My (romantic) partner leaves for Costa Rica next Friday. The universe is telling me, “Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! I’m taking away your source of happiness and love!” Nothing like starting 2016 with utter heartbreak, huh? But life goes on.
As you could probably tell by my last post, I’ve been contemplating my depression and its relationship with my romantic partners. Naturally, when breakups happen I’m not exactly a ray of sunshine, but I think it’s more than that. For instance, this past semester I dated quite a bit (at least compared to the past 3 years of my life). The more I felt like shit, the more reckless I became, racking up messages off of Tinder and
likes off of Okcupid. I did the little dating dance, where you like their profile, send some flirty messages, go on a date, and then never talk to them again. This didn’t exactly make me feel better, but it took my mind off of things. “I’m getting out,” I told myself. “I’m meeting new people and trying new things. Depressed people don’t do that.” The dating dance was sort of a denial dance as well.
It’s like when I was seeing this one guy Jeremy (I’m not even going to bother changing his name…that’s how little this guy really meant big picture-wise). Isaac had just kicked me to the curb, my then ex-girlfriend was dating someone else while also seeing me, and I was harboring a mess of sadness and angry about Fred. Jeremy was simple: we went out for a beer the first night together and by the end of it were making out hardcore on the hood of his car. I knew he wanted to fuck me, and as long as I was just interesting enough (but also boring enough not to encourage true feelings) he would help me waste my time. So we kept seeing each other, and it was fine. Then when my ex-girlfriend and I got back together I just quit texting him. And you know what? He never texted me back, either. It was over just like that…simple. And I felt completely fine about it.
Now, while this kind of behavior didn’t bother me in the moment, I realized how superficial it all was once I remembered the people who had actually mattered. Thoughts of Fred, Isaac, and my now current partner made me remember how much I was still missing. The lack of romance in my dating left me empty, and while empty was less risky it was also doing nothing to help my depression. Empty distractions did nothing to sooth the heartbreak I still felt, and even though I had physically moved on, my brain was still stuck.
I worry that I will fall back into this old pattern once my partner leaves for Costa Rica. It’s not like I want to date anyone else…I need to use this time to focus on building myself back up and getting my balls back, haha. But I’m terrible at dealing with loneliness, and when I get lonely the depression usually kicks in. So what then?
Well, I’ve started seeing a new therapist for one thing. After weeks of back and forth scheduling, I finally had my first appointment and it went alright. But seeing a shrink won’t fix everything. So, to fill my time otherwise, I’ve started painting and crafting. Right now it’s just Christmas gifts, but since it makes me feel super calm I’m going to do my best to keep at it. And then I’ve got a few goals for myself to reach, since I’m sort of anal like that. I want to make more friends to play board games with, and I want to work with my therapist on believing the friends I currently have don’t hate my guts. It’ll be a process.
I know I sound like a real bitch, with my “dating” habits and the fact that I’ve spent this blog post talking about myself rather than the amazing person I’ll be losing. But what else am I supposed to do, just tell you all I’ll cry myself to sleep and resort back to cutting myself? I’m not doing that shit again—I’ve got to keep my eyes on what I can make better in my life, despite my shitty habits. Because even though the universe is shitting on me this holiday season, I refuse to believe that’s all my life will become.
There’s gotta be more than just loss around the corner.
So I followed my speech coach’s advice and went to the meet. I picked out my piece the night before and wrote my intro during my last class. I knew I wouldn’t do spectacular, but I tried. So, how’d it go? SHITTY. I got the lowest scores I’ve ever received. Big shock, right? Well, it actually was to me. I thought I did decent…but looks like my version of “decent” translates to “shit” for the rest of the world. Oh well, move on….
How’s Landon? Well, imagine someone saying “rain check!” to a relationship. We are both so busy we barely get a chance to say a single sentence to another, let alone get to know each other. I’m a little disappointed by that because I miss that feeling I had only begun to discover… damn, I don’t want something this good to slip through my fingers.
Well, how about your friends? Yeah, them. I’ve been trying my best to keep them happy, to be there for them. I’ve just also been careful to not let them help me, putting this fake attitude of positivity. But hey, they are happy. And I had a good time last night catching up with one of them I haven’t been able to keep close for some time. Talking to her, I wanted to be better than my actions. Of ‘course, though, when I woke up this morning I wanted to go right back to those same decisions that made me guilty. I can’t just let go of this shitty feeling, as much as I’d like to. Maybe that’s not very mature of me, but when I look at the pills and the group therapy, the meetings with my psychiatrist, the therapy sessions, I feel as if I’ve grown up too fast. Guess I’ll just keep pretending.
My family is the same. I rarely see them except for my mom. It makes it easier for me to deal with this stuff on my own. My self-esteem is in the shitter, no need for anyone else to bare the burden of my struggles.(What a perfect time to try it out with Landon, right?)
I’m going to Brendan’s party tonight. I’ve been excited about this, but now I’m stressed. Writing about all of this, it makes it more real. This pit is getting harder and harder to climb out of.
So I guess I’ve fucked up on trying to make this sound a bit hopeful, like I’m making progress. Desperation is written all over this. The really desperate part is how much I’ve talked about hiding that I feel this way, and yet I’m documenting it all over a public blog. In a sad way, this blog is the only drug that seems to work.