You know that old cliché about how you should never believe a woman when she says she’s “fine”? What nonsense. When I tell you I’m fine, I’m fine. In fact, I’m not just fine, I’m FINE.
Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic & Emotional.
No, I can’t take credit for that one.
There was another reason why I was sad this weekend, but I didn’t want to get into it last night on the blog. After Saturday, I really, really wanted to have some quiet, quality time with John yesterday. I wanted our usual brunch time very much. However, his sister had called him and asked him to trade days with her this week. So… he was taking his mother to lunch yesterday.
You’re asking, “Why didn’t you go with them?” Simple. I am done with seeing John’s mother. I did it every Saturday for seven years, and I can’t do it anymore. She complains constantly, and after what my mother went through, and what my stepfather is still going through (without complaining, I might add), I can’t stand to listen to it. I’m afraid I’ll lose my temper one of these times.
It nearly happened, right before my mother died. We picked John’s mom up one Saturday, and she asked how my mother was. I said, “Well… unfortunately, she’s in end-stage hospice right now. She’s dying.” She didn’t say, “Oh, that’s terrible,” or “Oh, I’m sorry.” What she said was, “Oh… Me too!” Before I could catch my breath, John intervened with a quiet but very firm, “No, Mom, you are not dying.” But shortly after that occurrence, I knew I was done with this. So, I went to lunch yesterday by myself, and then went home. I figured, it’s OK. It’s one day. I’ll see Mr. D in the morning, and everything will be all right again.
Then this morning came. He was due at 10, and I’d been ready since 9:30. But… to make a long story short, he overbooked his schedule this morning, and things ran late. Between that, the traffic, and the struggle to find parking because my goddamned street has no parking on Monday from 10 to noon, he came to my door at 11:45.
I was beside myself. I didn’t want him to see it. I hate when I get like that. So I struggled and struggled to keep it together, taking deep breaths and looking everywhere but at him. I managed to tell him that this was really, really unfortunate timing, and I’d needed him to be on time. It was a bad weekend and I was not doing well. I apologized for overreacting.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. This one is mine; I f@&ked up this morning.” I still couldn’t look at him. If I looked at those kind, concerned eyes, I’d lose it. But then he quietly asked, “Do you want me to go?” And I lost it anyway.
The short version? We did not play today. Instead, he stayed with me for four hours, and I spent about three of them crying. I just couldn’t stop. He was so sweet to me… hugged me, smoothed my hair, got tissues and wiped my eyes and face, let me talk about everything. And I was so damned embarrassed, I wanted to hide from him.
Funny about depression and sadness. As much as I crave attention, as much as I want to be seen, I don’t want to be seen at all when I feel this bad. I wish I could be invisible, simply disappear out of sight until I get a hold of myself. So no one can see what I consider the raw ugliness.
Somewhere in the midst of it, I hiccuped, “Well, in case you weren’t aware of it, this is what depression looks like.”
“Hmm,” he mused. “You know, it’s not scaring me off. Not at all. I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”
Later, when I had calmed down a bit and was starting to feel the shame of the emotional fallout, I apologized to him again. And once again, he told me I had nothing to apologize for, and he was so sorry he added to the stress of my weekend.
I sighed. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. You didn’t sign on for all this drama — you wanted a play partner.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “And look what I got instead… this beautiful woman.”
Oh, Jesus Christ. If I cried one more fucking tear, I was going to dry up and blow away.
Emotional excess is exhausting. When he left, I knew there was no way in hell I was going to the gym. Not today. I had precisely enough energy left to take a shower. And even that was a stretch.
He asked if I’d like him to come back tomorrow, and we’d play. Tempting as that is, I said no. Since today was a complete wash, tomorrow I need to be an adult and do stuff. I need to work. I need to work out.
Should I have pushed forward and scened with him today? Maybe. But I don’t think so. My head was in the wrong place, and sometimes, spanking is not the answer. (Did I just say that???) Better I should wait until we can both fully relish it. Today, I needed kindness, an ear, a pair of arms.
And because I got it, tomorrow will be better. Thank you, Mr. D.