So, I’m on my period, which… is dire. I’m sort of braindead and exhausted. Actually, to get technical, my period hasn’t started yet. But it’s coming. I can tell. Lately, I’ve been getting PMS before my period. It used to always happen at the beginning of my period. Now it’s before, and then once my period starts, it will sometimes disappear.
I had a massive bout of insecurity last night. I was talking to the guy I like, and we all know that I don’t do relationships very well. Not at all. Whenever I like a guy, everyone should best run for cover and hide. Anyway, we were talking about his drone videos, which he loves making, and I asked if he could get video of my grandmother’s property, which I miss quite a bit. I dream of it every night, and in my dreams, Granny Franny still lives there, and it’s the most magical place in the world. I wake up heartbroken that the property was sold upon her death. It was the one consistent place in my life, there from before my birth and the course of my whole life until her death in 2016. It had a below-ground pool (which she had filled in and grown over with grass, adding to my heartbreak, many years before she died), a cow pasture, a cornfield, a fishing pond, a gravel (eventually paved) driveway, a front-porch swing, a basement rec area, a creek up the road you could wade in, everything. He asked for the address, and I couldn’t remember the street number, so he said he’d look it up in property records. Then he disappeared to clean up Whiskers’ kitty litter.
(Knowing the cat’s name isn’t actually Whiskers, but feeling the need to change names to protect the innocent, almost has me laughing right now.)
So I felt off-kilter and hormonal, and I wrote him this sad email that was truly dramatic and depressing.
Dear [first name of Whiskers’ owner],
Hi, how’re you?
I’m kind of sad, because I’ve been thinking about what you said about how you like being alone, and you don’t want to spend time with anyone after work, and you just want to be in your own world, and all that. But the truth is that whenever I try to be just friends with a guy I like, it tends to end disastrously. Picture the sinking of the Titanic and the explosion of the Hindenburg. Now add in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and the San Francisco earthquake of 1906. We’re getting closer. Now include some asteroids hurtling toward the earth. There should also be a few random sidewalk geysers and wild cobras on the loose. And a radioactive explosion.
I don’t know how to do it different with you in a way that could work, ya know? I’m not really that skilled at being friends that way. I wish I were. I can try. I just… I’m not very secure. I tend to feel inadequate in a lot of weird ways. It’s not a good feeling. I ask myself, “Why don’t guys ever want to be more than friends?” and the only answer that comes into my head is that I’m not worthwhile. (I’m absolutely not trying to accuse you of making me feel that way. The problem is inside of me. I think.)
I can sort of tell you just aren’t interested in me like that, so it’s probably in my best interest to avoid you for a while, and try to get you out of my head. I need to find my confidence again. I know rationally that I’m a great person. Stuff like this, though, messes me up. People just don’t see me as being worth dating. I don’t know why. Sorry I have to flee! I’ll just go to the other post office for a while. No huge deal. 🙂
Then I had a hysterical sobbing fit, during which time I got an email from a different male friend of mine that said, in totality, Go team Meg! I’m with you all the way. It was in reference to the writing competition I’m doing this weekend (this was the guy I mentioned who came in 21st place when it was necessary to be in the top 20 to get to round 2), but it made me feel supported by the universe that such an email showed up while I was having a total heartbroken sobfest.
Whiskers’ owner wrote back. I knew he would. He’s nice like that. But I was terrified to get out of bed and read his response, so I hid under my blanket for a long time, trying not to wake up yet. I was a mess.
I understand more than you think I do. You are a very nice girl. Please don’t judge my response as a reflection on you. At 56 years old I have a ton of baggage of my own. I have finally come to a comfortable place in my life. I have been the definition of Titanic in the past. I’ve been full steam ahead towards total destruction. I live behind my wall to protect others more than me.
[First name last name]
Interestingly, my Tarot cards have already told me as much about him. He feels bad about himself and doesn’t think he’s good enough for anyone. Elsewise, I’d likely be convinced he’s just being nice and making it the whole, “It’s not you; it’s me” spiel.
So, I wrote back thusly:
Thank you! That’s very kind. Baggage bites, doesn’t it? I mean, it really bites. I was afraid to get out of bed today and look at your response. So I just staggered up two minutes ago after sleeping terribly. I was tempted to spend my life hiding under my blanket. It was comfortable there, to be honest. Everything feels sad today. I feel sad for you that you think people need to be protected from you. 😮 I find that very hard to believe, by the way. I sort of believe you feel that way, but I don’t believe it’s true. Everyone’s broken to some degree and at risk of hurting others. Sometimes it can’t be undone. But if it’s sincerely regretted, that goes far toward mattering. My parents both physically abused me as a child. Yes, even my nice-seeming dad was very physically abusive.
[Note to the reader: this guy knows my dad.]
The details are graphic and horrific, so I’ll spare you that. I believe he loves me and regrets it deeply, possibly to the point that he doesn’t even think it happened. That’s all he can do at this point. It’s not enough for either of us, obviously, but in the lack of time travel and do-overs, it’s all life affords. (You didn’t hear any of that from me, by the way.) I guess my point being that relationships are never perfect and issue-free. But if my dad were to die, I’d be devastated. I’d love for you to find faith in yourself that you’re not some sort of relationship-destroying monster, but my hands are tied. All I can do is tell you that I don’t believe it. And maybe you’ve tried having relationships (of any kind, speaking broadly) with the wrong people. Thanks for saying I’m nice! 🙂 I don’t even believe it about myself right now, but at least I finally staggered out of bed, so there’s that. 🙂
I always feel bad telling people these bad things about my dad, especially and particularly when it’s someone who actually knows my dad. But when I’m hormonal and upset, my childhood issues tend to come to the fore. They should recede in a few days, but for right now, I’m trapped in some sort of no-time-has-passed hell. I genuinely think that the complex PTSD of being exposed to my toxic mother for years and years, and everything else, has broken my brain to the point that I need medicines. I think it’s possible that my schizophrenia would be “self-treated” (to whatever successful level) if I hadn’t grown up that way.
I wouldn’t blame him for not writing back again at this point. I’m such a drama queen! Bad, bad Megz.
So today I’m in a full hormonal funk of fatigue and regret. And I’m almost completely miserable.
I think what I’ll do is retreat from the guy I like for a while, long enough to be rid of hormones and insecurity; and in the meantime, I’ll read the book that’s coming in the mail about his friend’s wrongful conviction for murder.
But I had some eBay sales overnight. Which post office should I take them to? Ugh.