I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.

But OMFG do I hate feeling restricted!  (Control freaks of the world, choose to or not to unite!)  I’m slowly returning from my depressive slump of roughly 30 hours, and thus am ready to share (most things) with the world.

I don’t even know what day it is anymore.  I don’t know what I did two days ago (unless it’s written in my planner).  I’m aware that I went to the Yankees game on Thursday with Bill, and that I went to Stefan’s afterward (I like RJS better, btw. But have it your way).

Friday…? Ah, yes, drinks at A-Bee’s with Alex. Always an adventure, as usual (at least I didn’t get drunk and kill the battery in my car by puking in the parking lot and passing out with the door open…again).  Mr. Family Dollar (whose name may or may not be Jamie) bought me a shot of an after-dinner drink because he’s not very well educated — Alex’s words resembled, “it’s like doing a shot of Amaretto-why?!”  Additionally, Matt (I’m like 80% sure that’s his name), whom I only remember from elementary school though he could easily have gone to middle or high school with me, gave me the second beer of his two-fer, and Alex treated me to my first pair o’ beers.  I guess I had more to drink than I’d realized.  Hmph. That explains how touched I was by the ‘escort’ with low self-esteem (are there ones with high self-esteem?) in the bathroom, when she grabbed my hand and begged me to play some music so she could feel “free,” explaining that she’s only there with the “playa that has white women hangin’ all on him” because the money’s good.  It wouldn’t explain, however, why I threw in $10 to try to help the waitress (the bartender’s sister) whose table decided to stiff her on the bill. Id’a done that regardless. We watched that girl cry half the night; I’m surprised we didn’t give her more, now that I think about it.

I then drove out to the OBI coast, alone, but got creeped out and ran home when I heard a CB scanner from not far away.  The bridges are still my favorite though.

Saturday…um…Saturday I think I spent half the day enjoying a book in the sun, but it couldn’t keep my attention (as it obviously isn’t right now as well).  I probably napped, because I do that a lot.  I went to Lake Success to clean the office, and then I went to Big Daddy‘s for dinner with Stefan, where I cried due to spice intensity.  (But the food is excellent! BBQ next!) I got beads for my non-existent scrapbook.  ❤

Sunday is where it all went awry.  I sucked down a cup of coffee, sucked up my fear, and opened my midterm (which I had 24 hours from 8 a.m. that morning to complete and e-mail back–online classes SUCK).  Turned out it was way easier than I was anticipating, and I banged out the 50-question exam in about two hours.  It would have been in less time, but I multi-tasked, talking with my mom, watching the Yankee game, playing online, texting, whatever.  Yeah. It was that easy.  I then straightened up some and left for the Buoy Bar an hour or two before I was set to meet up with he-who-will-probably-resent-my-writing-this.  I reviewed some resumes for my current position while drinking a pina colada and watching the sunset–so far, so good.  When he got there though, almost an hour later than agreed upon, I was rather relieved to find I had little-to-no emotional connection to the man I used to think I loved (we’re talking ’04-’05 here). If we didn’t have mutual people and experiences (and the goddamn cat) to discuss, we would have had little to discuss at all.  Maybe that comes with not speaking for five years, or maybe it’s as I had suspected: that I have changed (tremendously), and he has not.  Charlie Brown and Lucy, only this time more accurate. [[Side note: Dearest SD, assuming you read this, you crazy woman–no, I do not care about you and/or your life, nor do I plan on interfering with it or the people loosely associated with it. So back down.]] I won’t get into specifics, because they were part of our personal conversation and not for public display, but I left that place a mix of emotions.  For one, I was comforted by the fact I no longer act in a manner I did when I was 23.  Simultaneously, I pitied the part of me that did.  Not only did I have zero self-confidence, but I also had few morals or opinions.  I did what other people wanted, for no good reason.  I know I was also trying to “find myself” back then, but I was clearly doing a poor job of that.

These emotions somehow tumbled into that which I was struggling to avoid: Father’s Day.  Anyone close to me knows and understands why yesterday might have been difficult for me.  I tried to run away into the woods to be uber-alone, but fear got the best of me and I settled on finding a semi-secluded spot I’d recently come to learn about (maybe I only pay attention when it’s something that can benefit me).  I sat with myself (and a host of mosquitoes) for an hour or so, letting myself be exactly what he wanted me to be: destroyed inside.  But I can only blame myself to an extent.  I did what I did, and I’m sorry I did it, and that’s all I can do.  The pain of silence is being dealt to continue to hurt me, but with that pain comes a level of logic and comprehension that allays its intensity.  I screwed up.  But I will not feel worse than the apologetic I feel naturally.  What I do feel worse about, however, is what being dropped by an immediate family member does to a person psychologically.  So, I guess if that was the ultimate goal, then no, I probably will never trust anyone fully with my heart and I will always assume I will be left alone at some point in all of my interpersonal relationships.  What I wanted last night?  Something, anything permanent.  But nothing is, and I guess I’d do better to face that fact than to brood over its morbidity.

I thought after a good (pathetic) cry and a night’s sleep, I would be good to go in the morning, but I was sadly mistaken.  I got up late and raced to a job where I was accused of something I didn’t do.  I was then told it was the third time I had made that error (I didn’t actually make it, and even if I had, it would have been the second time).  I lost the ability to eat, to stop my hands from shaking, and to stop assuming that maybe I had made the mistake–which is still entirely possible, but less likely due to some poking around for the answer).  I couldn’t even look my accuser in the eyes for the remainder of the day.  I all but cried (WTF is with me? I don’t cry for a year and a half, and now this?!), and I fled at the first opportunity.  I couldn’t bring myself to carry out the one task I was hoping to get accomplished today after work because I was not emotionally capable yet.  Instead, I binged on fast food with my mother, vented a little, and retreated into my book for book club (which is this Sunday, and I’m still 80 pages out).  I stopped doing that to write this.  I’m hoping it helps me get through this shit even faster, because I miss Happy Happy Fun Linda (trademarked from my “Happy Happy Girlfriend Land” coinage back in ’02), and I don’t like to see other people until she’s back.  She best hustle.

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