I’m working through at least two new posts in my head, maybe three. Problem is I still have a job, I have a social life again (strictly platonic for the moment, thankyouverymuch), I’m actually trying to write #thatdamnbook, and there are still only 24 hours in a day.
I thank whatever gods may be for a 9-day Thanksgiving break."
I’ve been trying to write the same damn book since I was 23 years old. It has a title, a dedication, a protagonist and an antagonist. It lives in my brain in paragraphs and pages, but never in its full form. It used to crawl around inside of me, dormant but nagging, aching to live at only the most depressing moments of my life.
It is alive now. It is still incomplete, but it is no longer dormant. It is clawing its way out of me with all the force it can gather. The paragraphs and pages and disconnected scenes are rising up against me. They are a Megazord of mutiny, fighting me to get out.
I gotta write this damn book before it kills me."
Last night, I had a date.
With a man.
A man who cooked dinner. When I got to his house, he had a plate waiting for me.
He opened doors. He drove. He put his arm around me at the concert. I put my head on his shoulder.
I made his arm go to sleep with my gigantic gourd of a cranium. We laughed about it later.
We shared a box of popcorn. I let him have some of the popcorn he bought me when I wasn’t devouring it. His dinner was the only thing I’d eaten all day, and I was apparently still hungry.
We went back to his house and talked until past last call. We commiserated on how much we both hate the “getting to know you 20 questions” game. We played Rock Paper Scissors to see who’d ask the first question.
When I left, he walked me to my car. We hugged and said goodbye.
Last night I had a date with a man. I didn’t have dreams of white dresses or chocolate babies. I didn’t start practicing saying my first name with his last. I didn’t even kiss him.
I just had fun.
— Reflections from outpatient treatment
I have something to say. It’s important. It is a lesson he needs to learn. It’s a paradigm shift he needs to experience. But you won’t see it here. And he won’t get an email or a phone call from me. And I admit, both decisions were hard. They had to be made for me, in fact. This short post is the compromise I made with myself, because I couldn’t say NOTHING.
It’s against my religion, as a writer and a person.
No, as hard as it is for me, I won’t share this revelation with him or with you. I prayed on it and left it to God. If He can’t get this message through to him, I never would have been able to anyway."
— Reflections from Rehab
I’m writing this mostly in case y’all had me on suicide watch.
I’m still here.
Alive and kicking.
I began what would eventually become Recovery by announcing the end of my engagement and asking y’all to shut the fuck up about it. Today I learned that my friends deserve my next round of amends. I actually knew they deserved an apology from me a long time ago, but it took today to find the words.
So here they are.
I had the most awesome day ever yesterday. I mean, it was a day so good that I had to check my calendar to make sure it really was a Monday. I rocked at work. I got home and took care of shit that I’ve left unattended for a few weeks. I even played with my demon dog for awhile. I just had a kickass day.
A day that made it really hard to understand why when my alarm clock went off this morning I lay in my bed in the dark for an hour and a half refusing to get up. I was overcome by this inexplicable sadness. I just didn’t want to move. I had no desire to be out among the living. I just wanted to lay there and cry.
But I didn’t. I read my tumblr timeline, which was incredibly uplifting, and dragged my ass to work.
I was in the middle of having a spirited conversation about something or another with my work wife Alexa when my phone alerted me to a new email.
From James Allen.
The jeweler where my ex purchased my engagement ring.
A ring that he is apparently having resized and upgraded with a new center stone.
An upgrade that I was being alerted to because when I sent the ring in to be resized, I added my email address to the account.
He’s having the ring he bought me upgraded and resized. It’s clearly not for me anymore.
I don’t have an ending for this exposition. I just need to say it out loud. I just need to see it in black and white. I just need to declare in the way that is most meaningful to me that he’s done with me.
I’ll be back when I can just as earnestly declare that I’m ready to return the favor.
I know that you’re reading this and thinking I must be out of my mind to not be able to say so right now, but I’m just too sad and scared and disheartened to say anything.
Right now, I’m just numb.
I’ve been laying in bed boycotting adulthood and feeling ridiculously sad for the last hour. My tumblr timeline just made me smile and laugh and think so deeply about the good that still lives in humanity that I can finally face the day.
I must be doing it right."
— Reflections from Rehab