You can call it baggage. I have some.

I try not to think about past relationships, unrequited and otherwise, where I tried too hard to make it work. I gave too much or I just wanted it too much maybe but, regardless, the result was … nothing. Me alone. Never knowing if it was because of me or in spite of me or nothing to do with me at all.

Here’s what I do know and it scares the hell out of me: I am 39 years old. I have never had a relationship that was equal. I have never gotten what I have given. I have never, not in romantic relationships or friendships, been someone’s number one. Not that I always knew that at the time. I don’t know if it’s because I was with the wrong people or if that’s all that exists. I have had my heart broken, shattered twice, and yet “love” is still my holy grail. I want it and long for it and ache for it more than anything. Would I sacrifice my parents or my brother or genocide of a million strangers for it? No. No, I wouldn’t. I don’t think that’s a fair or realistic question and, thanks to Yuval Harari’s “Sapiens,” I’m also rethinking a ton of existential shit that makes me wonder just what, if anything, we have control of in this life.

Does it matter what I want? How much I want it? How deeply I feel the lack of it? Does it matter if I’m a good person? If I put kindness and generosity and sincerity out into the world? Does it have any effect on what I get back? No? Yes? Unclear.

What I also know is that it is unrealistic to think that you, or the next person I meet, is going to be “The One.” But is it worth “wasting” time at this age on someone that isn’t the one? How do you know? Would I feel more confident in this current relationship if I knew that it was, in fact, mutual now that we moved past that initial weird shit in the first month when you got scared or whatever that was? That this could be something “serious,” actually more of the dating and not just (and with increasingly-less frequency) fucking and spending less time together since the days got shorter?

It’s possible that I’ve spent too much time alone in my winter solitude, with the sads, and that I’m making something out of nothing. That happens. I’m acutely aware. So are you. We’ve talked about this. You do it too. By contrast, I might also be making something seem like nothing because I’m hypersensitive in these darker days. I like this man in front of me so much. I love spending time with him and, when I’m spending time with him or even just when we are texting, I feel completely at ease and content and happy with things just the way they are. When it’s been too many days between physical time together, my mind, my heart and that ache that buries itself deep below my rib cage come back like an unwanted specter lurking in wait. I have no idea how a man cannot want sex more frequently. That first week? He was insatiable. So once a week is, you know, less than ideal. For me.

Earlier today and, if I’m being honest, the past several days, I have been worried that he would forget about or bail on this evening. There is thing for Yelp Elite where I get to go to this opening, with free drinks and a plus one. I always love the idea of doing “holiday things,” particularly with a (gag) special someone. I am not immune to the occasional Hallmark movie trope. But I’m also interested because it’s an opportunity to do something, anything, with John. We don’t do much outside of my house. Granted, it’s only been a few months, there are plenty of times we hang out and don’t have sex, but, annoyingly, I can never really get past the “I’m not really looking for anything serious right now” sentiment from months ago. Which he said to me while buried inside me, exactly one month after we met. Who could forget that? What woman who wants to see if there might be more, possibly could?

But he did remember tonight and, although I wanted to wait for him to initiate a “hey, what time do I need to be there” text, I initiated. But then I spent an hour feeling tortured by the lack of reply; an hour that felt like several. Mind you, I waited an even longer time for a return text from a friend today about a play we’re seeing tomorrow night and that caused a very similar, silly anxiety. But John’s reply came, it was clear he was planning on it all along, and I am just so sick of fighting myself to remember he isn’t the last asshole. Or maybe he’s driving over here right now, several hours before we have to be anywhere, just to initiate another “can we be serious for a minute?” talk. I hope not. And I hope there’s never another one while we’re literally physically connected to each other.

Three months ago, after that awkwardly timed confession, I refused to accept him ending things because nothing had started and it seemed premature and unfair when things were so fun and easy and chill. Now though, because of the holidays or because of the four-month (meaningless) milestone or whatever, I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake in refusing to just take the hurt back then and get past it eventually. Time will tell I guess.

He said back then, in August, that he didn’t want to get down the line and then hurt me because he knows himself and he is selfish with his time. The latter seems to be exactly true and I try to recognize that when I’m feeling slightly neglected. On one hand, he should want to respect that I need to feel serious the way he needs to feel not-serious. Does that, by default, make us incompatible though? Aren’t these normal early relationship things to iron out? Or am I going to get hurt again and have only myself to blame? Is it going to happen again during the holiday season; a season that is already tinged with as much heartache and longing in me as it is joy and happiness in others? I want to be hopeful and be present and just accept whatever will be.

I’m not sure if that is stupidity or willful ignorance or healthy optimism though. And I’m never sure how much of this introspection is normal or would be happening at any time of the year – or if it’s just that the sads that are never far away and are most acutely present during this time of year.

I know that I am a different person in these darker days. The sads are a pall over everything and I have to actively work to remember how easily I can be tricked into thinking my gloomier affect is reality.

It also needs to be said that I question whether I am settling or if I’m just into him because he’s, you know, around and made the mistake of talking to me in a bar in July when I was on the way to being inebriated. He remembers everything though so it helps to know he knew what he wanted. Just like me though, he didn’t know we weren’t going to just hook up and say goodbye forever. If he had, would he have been interested in coming home with me? Would I? I don’t know. He’s been different, better, easier to be with from day dot. That’s something.

I try to be logical – to really think through what I like about him as a person and figure out in my lists in my head what goes in the settling category and what goes in the I-like-it-because-I-actually-like-him category. The thing is, yes, I’m 39 and I am acutely aware of my clock and all that unfortunately and frustratingly real shit. I am also cognizant of the fact that I like being around this guy. So much! He makes me laugh, he makes me feel attractive and funny and smart and accomplished. He seems to appreciate that I am exactly who I am. He knows how extra my mind is, constantly, and he laughs about it with me. I really like his laugh. He doesn’t seem to want to change me so do I want him to change? Or do I not actually know what he wants now? I mean, it’s been four months for both of us. Things have been so, so nice since we chose to move past those silent few days in August. Time changes things, for better or for worse and sometimes back again. But at this point, it’s still early. It feels good. I love being with him. I love talking to him, for hours. I love being the person he chooses to talk to and spend his limited time with. He already makes the sads of this season feel less heavy.

I know that tonight will be fun and I am excited to spend it with him. Maybe he’s what I should have found a long time ago. Surely wish I had.

Winter of my discontent?

I’m affected by the change in seasons, the shorter, darker days. I know this. In reality, I might have “the sads” more frequently than just the winter but I feel it more intensely or just perseverate on it’s never-far-awayness more in the dark, dreary days. I tend to hole up in my house and hibernate which, it could be argued, makes it worse. The solitude is both a security blanket and an excuse. I am irritable over nothing and everything. People that have done nothing wrong, sometimes people I care about, become targets of my frustration, avoidance and even loathing. Why? I have no idea. Like a bout of road rage, I can feel it, recognize when it’s happening even, but I am virtually powerless to be in the feeling and control it, lessen it, stop it or redirect it. Though I certainly do think it through later, when I am calm and have the space and quiet to do so.

One friend, in particular, and for no logical, tangible or concrete reason I can determine, is driving me crazy. Her texts cause me to roll my eyes, feel internally annoyed and exasperated, and immediately begin scrolling through the possible excuses or “outs” in my head to avoid responding or respond in the shortest, least expressive, least engaging way in order to discourage further conversation. Why?? I. don’t. bloody. know. It’s been that way with this friend for several weeks now, if not months. I cannot pinpoint when it started or why.  I also cannot determine any source of legitimate irritation, offense, jealousy, betrayal or any action, opinion or thought or perceived action, opinion or thought that got under my skin. I can’t. 

I do this sometimes with friends though and as much as I wish I were wired differently, I’m not sure how to change or move beyond it or if it’s even possible. I know myself. I’m just simply over it. I have the ick, so to speak. In my experience, once you have the ick, it does not go way.

Maybe I’m making too much of it.  Maybe I’m not making enough of it.  Would a therapist?

I’ve been to a therapist twice in my life; once in college, once as an adult.  In college, it was post Sept 11th, in the winter of course, and I was immersed in courses full of psycho-social-biblical-philosophical discussions, papers and research. The result of talking to this campus psychologist, whose name and countenance I cannot even vaguely remember, was merely being prescribed an SSRI (Paxil, I think). I had some dark thoughts. And I don’t know now if these were before, during or after the medication. I stopped taking it at some point as I didn’t feel like it was doing anything and I didn’t want to go back to talk to anyone in order to get a refill. Not surprisingly, no one prepared me for the withdrawal symptoms of stopping cold turkey. So nauseous. So sweaty. Miserable. Constantly. I remember days of just being in my bed in a ball wondering if I was lucid or not. And then it was over and you wondered if any of it even happened.

A couple of years later, as an adult, living on my own for the first time in Pittsburgh, I went back. To a doctor in my insurance network (I haven’t had a primary care doctor since childhood and urgent care clinics weren’t a thing yet). I told them all the same depressed and anxious and not-sleeping feelings I was having and that I had been on an SSRI before. That was it!? I walked out with a prescription again after maybe 10 minutes of talking to them. Truthfully though, I don’t even remember if or for how long I took it. Don’t even know if I got the script filled. I know that I probably should have been doing therapy along with the pills in order to see any kind of benefit. Grad school for counseling taught me all about that — I just never did it.

I tried therapy again as an adult, for one tear-filled, complete embarrassment of a session, when I had a boss who made me feel kind of terrible every day. I used to sit in my car at lunch and cry. I still have something like PTSD when I hear a certain DC NPR radio voice that used to play during that lunch time hour.

I remain genuinely unsure whether it was her, me or the combination of us. I began my professional career as a school counselor with her as my supervisor at the district office. She was impressed by me and championed me. She convinced me to take a job at the district level as part of a stimulus grant and I did, with the understanding that, when it was over in 18 months, I would go back to my same role in my same high school. I never got that in writing because, frankly, it never occurred to me that I’d need to. Within two weeks of the new role though, I knew it wasn’t for me. I had virtually no interaction with students, I couldn’t actually “fix” anything that was broken and couldn’t even touch most things that needed improvement or streamlining (or complete obliteration) with a ten-foot pole. I did get to work with 80 counselors at all levels across the district and it was nice to learn that they respected me, my opinion and my work. But I was profoundly bored. My boss turned from this sweet, encouraging person I admired and that I used to go on walks with at lunch, into this passive-aggressive, suspicious, accusatory person who never had anything for me to do but would be visibly put out when I appeared not to be working. She would actually come stand next to my cubicle, peer over the top at me with just her eyes, glasses and top of her head showing. WHY?? Creepy as hell. In truth, I spent about 3 months of my 16 months there earning a post-Masters certification in sports counseling … online … 12 credits worth! I felt guilty using company time for it but, honestly, I did not even remotely have enough to do. I would find ways create my own projects or work across divisions but that seemed to rankle her even more, as if I was somehow plotting against her or ingratiating myself with people that didn’t care for her. I never knew, really.  It was just an awful situation. 

At one point we had a discussion about it and I expressed that I felt underutilized, regretted leaving the school, recognized that our dynamic/relationship had changed, and suggested that it seemed like she was threatened by me. She laughed, no cackled, at the last part in the most condescending way. I’ll never forget how that felt and I’ve replayed that moment a million times; I’ll also never know what the real problem was if that wasn’t it. I finished the position two months early so I could return for the start of the school year only I wasn’t able to return to my old school and spent the next two years in a school that was fine but not challenging and never felt like home. It’s overwhelming and weird to regret losing nearly a year and a half of your life. It makes me second guess “opportunities” now, for sure. Unfortunate but it is what it is.

All of that to say, I tried therapy as part of our employee assistance program and after crying uncontrollably throughout the whole session and being challenged on things that didn’t seem relevant but that I still bear the scars from, I never went back. It was a truly awful experience.

I think there’s a lot to be said about talking to an impartial, unbiased, unconnected person about your problems, real or imagined. I just don’t know how you establish a rapport with a random someone and/or how you know that someone is the best someone for you. What if they are behavioral when you need cognitive? What if you don’t know what you need and end up with the wrong type? What if they are too religious? What if they aren’t religious at all? What if they are full of shit? What if they don’t give me advice? What if they do? I know they aren’t supposed to; they’re supposed to lead you to your own conclusions and plans. What if they help me to the conclusion that I’m crazy? That we all are?

I have a person in my life now though that also feels the heaviness of winter, like thick curtains that keep out the light but not the chill. It is nice to normalize the experience with someone that doesn’t seem crazy at all! It is refreshing to not have to talk about it to just know why the quiet is nice sometimes. But I also worry that it could pull us apart if we don’t try to make each other push through.

Maybe we can keep the light on between the two of us. That would be really nice. He’s pretty great.

I need to write more. It’s cathartic and I don’t make time for it enough.

Music for the Mood: Fell on Dark Days – Soundgarden (Chris Cornell acoustic)