Breakdown

If you follow me on Twitter you know last Saturday was not a good night for me.

I was supposed to go out with the girls for dinner and then to Wicked in Toronto.

But let me back up. My social life is pretty boring and I actually spend a lot of time alone. My friends live far enough away that weekends are the only time I might see them and besides The Gay BF I don’t see any of them regularly. Last weekend however it seemed like everyone I knew wanted to do something: a birthday dinner, a cross-continent liaison with a long time reader, a blogger reunion and even 2 last-minute dinner offers. In the end, I stayed home that night and just fell apart.

While the thought of going to a sex club excited and scared me, I figured I’d try to make the most of it. And I really wanted to see the girls – I miss them.

As I was driving to the hairdresser’s that morning this song came on the radio:

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Now I’ve heard this song a fair number of times but this time the lyrics tore something open in me. And before I knew what happened I was sobbing hysterically while the song played and after it finished. I tried to compose myself so I could get my hair done and not look like a complete mess. My body was there while they did my hair but my mind it took those feelings and tried to run with it. I fought it all morning – reading on my kobo, tweeting, flirting online – anything to push away the earlier outburst and everything behind it.

I was unsuccessful.

After quick but decently healthy lunch at the mall I had to bolt into the washroom because again all of this hurt and pain was threatening to burst out of me. I sobbed quietly in the bathroom stall for a while trying to regain enough composure so I could be seen in public. I dried my eyes and made a quick trip around the mall, hoping that shopping would help – it didn’t. I even stopped at the Build-a-Bear where I made Marcel to look at outfits for him. Really I was hoping it would bring even the tiniest bit of that happiness back. And as I watched some kids build their bears I felt a little better but then it triggered something else in me – my desire to have kids. So I left.

When I finally got home all the ways I’d been trying to keep it together unravelled.

I was freaked out about going to the club because I was afraid I’d be the chubby girl with the pretty skinny girls. I was terrified at the thought of taking my clothes off in public or being completely ignored. This was exacerbated when I couldn’t find a “date”, I figured if I took someone who would be at least one person interested in me.

As I worked myself into a greater frenzy about things, I began to feel more and more alone. Yes there are people in my life who love me but no, they aren’t “here”. They can’t be “here” when things fall apart or I need a hug. There is no one in my life right now who can be. And I can’t even begin to describe how days like that make we wish I had someone I could be with.

I’m not sure where to begin or even everything that needs to be addressed but here’s my list so far:

– social anxiety (?)

– being alone

– feeling unloved or worse yet unworthy of love

– my breakup with the Ex-Boyfriend

– choosing the wrong relationships

– wanting

I could keep going but I can’t…

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3 thoughts on “Breakdown

  1. – social anxiety (?)

    – being alone

    – feeling unloved or worse yet unworthy of love

    I have been fighting off all of these things for the past week with varying amounts of success, and I wish I had awesome advice but I really just wanted to let you know you’re not the only one feeling this stuff.

    • Thank you. These are things that have followed me around for years. Sometimes I can keep them in check, other times, like now, it feels like it’s out of my control.

  2. Social anxiety can and does cause a myriad of problems. Fear, paranoia are just a couple. Going through the control/out of control cycles are difficult. Are you on any meds? I can’t decide if being a zombie on meds is better than the panic attacks and mania.

    You are not alone. You also are very worthy of love.

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