Yesterday was a very interesting day.
I walked out of the gym locker room with wet hair and no make-up. I was rushing and almost bumped into a guy I had been very good friends with for over five years. I hadn’t seen him in a year. He walked right by and barely acknowledged me at all.
“Whatever!” I said after he had passed me. I went to my car, not allowing myself to react before I got inside.
I rushed to my next stop, Weight Watchers where, unfortunately, I was up a pound.
I sat in my chair during the meeting, my mind going crazy.
“Why are you so quiet?” Robin, a fellow WW veteran asked.
“I’m thinking,” I said. And I was. I had reverted to my F.O.U.L. monologue. Fat, Old, Ugly Loser. It was playing non-stop in my head.
“You looked terrible. You didn’t even put make-up on. He probably noticed how f——-g fat you’ve gotten. Your shirt was probably bunched up and made you look fatter. I’m sure you look older than the last time he saw you. And he obviously could care less that he saw you. He was fine just walking by. You mean nothing to him.”
That’s interesting, I thought. I run into the Psychopath and I turn on myself. (Yes, that’s how I refer to him. OR Sociopath or Narcissist. Take your pick. I’m not apologizing for that. See old blog entries for the explanation).
After the meeting, I decided to get into communication with my coach. I called his voicemail and started talking. I told him what happened. And this is what I saw. Underneath my self-flagellation was that I was hurt.
Really hurt. How could someone I was that close to act like he didn’t even know me? Who does that? How could he have done that? How could he not care and not smile? I don’t get it.
And I cried. It was exhausting, but it felt much better and cathartic than my FOUL monologue where all I did was berate myself.
Later in the day I had another upset. My father’s old dental partner had seen my mom over Christmas and noticed that she wasn’t the same.
“You noticed?” I said.
“Yes,” he answered. “Definitely.”
And the floodgates opened again.
“No crying,” he said.
Too late. I escaped to my car and the dam broke again. I had been holding it in for two days since my mother swore me to secrecy after she started a fire in her kitchen. It was the second time she had done it and what was really scary was that she didn’t remember the first time.
I hated carrying the burden of her secret and was afraid she was going to endanger herself again. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I called my sister and just cried and cried and cried, telling her what had happened and about my fears.
“I’m inviting mom to my house for the weekend. Do you want to come?”
“No,” I sobbed. “I need a break. Her house is toxic for me and I just need to get away from it.” (My ex lives there and sometimes it is really hard. He turns on me sometimes when I ask him questions he doesn’t want to answer. He get belligerent and attacks me for asking the question. My mother gets a kick out of it and takes his side. Even thought it makes me feel crazy, it’s become the new normal.
I hadn’t realized how stressed out it made me until Haley, my little angel, observed what was going.
“I don’t know how you can stand this,” she said. “You must be feeling crazy. You need to get away from here,” she said. “It’s toxic and not good for you.”
So I cried to my sister and told her what was going on. And it actually was freeing. I think I only cried to her once before. It was after our dad died. I was the only sibling left locally with my mom and I remember finally letting out the sadness, frustration and fear in a torrent of tears. Both times she was very nice and supportive.
My eyes were puffy and red and I was exhausted by the end of the day. But I was not making myself wrong. I wasn’t confused, sad or afraid.
And the real miracle? When I woke up today I was fine. Perfectly fine and back to being productive.
It was a first for me. Just being disappointed and sad and scared and unsure. Letting it out and not apologizing for it.
I would call it a miracle and another step into discovering how to create life out here.