Tag Archive: BF


Estimated recovery time

I don’t recall if I’ve discussed this much here.  Everyone remember SMF?  When we not-broke up, we had this long back-and-forth about whether we would be able to stay friends and to what degree.  My feeling was ultimately that there was no way I would feel comfortable discussing personal issues with him. I certainly didn’t want to talk about my depression or relationships or anything like that.  I wanted to scale things back to casual “Facebook friends” level, and if we continued to get along maybe we would become better friends.  That didn’t make sense to him; he wanted to continue the level of intimacy (conversation-wise) but just without the sex part, I guess.  Or I don’t know.

So periodically he’d e-mail me and just be like “hey, how’s everything, blah blah” which, I mean who sends e-mails anymore, really?  It just really weirded me out. I would respond with no intimate detail, nothing super involved, keeping my distance.  I suppose it would have been better if I never responded at all.  Anyway, just a couple weeks ago I finally said look: I don’t trust you. I don’t know why you keep trying to keep up this correspondence or whatever, but it confuses and frustrates me.  To which he responded something like “well if you want to go then go.”  So I said “ok, great” and made sure to Facebook un-friend him.  So now that’s over.  The long, unnecessarily drawn out saga of SMF.  I regret that we were apparently unable to find a compromise that worked for both of us, but in some ways this is probably the best route anyway.

What makes this relevant right now is the fact that I’m still thinking about it.  Still thinking about it when my sadness over ending things with NG are mostly faded (based on the math in the last post I still have through Wednesday if I need it).  But the thing is, if I only really completely “ended” things with SMF a couple weeks ago, and we started hanging out back in December, that’s 6 months of relationship compared to the 3 I had with NG.  It might be a little different since the business with SMF was a messy non-break up beginning back in January? February? and dragging on into June, whereas with NG there was a clean start/stop.  Still, based on the math, it could well be another week+ before I’ve completed my recovery from the SMF saga.

I just think it’s interesting that, even though we haven’t been “involved” for months, I’ve still been hanging on to the hurt and resentment.  I look forward to closing that chapter.  Lesson learned, clean breaks only.

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Physical memory

It’s so strange how quickly I got used to NG.  We started dating mid-February; I broke up with him Saturday evening. So that’s just a little over 3 months.  I certainly didn’t feel as strongly about him as he did about me, but I still feel that twinge of grief at the separation.  It’s like when someone dies and for a while you can only remember the good things about them, the things you’ll never do together, the things you’ll never get to say because now they’re gone.  So I must have bonded with the man at least to some degree, because I do feel the absence now.

I have to remind myself that I felt so awkward around him much of the time.  That we couldn’t relate to each other on some pretty important things that I put under the general unbrella of ‘joviality.’  And at the same time I am trying to let myself feel the wistful regret, too.  Just because I am certain it was the best thing to do doesn’t mean I’m not vulnerable to a little sadness, too.  I hate that I hurt him.  I hate that it came as such a surprise.  With old BF it wasn’t easy, but at least he knew it was coming.  It wasn’t quite the shock it might have been.  This was so different.  Trying to explain why I suddenly felt we weren’t compatible (it wasn’t sudden, it just appeared that way to him) was excruciating.  For both of us, I’m sure.  A friend sent me a link to this video after the fact.  It’s weird: some guy (who’s apparently a fairly successful YA fiction author?) plays a European football video game while dishing out advice on how to break up with someone.  Interesting perspective, though.

I did the math.  It took me about 6 months (26 weeks) to get completely over my breakup with BF.  Our relationship lasted approximately 5 years (260 weeks).  So my recovery period equaled about 1/10th of the total length of the relationship.  Assuming the ratio is more or less the same, I should be through with this in 1.3 weeks or 9.1 days.  That puts me at about next Wednesday.  I don’t think it will take that long, but we’ll see.

Evolution

I exchanged a few e-mails with V about the situation with SMF.  His whole history (as best I know it), my experience at the beginning and where we stand now.  Just looking for some perspective, words of wisdom, strength, something.  Her responses were so helpful to me.  Pragmatic but sensitive, she helped me step back from deep within the situation to examine the facts.  Ever since then I have felt so much less burdened by the whole thing.  I still think about him a great deal, but it is much more casual, not as weighted down by the unease and uncertainty, the desire for stability that I have felt previously (see the post before this one!).

I feel much more comfortably that we are friends. We are new friends, who really only became acquainted about 6 weeks ago.  It is not rational to expect that he will come to me with all his problems, lean on me the way I somehow hoped he would.  Would I do that with a friend whom I only met 6 weeks ago? Certainly not.  I would go to my oldest, closest and most trusted friends, which is what he is doing when it comes to the problems he is facing.  That is as it should be.

We are also physically attracted to each other.  We like to cuddle, make out and have sex when time allows.  It’s fun!

He’s now ramping up to start a child custody lawsuit against his ex — he requested equal custody, she counter-proposed 1.5 days per week for him.  I can only imagine the time and energy (not to mention $$) this process will demand from him.

It’s kind of good, now that I think about it, that things are the way they are.  It’s forcing us to take things slow, where I was so excited, so eager to jump headfirst into total commitment.  This way we can actually get to know each other, truly become good friends (if that’s what happens) before deciding to date or cohabitate or any of that mess.  It’s protecting us from my impulsive ass is what it’s doing.

So yay.  It feels so good to not feel shitty!

 

Transitioning

For the last two weeks I have been plotting against my boyfriend.

That’s what it feels like, at least.  See, after therapy a few weeks ago I realized I can not be happy in this relationship.  I keep wanting things that he can’t or won’t provide.  Or just doesn’t know (only sometimes true) that I want them.

I have had several (nonconsecutive) days of mild panic and anxiety because I knew what I had to do.  I knew I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I consulted all the people I felt I could consult.

I stopped ending my text messages to him with “<3” or “xoxox.”  I disengaged as much as I could without blatantly pushing him away.

I thought he had picked up on it, over the last two weeks.  I thought he saw me pulling back.  So when, after breakfast this morning, I said “I think I need to move out,” he didn’t flip out.  He didn’t stand stunned.  He just sighed and said “yeah.”

I have never been in this situation before.  This is my first relationship, my first sexual partner, my first cohabitation.  Dammit, I like the guy.  But I can’t love him.  Much as it hurts to break up, I can’t love him.  Not as we are now.

I kind of don’t want to be the one who changes my relationship status on FB.  I don’t want it to look like I’m in a hurry.

I want to be friends.  I think it might be possible down the road.  I hope so.  But I realize it’s stupid to try that immediately, when we’re still raw, when it still hurts to see each other.

I’m at my mom’s house for now.  When I told her what I was thinking of/planning she immediately offered her spare bedroom.  Mom has become something of a trusted friend to me these years since dad died.  I think we have helped each other.

I know I have tears just below the surface.  I went by the house to get some clothes and to see how he was doing and maybe talk about how we would go about moving out of the duplex where we’ve lived for the last 2 and 1/2 years.

I told him he could keep Annabel.  She was a Christmas present from him to me, but I know he loves her and I wouldn’t feel right keeping her if he wants her, which he said he does.

I feel bad because now he has to find someplace else to live.  This month’s rent is paid, so if we give notice at the end of the month he has through the end of July to find something.  Really that should be plenty of time.  I feel bad because I know he is hurting at least as much as I am.  I think he feels like it’s all his fault, which its not, even though I believed that myself at times.  There were so many things I could have done to make things better for us, too.  I hope he is able to think of that.  I hope he doesn’t just blame himself.

I have so much to feel, to do, to consider.

I am hoping to live with mom through the end of July.  I need to save money before moving on my own.  I also need to gather myself.  I need a chance to feel this pain.  *sigh*

It’s officially a “depressed” day.  In the 11+ hours that I have been conscious, I have been listless, self-pitying, unmotivated, unproductive, I spent an hour or more in my car — I decided I didn’t want to drive anywhere after getting in with the intention of “driving around.”  The neighbor’s car pulled up and I thought, “please don’t see me, or if you do please ignore me,” but he said “You OK?” in the casualest, friendliest tone that after I assured him I was fine and he went away I burst into tears.

It is impossible to be anything but depressed on days like this.

I know, some part of me knows, that when I wake up tomorrow I will probably feel fine.  I will get ready for work following my usual routine and I will have a normal day at work and it will be like this day never happened.  I feel psychotic sometimes because of this.  What am I supposed to believe??  The feelings of today are absolutely real and intense and yet, once the alarm goes off tomorrow morning I will be “normal me” or “other me” or whatever I want to call it.  The me that believes that I can work myself out of these moods.  The me that experiences days like this has a lot of trouble believing that.

I suppose it’s something like Tara Brach describes where, instead of tensing up and fighting the feelings you just let them flow through you.  Where when I’m depressed my inclination is to curl up into as tight a ball as possible, like I’m trying to hold myself together.  So maybe what I should actually do is relax.  Uncurl myself, lie flat, or stand and throw my arms out in a movement completely opposite from the slow tense curling I do by nature.  How the hell am I supposed to even remember to consider such a thing when my emotions are having some kind of seizure??  Like an emotional Charlie Horse.  Ha!

While I realize the day isn’t over and I still have the opportunity to try this out, it’s easy to use the fact that it’s late in the day as an excuse not to bother with it.  What would I do, anyway.  I don’t even want to leave this room.  If I wanted to go outside I would have to walk past where BF is watching the Sunday night cartoons, probably trying desperately to pretend his girlfriend is not having another one of her depressive breakdowns in the bedroom.  The lack of support from him is another matter, and one I would rather explore when I’m more “normal me” and less “Olivia De Havilland in Snake Pit.”

Sometimes I wish we didn’t have a TV in the house.  But then, I wish a lot of things.

Status update

I’m gonna be upfront and admit that as of beginning this post I have had 2 mojitos, which in this house means at least a shot and a half of rum each time.  Which is enough to get me pretty tipsy so I make no guarantees as far as grammar and spelling go.

Randomly, and right after BF left to hang with a friend, I felt the urge to masturbate, and helped myself along with some good old-fashioned smut.  Haven’t done that in a while, it was… well, I can’t say “fulfilling” but nice nonetheless.  I should point out that my libido is usually in the negatives (I blame the Effexor) so this is quite an occasion.

It feels too much like a Friday to be Thursday.

I think, since my last session with my therapist, we have decided to slow down the pace a little.  At first I seemed very capable and fairly healthy (?), but the last 2 or 3 sessions have been harder, like I’m slipping back into some of the old patterns, or just crashing into the same old walls I always run into eventually.  I think it kind of surprised her, the other week, when I was so much more fragile than usual.

This tends to happen periodically.  It’s like the wave of self-help crests and falls, and for a while I’m back to fighting myself again.  But it’s OK, really.  Right now (I feel tipsy, remember), I feel able to face these issues, this low self-esteem and whatever else.  The more moments like this that I have, the easier it will be for me to remember this feeling when it matters.

Kitty is totally kneading my side.  Ow.

Generic update

I forget if I mentioned before that I went to see a homeopathist (I hesitate to say “doctor” because I am certain she’s not an MD) a few months ago.  My mom was telling me about her positive experience with the homeopathic treatment: her argument was, well, nothing else has really worked, so what the hell, why not try it?  So I’m following her example and giving it a try for 1 year.  So far, results are inconclusive.  I am still seeing a therapist weekly and taking my effexor (like a good girl) so it’s hard to attribute any “success” to one thing or another.  I don’t feel substantially better than before, I don’t think, but maybe a little.  That’s still up in the air.

I deleted my Facebook last Sunday during my intense sadness.  I miss it a little, but not lots.  I miss that sharing, that feeling that maybe people are paying attention to me.  Even though they probably aren’t.

Been OK overall this week.  Root canal went smoothly (did I mention the root canal last post?), workweek was fine.  Last night BF went to hang with friends and I reclined on the sofa, examining my abdominal fat.  That I have so much of it really disgusts me.  I can grab it with my fist like it’s a hunk of raw meat, it’s that big and substantial.

I believe that if I dedicate myself to 1) breathing exercises 2) daily exercise and 3) improving my digestive health I will be able to mostly solve my abdominal issues.  I believe strongly that these problems are a symbol of my other emotional issues, that as my emotional situation improves, I will become better able to address the physical problems.  But there has to be a balance, because I don’t think I will really experience a sense of wellbeing unless I can get through a day without “sucking it in” — which means dealing with my breathing and getting my abs in at least slightly better shape.

BF

One thing I have been deliberately not acknowledging here is the impact my relationship with my BF (4 years as of Jan 1, 2011) has on my symptoms of depression.  I haven’t said much about it (except vaguely) mostly because I knew that as soon as I started talking about it it would become more real to me, and then I would really have to take some kind of action.  Which could mean hurting his feelings, getting in a fight, or even splitting up (depending on how intense things got).  Because of course I imagine forward to the worst case scenario, which involves a nasty breakup, me moving back in with my mom to save money, etc.

I have made this declaration a couple times to some trustworthy folks: BF is wracked with his own set of emotional issues that stem (I believe) from a childhood with disengaged parents and a mean older brother.  He values the independence he was allowed through that solitary upbringing, which is something I can appreciate — my family stressed personal independence in a way none of my grade school classmates likely experienced.  And I do appreciate the experience I gained from that.  However, my impression is that BF grew up in almost an emotional vacuum.  Playing alone, no one reading to him or engaged with him much at all.  No impulsive and enthusiastic hugs.  In short, little that would resemble love expressed at all.

Because of this he is somewhat detached himself, but also dreadfully afraid of being alone, of not having someone to love and to love him.  But when he has that person (in this case, me) I think he really doesn’t know what to do next.  He doesn’t know how to be loving, because he never had an example of it growing up.

Not that I was impressed with a great idea of romantic love.  I was shocked at my father’s death to hear my mom express how much they had loved each other.  I never really thought they had.  It certainly was never apparent.  Maybe it’s because I’ve dealt with depression and spent a lot of time crying into my journals and picking apart my feelings, thoughts and motivations with therapists, but my yearning for love and affection seems much more in the fore of my psyche than his.  Not only that, he is also extremely hesitant, I think even a little afraid, so start talking about how we can teach each other to be loving.

But back to the main point of this entry.  I can not allow myself to pretend that this is not affecting my progress.  I am living with someone who I care about, and who cares about me, but we don’t know how to express it, and don’t seem to be making any real effort to try.  It’s frustrating.

 

I’m not completely despairing though.  I know that he does care, and I think that, very slowly, he can learn (if he is willing) to open up some and deal with his own pain so he can get on with his life.  I just don’t know if I have the stamina to last the whole process.  Or even to get to a point where real change is taking place.  I am trying to think positively about it — I have to — but I really don’t know what is going to happen.

Homeopathy

So I went and saw a homeopathic “doctor” on Wednesday.  She advised me to get some probiotics for my GI stuff and to start taking something called “silicea” and see if that helps with anything.  I’m a little cynical about the process but she seems like a nice lady and mom claims to have had some success with homeopathic remedies so we shall see.  I’m supposed to go back in 6 weeks to check back in.

Feeling kind of crummy this morning so not exactly off to a good start.  I’d probably feel better if I didn’t have so much crap lying around… I’ve had a pile of clothes that I need to iron sitting on the table by my desk for like 2 weeks.  A pile of coupons I clipped but will probably never use, a pile of receipts from the post office I need to add to my work log/invoice for Si.  A zippered up compacted duffel bag that I got free from Staples by ordering $150+ for the office.  It’s all a mess and I’m ashamed of it.

I went to have dinner at my oldest sister’s house because my niece, who just turned 9, was celebrating her birthday and asked me to come.  It was loud and raucous and, as usual, things got broken, children screamed and cried and I couldn’t understand a thing anyone was saying because everyone was talking at once.

I took home a big Rubbermaid tub of papers, mostly correspondence, that belonged to dad.  I had this crazy idea that I wanted to read them and try to get a better picture of who dad was.  I think just having them in the house has had  negative influence on me.  Since I brought them home on Thursday I have been kind of mopey, mildly depressive.  I looked through a lot of it, but I specifically avoided the pile that I knew had the “intense” stuff in it — old journals from back when he and mom were in a rough spot.  Most of the rest is stuff about family genealogy from various siblings and a great-great-great aunt that I never knew but I knew she had been a schoolteacher and lived in Hawa’ii before she died.  That’s not really relevant but I’m in a weird mood so I said it anyway.

 

I have to poo and, as usual, I’m pretending to ignore it.

 

I feel uncomfortable with BF in the house, especially since he is cleaning everything and I am back here being weird and depressive and surrounded by all this mess which is a physical symbol of my depression.

He got me a new keyboard because my cat threw up all over my old one.  That was nice of him.

My cat is just back from getting a radioactive iodine treatment for hyperthyroidism.  She seems to be acting pretty much the same as before except the other night when she was vomiting all over the place.  I hope she starts to put some weight back on because she is really skinny.  When she was younger the vets would always warn me that she might get diabetes because she was so fat.  Now she weighs less than Annabel who has a much smaller frame.

 

I should do something physical to get myself out of this funk.  But I don’t wanna.  That’s the crux of the problem right there.  When you’re depressed you feel like crap, and I’m vaguely aware that if I just do something a little bit different I will start to feel better, but I have no motivation to do anything, and even thinking about how much better I will feel doesn’t really have any effect.  It’s a self-perpetuating illness.  Coming out of it really is quite a triumph, because you have to overcome yourself to do so.

Bleh.

TIDAL WAVE

Today I am crying at EVERYTHING.  I’m serious.  Think about “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Tears.  Reread bits of “A Christmas Carol.” Tears.  I don’t feel sad in a conventional sense but I Can’t seem to Stop Crying.

I know it’s bad to say this, but I really don’t want BF to know.  I don’t think I can really hide, it though, not if this keeps up all day.  It’s a really small duplex we live in, and my face gets unmistakably blotchy when I’ve been crying.  Why don’t I want him to know?  Good question.  Mostly because he wants an explanation for things like that, because it kind of freaks him out.  He doesn’t understand depression at all.  He thinks there has to be a reason for it.  Our conversations when I am feeling depressed are never productive.  He gets frustrated, I get frustrated, nothing comes of it.  And I hate for him to worry.  He doesn’t know what to do with worry.  He feels like he should be able to do something to help me in some way, and I’m not sure there is anything he can do.

I am trying to breathe deeply to keep from getting sobby again.  The story after “A Christmas Carol” in this big old Book Of Christmas that’s been in my custody since before dad died is one by Truman Capote about a little boy and his “best friend,” a lady in her 60s who’s “simple-minded,” as they might say.  Totally blindsided me, and I was already weepy from reading the Dickens story.

 

Is this really what I am without the medication?  It’s so hard for me to know!!  Am I still going through this withdrawal period where things are just weird with my body and I just have to ride it out for a little while?  Or is this me, plain unmedicated me.  The idea that I am this affected when I thought I had made so much progress is really upsetting.

A dear, dear friend who unfortunately lives on the opposite coast sent me this message after I announced to my Facebook “friends” that I was off the meds:  “you are amazing, and I am really impressed that you are trying. there is no such thing as ‘failing’ in this case though, so if you find it isn’t working for you then you are the one calling the shots, and determining what works best for you. <3 Definitely sending some extra supporting, loving thoughts your way!”

I miss her a great deal.  And my mom is out of town, so I literally have no one it feels Safe to share this tumult with.

 

I started thinking about my father the last few days.  On the 27th it will be the 2nd anniversary of his death.  I was already on Effexor when he died, so this is the first time since then that I have felt his loss without the support of an SNRI.  Maybe that’s why I’ve been so affected lately.  This season will probably always be bittersweet — from right around Christmas to his birthday on January 23rd, a month of mourning each year.  It doesn’t seem fair, but I guess that’s what happens when someone you dearly love dies.

I don’t think my tears are entirely related to dad, though.  I was feeling fragile even before I started thinking about him.  I think it’s more like, my mind is desperately trying to find a reason for the tears.  An excuse, or something.  But maybe there is no reason, not a real source of the sadness.  Maybe it’s just a violent backlash by my body against cutting off that drug.  Or maybe it really is just what I am without that support.  Like if you take the rings off the necks of those ladies whose necks are stretched long.  They simply haven’t the support without those rings, and their necks collapse.  !! how painful that must be!

 

Going to do a bit of deep breathing and try to calm myself down.  I do think it’s important to feel what I am feeling, but I’d really like to avoid a full-on freakout if possible.