As the lightning flashes and the thunder rolls, I sit here with a very shitty liquor-store bought mojito and flip-flop between seething and feeling really, really low. When I realized I was avoiding packing a bag for my bi-monthly weekend in NY (which I involuntarily sighed about as I wrote that) the same way I avoid writing a paper for school, I figured I needed to pay more attention to that simultaneous feelings of dread and avoidance.
I (quite stupidly) thought my boyfriend would find some words of encouragement when I disclosed that I was in a crappy mood and couldn’t find the motivation to pack (e.g., “I’ll make sure we have some special time this weekend,” “How about I stay on the phone with you while you pack?” “What’s getting in the way, maybe we can troubleshoot that”). Instead, he asked if I knew why I didn’t feel great and when I didn’t have an answer he told me to be careful whenever I finally decide to drive and relieved himself of having to deal with me before the clock on the phone call could reach 5:00.
Admittedly, I burst into tears. I don’t want to go “home.” I don’t want to deal with families and obligations and having to do all of the cleaning and laundry. Somehow I’m more stressed there than I’ve ever been here. Obligations, chores, and the fucking cleaning. I can’t do a goddamn thing for at least a day because I’m so jammed up about the horrendous conditions of the apartment/bedroom/etc. As I figure this out and write it down, the knot in my stomach clenched, which leads me to believe I have a real issue with this. Boyfriend’s solution is simple: “if you don’t want to come here, don’t.” Said so casually that he might be talking to his crackhead mechanic instead of his girlfriend.
I understand his efforts to be supportive include things like, “what’s the big deal about coming here?” and “I don’t understand; I don’t want to drive to Philly, but I do,” but I fail to see how they might be helpful. He would never express being upset by my decision to remain in Philly instead of traveling back to NY, and although I know somewhere inside my head that it would bother him a little, not seeing or hearing an effect (especially when the comment is, “well, it is what it is, and we’ll just see each other next week, NBD”) makes me feel like just a passerby in his existence.
I’ve turned off my phone, probably for some spiteful I’ll-hurt-you-by-being-MIA-if-you-try-to-contact-me reason. The funny thing is that he won’t try to contact me. If I decide not to leave here, he’ll figure it out and just assume that’s what happened; he won’t call. If by chance he does, he’ll figure it means I want to be left alone and he’ll just carry on like usual, unfazed. But he wouldn’t. He’ll crawl into bed unaffected by anything, simply because he’s just tired. He’d do that anyway, even if I decided to leave here at 11:30 and get there at 2 a.m. He’d just be wrapped around a pillow or a blanket – probably an equally effective girlfriend, and much lower maintenance.
I obviously feel guilty. I don’t feel like I have a choice about going because my preference is to see him (though I still can’t understand why after typing the last few paragraphs), but the fact that I have avoided even taking my overnight bag out sends that huge message that I would rather undergo dental surgery than have to be there for three days. So I noted to him (on call #2) that I was mostly crying (yeah, I felt like a toolbag, so I cried about it) because I felt guilty for disliking being back there and not wanting to go. He followed that disclosure with the inquiry about what the big deal was, and why it didn’t make sense (message rec’d: it was stupid to feel that way). Thanks for the help with the guilty feelings; I’ll go throw myself off a bridge now. All after a conversation last night about how in previous arguments he’s made me feel like my feelings are wrong, which is never accurate. Feelings can’t be wrong or right. But obviously the people we care about (read: my father, my boyfriend) can certainly make us feel as though they are the stupidest most wrong things evar.
So I drink. Because it makes the intensity of the feelings subside (provided I don’t drink a lot). I haven’t cleaned my apartment for my departure, I haven’t packed a bag (or taken it out), and it’s 9:45 p.m. He won’t care if I show up tomorrow, or really if I show up at all. He’ll just brush it off, chalk it up to my beings stressed, and carry on. All logical signs point to leaving tomorrow or not going at all. But when I think about those things realistically, I assume that I’m just going to wind up sitting in my lonely apartment, drinking and feeling sorry for myself (and maybe a little angry with myself for allowing my feelings to dictate my actions). And that picture is equally as miserable.
I keep pushing my ETD back another 1/2 hr. in my head. First it was “I’ll leave at 9:30,” then it was, “I’ll leave at 10/10:30.” Now I’m making myself feel better by saying I’ll leave at 11. Do you know the only other time think like that? When I have work to do. I will come up with any excuse not to do it. This…is bad.