The L word.
After one night.
And whilst I had been in a bit of a panic spiral before that, the minute he said what he said, I lost it.
Totally lost it.
I’m not entirely sure I was in my own body. It felt as if I was above myself, screaming at myself to stop but not being able to control it.
And the thing is, I pride myself on my control. I have spent years, decades, mastering it. Control of my diet, my exercise, the way I look, the way I interact, the way I shape how I want to be perceived – and then bosh! It deserts me.
I can’t remember any time before, as an adult, when I have felt so lost, so out of control. The fear was real; I had heart palpitations, I was sweating, fluctuating between feeling sick and feeling faint, and was about to escalate into full-blown panic attack. None of which was helped by having some poxy wedding celebration unfold right next to us, as if the universe was deliberately tormenting me. And before I even knew what I was doing I was lashing out at a man who probably didn’t deserve it. Who definitely didn’t deserve it.
And I ran.
Sprinted.
Managed to catch my breath well enough for that.
I mean, who runs away from this sort of thing? Like literally runs as if her shoes were aflame, little fork-tongued demons lighting her soles. Romantic films and books, all the things, show us running towards the hero.
Then there’s me.
I have lain awake into the wee hours playing the scene over and over in my head, remorse and embarrassment more effective than the strongest caffeine. I had reached for my phone a few times to apologise, send a message. But each time I put it back again. I have hurt that man enough. I can’t offer him what he deserves so I’m best leaving him be.
But even with all my navel-gazing, I have cleared my backlog of paperwork, prepped and double-checked my course teachings for next term and for the girls at City Youth, and will be driven to polish my houseplants and skirting boards shortly.
I’ve also had a run of clients; Angela has just left. Her EMDR sessions have gone quickly and have been much more positive than I had dared hope. I’m seeing a more relaxed woman in front of me, lighter.
We are not going to sort all the things pouring around in swirls in this complex woman’s head but we are very definitely making a dent. This is the fifth or sixth session in a row where her attention to the dolls has been fleeting. Today she was able to speak to me without having one on her lap as a distraction, and she has joined MeetUp and is talking about maybe going out one evening. She even mentioned that she may do so sans dolls.
However Angela was my last client of the day and now I need a new focus. I have filled the last few days with swimming and working and swimming and working. I even had a complete blowout at the bar the other night – minus Kevin and Dan but plus booze, which I rarely, rarely succumb to – and danced way more than you would have thought possible for a Wednesday night, but that still hasn’t shifted the thoughts whirling around, engorging my head.
I reach for my phone, but I’m not sure if Tinder and Bumble have a pull on me now. I haven’t logged in properly for a while, but I tap on the little fire icon and find myself swiping it up and closing it before it even opens.
I force myself to face the truth.
Since Jay has entered my life I have been displaying out-of-character behaviours. Repeatedly. I would suggest to a client that a new person proving the catalyst for such changes may indicate they are not a healthy influence. But Iknownone of this is on Jay; my reactions to Jay are down to me. And if I dig real deep, scrunch shut my eyes so tight it hurts my jaw, only then can I acknowledge that I’m feeling a little out of control here because I’ve been developing feelings.
Feelings.
FEELINGS!
I know.
The fear that I have fallen for the popular boy again has not escaped me.
The fear that I have fallen for a man who deserves children in his life plagues me.
The knowledge that I have actively sabotaged something that I never thought was possible, that maybe could have worked, makes me even more self-loathing than I was before.
The knowledge that I have hurt a man I respect, trust and have spent large chunks of my days, weeks, moony-eyed dreaming about his very goodness, destroys me. The snippets of sleep time are sweaty and tangled, filled with the memory of him.
I know I’ve never felt like this about anyone.
And I am floundering.
I need to take control back. Forge a path forward without Jay.
