Long Week

My week is nearly over. The work part of it is complete, at least the part I have to do with clothes on in front of others. Grading and course prep don’t require such formalities. 

It has been very rough. 

This skin care regimen makes me feel like my face is burned. My face is peeling. The right side of my mouth not only has a zit, but is chapped. 

I miss talking to him. That’s usually how it goes with me – the lack of communication is the toughest blow. I do wonder if guys are able to turn it off so easily. In other words, does he ever open the text message box, wanting to say something but realizing he can’t or shouldn’t?

I had therapy yesterday and I am very grateful my therapist was able to see me. 

I came away with a few things:

First, he is full of shit. “You can tell him I said he’s full of shit,” she said. 

Second, that my spilling my guts to him is not something I should beat myself up about. People do things when they are shocked and hurt. It’s okay. There are worse, more destructive things I could have done. 

Third, I definitely don’t need to ask him what the things I revealed about myself were that made him think that we wouldn’t have worked out anyway. That would just confirm the negative thoughts I already have about myself, essentially backsliding in terms of my hard-earned self-worth. 

Fourth, if he does contact me (doubtful as it may be), I need to focus on telling him honestly how he hurt me. I can encourage him to seek help if I want, but it’s not up to me. 

It reminded me of yet another thing Ask Polly wrote in a response:

Your truest happiness will not spring from inspiring a narcissistic drunk to wake up and appreciate you. 

Yeah, I am still somewhat skeptical that a person can be so self-aware as to lay out that they choose alcohol over relationships. But even if he was stretching the extent of his addiction, that does not call for telling a person point-blank that they would rather drink than spend time with you. 

Last, it’s okay to not be okay. It’s only been a few days and, while I can intellectually realize that, for this reason and that reason, he was bad news, it still hurts. I’m not going to dwell on it, but it’s okay if I can’t shake it immediately. 

Nevertheless, I feel like my head is in a fog or like I’m trying to walk in water. A sort of suspension. I am trying not to fall into a depression, but it has been hard to get out of bed. I showered this morning for the first time since Saturday evening, I think. 

I’m supposed to go to a concert in Cincinnati and the prospect of not only driving across Ohio by myself – but just attending the concert – is not appealing to me. I’d rather sleep. I can’t even lie and say that I’d throw myself into my work. I want to bury myself under blankets and hibernate. 

I won’t, though. I will get out and face the world as a single woman. A woman who does things like purchases single tickets to events because she doesn’t want her lack of a relationship to be a barrier to her seeing the world and doing things she wants to do.