Things I'm Starting to Believe

Advice from the last four months is finally starting to sink in. The pain I'm in is exactly the pain that I've been trying to avoid. I never wanted to lose E as a person, but I have to lose him if we're going to be friends again. The future friendship will be different from what we ever had, but I still very much want him to be my friend. He's a really really great person.

This all feels so different from my breakup with D, probably because it *is* different in a lot of ways. Especially in that I didn't want this to end. The end of my relationship with D was a strain. We had so many problems and we were trying really hard to work them out. My relationship with E felt like it was still growing. No, we weren't as close and togethery as I wanted to be, but we were getting there. In the end it turned out that that was because E doesn't want that kind of relationship. Realizing that hurts so much and feels so personal. It feels like a rejection of me rather than a mismatch in what we want and how we relate. It just felt so perfect. I thought about it all the time; I processed it endlessly with everyone. But it wasn't perfect and it didn't get there. And it's ok to be sad about that. It's ok to mourn that loss. I have to be sad about that. I just...I wish there was some assurance that I wouldn't always be sad.

When I think about other awful times in my life, they all seem to lead towards getting happy, and happy was when I was with E. It didn't exactly feel like a roller coaster, more like a ski lift. You get on it and it's weird and bumpy, but then you get to the top of the mountain and it's beautiful. I don't know if the metaphor is that the relationship was the beautiful mountaintop, or if the relationship was the fun downhill. Right now, it feels like it was the mountaintop, and since I was never good at skiing, the downhill is terrifying. If I think that the relationship was the downhill, then of course it had to end because it wasn't structured to last forever. Someday maybe I'll see it as the latter, or I'll stop with the metaphors.

I think I'm trying to force a breakdown. It's a familiar cycle now -- ok to edgy to breakdown to recovery to ok. Today is going to be a long, isolating day. The calm moments are scary because they bring up scary thoughts. Or at least sad ones.

But today can be boring, and it can be lonely. It doesn't have to be sad. And if it's sad, that's ok. I never stay sad forever. My best friend is coming tonight, and I'll have a whole new awkward situation to deal with when I visit my dad tomorrow. Sleeping has been scary since I was 10. I've defeated that exact panic both of the last two nights, but it's harder in an unfamiliar place. In the next few weeks, I'll be sleeping in a lot of unfamiliar places.

There is is. I'm getting a little shaky. Time to cool down and get to work.

Codependency

Therapy is almost always useful, and it was today. I cried almost the whole time, but I feel like I got a lot out of it. This was the first my therapist had heard of how the last two weeks have been, since the breakdown episode started right around my last appointment. There are some things I need to remember. Unfortunately, none of those things are going to make me feel much better, especially in the short term.

I'm pretty classically codependent. I had a narrow view of codependence that made me think perhaps I'm not. I need to connect to other people in order to feel complete and worthwhile. I've been dealing with this whole trauma by trying to keep some kind of line open to other people at all times, which makes it hurt that much more when the lines aren't open. Staying busy and making plans for myself isn't just something to do to distract myself. It's a way of building a life. I can't need people to make me feel good all the time. I have to like me, and like being with me.

I had understood the idea of calling people when you don't need them the same way you would when you do need them as a way of lowering the barriers to calling when you need someone. That's not actually the point. It's to normalize interacting with people when you're not in crisis.

I looked up Codependents Anonymous meetings in the area, and there's one in Lawrenceville that wouldn't be too hard to get to. My therapist suggested I use a meeting as a way to interact with people, and as something to look forward to so I don't feel like I'm always alone. Predictably, going to a meeting alone seems really scary. I immediately thought about who I could ask to come with me.

When I was with E, I felt strong. I didn't feel like the strength came from him; I felt like it came from me, but he helped bring it out. And that means that I'm not weak, I just need to figure out how to bring it out myself.

It is definitely time to reconsider my meds. I might not need to switch from Zoloft, but there are things I could add and I might be able to increase the dosage. I thought maybe messing with it right now would be a problem because I need all the help I can get right now. My therapist is sure the answer won't be to reduce anything; he said the worst I can expect is to feeling excessively drugged up for a little while. If that's likely to increase healing time, I don't want any of it. But if I could heal without breaking down like this every few hours, that would be great.

I have been in denial, not depression. I've been waiting for things to settle out so E can be the center of my life again. I miss him so much, but grieving is really what I have to do. Not just being sad or missing him, but grieving. Grief has always sounded to me like emptiness, and a reaction to that. I think I picture a deep deep hole, and someone at the bottom of it just raking the dirt back and forth. I think because "grieving" sounds like "gravel" to me. Staying so close has let me deny what happened. I even kept saying that I could be ok losing the relationship so long as I didn't lost E. I did lose E. He's gone. I don't have him. I won't have him. All I want is to have my life back, but I can't, so the only direction to head is forward. Maybe someday, hopefully someday soon, I'll meet a really awesome person who is strong and smart and brilliant and hilarious, and he'll feel like a familiar person, and we can be friends. That is my potential future with E, and nothing else. This might be the first time I've thought that and not immediately thought "that isn't a life I want to live."

Right now, I think I should go into one of the empty conference rooms and just let myself cry. Cry, and then be ok, and then get back to work. The thing is, I'm looking at this, too, as "ok, calm yourself down so you can call someone and connect." The healing has so so far to go.

Lonely

Today I feel lonely. Just lonely. Lonely turns to sad sometimes, to fear other times. But mostly, I'm just lonely. I started feeling like this at Walker's earlier, and I got myself to get out of there and keep moving. I stopped crying without talking to anyone else online or on the phone or in person. I drove home feeling successful and in control of my emotions.

Now I'm crying again. It didn't take much, and it didn't take long. E is still mad at me. He's mad at me for something I accidentally did to a friend, and the friend isn't mad at me. I think he needs to be mad in order to heal, and his anger isn't unjustified. But I miss my friend. He still knows me best. He's still really fun. If he was just some ho-hum guy that I had been dating for a while, this would suck. But he isn't. He's a really awesome person and there's no one like him, and no one that I relate to so deeply. I miss him. I miss my friend. Tomorrow I go to Atlanta and stay with another friend, and Friday I pick up my best friend from the airport and go to Charlotte for a night. This weekend is Labor Day and I have crafting plans on Monday, and in a few weeks I go visit family and my best friends. It all feels superficial and empty.

I keep saying it will pass. It has to pass. That's what life does. Things move. But right now, sitting in my living room, I can't see how. I can see outside of this shadow. I keep making lists in my head of all the people who aren't calling me or aren't calling me back, and all the reasons I don't feel close enough to anyone.

It hurts. Everything hurts. I know I have to go through it, but more than anything, I don't want to. I called E the other day because there was no one else I could call. He reminded me that I would be ok. It helped a lot. But now I'm not just giving him space -- he's also mad at me. I hurt him and I pushed him away.

Crying has turned into sobbing again and I need to get out of here. Nowhere feels safe. Everyone is busy and D is moving today and C is exhausted from dealing with me. I've used my friends as crutches and they're all breaking under the weight. I feel lonely. Just lonely. And sad.

Criminology

One of the classes I'm taking this semester is Deviance and Social Control, which has so far mostly been a class in basic criminology. It's making me realize all the overly simplistic assumptions I made about crime and criminal behavior.

First of all, the class is structured by theory. We go through several of the main theories of crime, read the canonical literature for that theory, and discuss where the theory works and where it misses the mark. In my mind, without knowing it, I categorized crimes into two types: violence (usually senseless or about power) and need. Violence would include all the obvious things, and the motivation for it is some kind of mental, emotional, or social ill. Domestic violence is about power; drug gang murders are about business. Crimes like burglary are about need and lack of access to resources, especially money. Then, of course, are the other crimes whose illegality is dubious (and that are illegal because we have agreed they are), like jaywalking, vandalism, and trespassing. I suppose revenge crimes are in there somewhere. My assumptions have not been reflected in any theory so far, and I don't expect they will be, since they aren't based in any fact or knowledge.

And there's the next problem. Much of this literature starts sometime in the 30s-60s, and the newer readings are revisions of the theories done in the 80s and 90s. None of this is based in fact, especially the older literature. There are assumptions and observations, but crime statistics, interviews about motives, and comparisons based on local punishment and specific context aren't even considered. So much of it is just "poor people commit more crimes, because they're delinquent/poor/learn it from their friends." Of course, there's now finally the concept of white collar crime, which I think is largely about power and less about greed, but it's still looked at as a way of getting ahead. None of the theories we've covered have had anything to do with power and powerlessness, except insofar as white men in rural areas try to prove their masculinity by fighting.

To be fair, my own assumptions (which are slowly becoming analyses) are complete armchair theories as well. I have no actual knowledge of data, just a small bit of anecdotal evidence from a friend who's been in the system since he was a preteen, and a fundamental belief that if people could be healthy, they would also be kind.

What strikes me over and over is the need for a single unifying theory. Every theory we discuss has its limitations, and that makes it less than perfect. Granted, I like less than perfect in an explanation -- it creeps me out to think everything can be explained by someone else all the time. But having limitations is seen as disqualification. This theory doesn't explain crimes that aren't economically based, so it doesn't work. This one would be nearly impossible to test across international cultures, so it can't be found to work. Maybe it's just that this is how sociology works -- that we want a single theory that explains behavior as a fundamental human truth that can be predicted uniformly. But wouldn't it be more useful to recognize that different contexts beget different behaviors, and figure out a nuanced truth, or a truth that changes based on context?

The more sociology I take, the more I think it's the right field for me to go into. This whole single-truth-of-human-behavior thing irks me, though. It reminds me of an Alix Olson song that says "art is universal....if you're a straight white male artist talking to straight white men." I think it's even less universal than that, and there are so many ways to find synergy or marginalization among "straight white men." Perhaps this is why women's studies has called to me so strongly. Maybe women's studies can be sociology with nuance.

Things that hurt, and fears for the future

The first time I went to E's house, before my crush on him was in full swing, I cooked dinner for the assorted friends who were there. While everyone ate, I buzzed around, picking up plates, refilling glasses, and acting the hostess, until E came up to me, put his hands on my shoulders, and steered me to a chair. He wanted me to relax, to enjoy the time I had there, and to stop thinking I had to take care of everyone. He cared about my needs before I did, and before I cared about them.

I had a date last night, and I liked the guy a lot. He was strange in ways that were endearing, but I just kept thinking about how different he is. What if I never find someone who makes me grow the way E did? What if I never have that kind of love and care ever again? And consider how special E is, and how special he is to me, I don't think I'll ever find it. I want it. I want that love. I didn't find E when I was looking for someone to love me, but once I knew that I wanted to be with him, I didn't doubt it. I would randomly turn to him and say, "I love you. Let's keep living our lives together." I would have a huge smile on my face and be downright silly because I couldn't believe how lucky I was.

In the end, that excitement and confidence about him was one of the points of contention. He said he couldn't love me as much as I loved him. If someone that wonderful, and that perfect couldn't love me, who ever will? Do I have to take steps back, lower my expectations, in order to find someone who will?

I'm getting so much better, but I have so far to go. Sometimes I feel like I'll be ok eventually, I just don't know how. But a lot of the time, I have no idea what ok looks like. All I can think about for my future is him. I currently have a few friends who are 10-20 years older than me who were either married or in long-term relationships, and who are now single. They have largely given up on finding someone to be with. For the most part, they're people who don't necessarily need to be around someone all the time. With as awful as I've felt lately, and knowing what I know about myself, I can't see doing that. That kind of life is not one I want.

Ow

I haven't written about a huge change in my life -- actually, several. I haven't written because as much as writing gets the bad feelings out and on paper/screen, I haven't wanted to see them. Since late April, I have lost a four-year relationship, had a boyfriend of a year move across the country, and moved out of a house that I thought would be a permanent home. I knew the boyfriend would be moving, and I was somewhat prepared for that, as prepared as I could be. I didn't know the long-term relationship would end. It ended for an ostensibly good reason -- we don't want the same kind of life in the future, and it's not possible, after four years of planning a present and a future together, to feel satisfied in a relationship without a future. Actually, I might've been ok with that. It would have stressed me out, but I would have rather had my relationship. Because then, I could think that maybe eventually there would be a future. But, self-delusion aside, this is the way it is. Because it has to be.

I went through a lot of emotional rollercoastering, mostly crying and panic attacks, which eventually became more sporadic. I moved from not being able to think more than a few days into the future to seeing the coming year as a transitional year after which I would move somewhere else, probably for grad school. That was more or less the plan with my partner, but now it'll be a new start rather than a continuation. Through all of this, I've had two very close friends, several understanding friends, a therapist, and the ex-partner and ex-boyfriend by my side. Maybe I shouldn't have been, but I was surprised at how dedicated everyone was (and is) to me.

In June, I realized that I no longer wanted my relationship back. Knowing then what I didn't know before, I didn't want a relationship with no future. I wanted that relationship with that person, but the context and possibilities for the relationship had changed so starkly that saying "I want to get back together" would be like saying I'd like to picnic on the moon. It wasn't a reality on the list of things I could do.

I've looked at past breakups in terms of the stages of grief, and yesterday my therapist did the same with this one. I am petrified of creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm sure I'll never find someone to love like I love him, and I'll never find someone who is just right the way he was. I need to be convinced of that if I'm going to relax and build up my life for my own sake and not just search endlessly for a new partner. But being convinced of that, especially in those terms, is likely to keep me emotionally closed off. If I'm going to be sad, I need to at least be able to build up the other parts of my life. Yesterday, my tiny victory was making plans with friends for last night and with a potential-person-to-date tonight, without first checking with my ex-partner to see if he was free to hang out. Even if all I want to do is spend time with him, I can't let that become my life. I'm no longer deluding myself into believing that he might want to get back together. He has communicated kindly and clearly that that is not a direction in which he is heading. He misses me, but that's a different thing. He also knows that if at any point he wants to get back together, well, there's a slim chance that I'm going to move on quickly or far. The door is open, he knows it, and I do not have the strength to close it.

But these last two days have been hard. I don't know why; there has been no trigger. They're just hard. The thing is, I don't know where to go from here. I'm not in denial -- I actually have a very keen sense of where I am. Perhaps the only place where I'm in denial is in the possibility of being happy in the future. Which is a whole other stage.

I didn't get angry for very long, and that was mostly early on. And even then, it manifested in a weird way. I can't be angry with someone for protecting my future or for being honest. There was no earlier point at which he could or should have told me this so that I didn't get so far into expecting to have a future together. It's hard to be angry when you can't place blame. But I did get angry, a little.

I'm past bargaining -- that didn't last long. It took about a week and a half and one therapy session for me to understand that there isn't much either of us could have done to avoid it or to change it after it happened. I suppose part of my bargaining stage has been figuring out how to make sure he's still in my life. If I can't have the relationship I want with the person I want to have it with, at least I don't have to lose the person, at least I can spend time with him, at least he's still emotionally supportive. I guess that's more bargaining with myself.

So I'm at depression. Just depression. It's a familiar stage. I've been dealing with it for most of my life, in one way or another. I'm doing things that feel good -- making new friends, cooking for myself, eating at home -- but still I hate that I'm depressed. Depression is also not an easy place to find a foothold. I'm sure if I found some delightful person to date, I could use those happy feelings to help roll myself up into a happier ball of healing. But it's hard to do that when I'm convinced that I already found the right person, and when so much of my time is taken up with figuring out how to heal. Even the date I have tonight, which is kind of a date and kind of hanging out with a friend that I like a lot and like making out with, I feel like I should warn him that I'm having a difficult few days. He'd be there for me if I needed it -- I know he would. But I would love to have a little part of my life that's free of the baggage. Not that my relationship with him would be. I am unable to feel anything beyond butterflies right now. Luckily, he gives me butterflies. But falling for someone seems impossible.

I'm told that I'll just keep going around and around these stages until I get to acceptance. I guess that's true, but what exactly am I to accept? That the relationship is over? It is. That it won't come back? It won't. That my life is severely changed from what it was and what I thought it would be? It is. That he's going to move on and it's going to hurt like hell? He will, he maybe already is, and even thinking about it does.

I don't know where to go from here. People keep saying it'll get better, but I want to know when. I read in a teen magazine a long time ago that it takes half the time you were together to get over someone. I really don't want to spend the next two years getting over him. My therapist said (though he doesn't really believe it) that maybe it's a month for every year. That benchmark comes up next week, and I don't think I'll be there. So maybe this is it. Maybe this is my new normal. Most of me is sad, withered, and not going to grow anything anymore, but I can focus on the rest. And that thought is the saddest of all.