Yesterday was such a mix of emotions and activity. I was exhausted by the end of it. Days “off” are never “off” for me.
I tried to clean out the toxins yesterday in my session. I started to. I grabbed her box of tissues and said “I’m going to need these.” She says back “Oh, man. Ok.” I didn’t accomplish much.
We discussed him and her and them. All of it. I’ve never told her about his past. Not really. I have never told anyone certain things1 and I didn’t yesterday. It was hard to describe the person he is currently sleeping with without telling her everything. I think she may have gleaned the truth pretty quickly though she didn’t say anything. I told her about my writing and how I amped it up 1000% just to kick shins2. Lies and truths all mixed up together. A lot of bravado3 and hyperbole. All mixed up with what is really going on inside my head. I throw all that into the air and see what comes out. Kicking shins. She laughed at that.
“Isn’t that your favorite sport?” Oh, yes. Yes, it is. Then we discussed how I use my writing. I was expecting some kind of lecture, to be honest. Shouldn’t think before I publish? Shouldn’t I be the bigger person? Why do I want to lash out? Blah blah blah. I don’t; I’m not; Derp. That simple. She didn’t give me a lecture. She never gives me a lecture.
She’s impressed by my writing. She doesn’t seem the least out off that I do this so publicly. She’s the professional so I’m going with her advice. Which is to say, I’m writing whatever the fuck I feel like writing.
“I want to know why it’s so easy for him to actually be in love with someone else so quickly. I want to know why I can’t have that power. Why can’t I just shrug my shoulders like that and be the fuck done?” No matter how much I say it, I still feel it. I can list all the things I don’t like about him. I can rage about his friends. I can find ways to be thankful the relationship is over. I can move from here to there and back again and still… absolutely love him. Why is it so hard for me to even entertain a rebound?
We talked about that for a split second. That’s not what she honed in on, you see. That’s not what was bothering her. What was bothering me really? I don’t want to miss him anymore. Why? Because it’s painful. Do you think he feels the same? Nope. Do you think maybe he’s just going through the process too? Ha. Nope. I’d become annoyed at that point. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. “Jen, it does matter.” Pfft. I’ll survive. I always do.
Let’s talk about how I have always rebounded:
[Removed for irrelevancy4]
Then there’s Sam. You can see where I am with that one. I can’t decide if I’m glad he’s gone or I want to beg him to come back. I’m all over the fucking place. I don’t know if it will take as long with him as it has with everyone else. I’m more determined now. I don’t want to suffer anymore and it’s not fair that I do. I’m sick of being the one always stuck.
That is the amount of times I’ve been in love56. I have never in my life gone straight from being in love with one person and loving someone else. I’ve had plenty of sex. Don’t get me wrong. I like sex. A lot. But sex and love are not the same in my mind. They are completely separate. For me, probably because of my traumas, love doesn’t make sex better or worse. It doesn’t make me think better or worse of myself. Sex is sex and love is a whole other ballgame7. I’m just not someone who can take the love I have for one person and transfer it to another.
“Ok. I’m done being in love with you now. I’m going to go ahead and be in love with this other person.” What?
She asked me if I think he ever loved me. Of course I do. There is no doubt in my mind he loved me. It hurts my ego that he got over it so fast8. It was quick and easy. I hate that. Because I can’t get over anyone like that. There ya go. I have to process. I have to feel the pain. I have to allow the scars to form. I have to come out on the other side with the knowledge that I’m ready now. I have no idea what love is like in his brain. Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe that’s why he was so conflicted. But the way he looked at me…
Then she focused on my writing. I let her read “A Letter to A Little Girl”9. I was nervous as she read. She took her time. She ingested every bit of it. I expected her to skim over it and say “Oh, that’s nice” or something like that. When she was done she just said “I want you to print that out for me.” Have I reread it? No, I say. That’s a lie. I haven’t read it like she read it. Some things are meant to be created and forgotten. That was one of those things. She looks at me so intently when we discuss these things. I feel like she’s staring at my soul.
“Where is that little girl now?” She’s talking about the spark that I mention in the post. I tell her I don’t know, so she asks about my writing process. I’m eager to tell her. I want to explain what I see. I want to explain why I can’t write my stories. The emotions that come through. How it effects me to let any of that come to the surface. I say she’s probably gone now. I’m old and tired. “I see her in you. I see the hope and wonder and the dreams. She’s there.”
The little girl is, of course, the part of me that is keeping me going. She’s the one who won’t give up and who keeps searching and learning and living. She’s my spark. She’s the fire, fury, love, ecstasy. All of my passion comes from that spark. That little girl that has never given up. She’s become dormant at times, but then when she wakes… That’s what I’m waiting for right now. I’m waiting for that awakening. It’s that part of me that most people don’t understand. Where the fuck does it come from? She’s my security blanket. My hope that there is more than just suffering. Even when I feel like a failure and want to just find contentment in this shit life that little girl pokes her head up and laughs. Nope. Keep chugging, sister. We’re not done yet.
I thought she’d tell me to take this shit off my blog and put it in a journal10. She didn’t. Instead she said to keep writing. And for that I am glad.
I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.
- I’ve certainly never put it on here. [↩]
- I knew they were reading. I don’t know if he was. He should’ve seen right through me. Dumbass. [↩]
- Defined a bold manner or a show of boldness intended to impress or intimidate. [↩]
- No one – not even I – gives a shit about this. [↩]
- Since I deleted a couple of paragraphs the answer to “how many” is four. [↩]
- I’m counting TheMan because I married him. I must’ve been in love at some point. [↩]
- It’s funny to watch people’s faces when I say that. What? That’s not what they teach you in church and romcoms. Wtf? I’m broken that’s why. [↩]
- I fully expected him to move on. I just didn’t expect him to fall in love so quickly. [↩]
- I wrote it while Sam was at work so he wouldn’t see me crying. [↩]
- The good stuff is always in a journal. No peeking and no sharing. [↩]