“Lou, we need to talk..”
This sentence fills me with dread. It is fresh in my mind. It’s lead to tears.
I sit here, trying my hardest to find the best way to put my thoughts into words. But I re read those words above and I am back sat in that pub, next to you as you break me into a million pieces. The moment you took the rug from underneath my feet and gave me nothing but that sheepish look. I despise that look with a passion. It says nothing, when all I want you to do is use your words like a big boy and explain what I did wrong. Because I clearly did something. I did something so small or so big or so insignificant to my mind that it has changed your mind about me, about us.
I am caught between a rock and a hard place. I was desperately trying to find the right words to tell you about me. To stop the silences – even though I didn’t hate them, I felt like I didn’t have to fill them like I used to – to explain. I had a constant struggle, fighting between my mind and my heart about opening up about my CD and how it affects me every day. We were taking it slow, I thought I had time. I clearly did not.
I use this place to vent and write and explain and get things off my chest. Difficult things that are hard to say and hard to share and even harder to begin a conversation with. I am caught between wanting to be open and honest and not wanting the CD to control my life. I want to forget about it some times. I do, but for very fleeting moments. I thought I didn’t have to explain that to you. I really did think I had time. You were already reading this. All of it before I gave it to you. Why so silent about it? Why so secretive about it? This whole thing is not a secret, nor do I use it to keep it private, it is out there for everyone to see. I wish you’d say something. Wish you’d brought it up. Others do. You didn’t even ask. Don’t ask. Won’t ever ask. And that part I am glad that I am without you now.
All I want is for you to change your mind. To realise that this is fixable. That you are running away and not giving this or me a chance. And when I think that this is my fault I get so frustrated – why didn’t I say something before? Why did I wait? Why am I so afraid of things changing? Why am I scared of repeating my mistakes? Why do I care? Why do I still want someone who doesn’t want me? How can I have a freindship with you? Do I want to torture myself? Do I need more hurt?
I had a thought last night; I would much much rather be going through my diagnosis again. It sounds dramatic, it really does. That pain, those days of endless tests and the Green Weekend seem like a picnic compared to this. Because I knew it was needed. This feels nothing like that. It cuts me into pieces. A thousand pieces. You stomped hard on my chest, kicked me to the ground when you made your decision. I am still on the floor. You don’t care. You are shot of me, over it, done with it. Do you care? Do you feel anything? Or is all your focus concerned with that selfish need to find something better, something easier?
It seems I can not win. If I decide to be open about my CD I get left very much alone when all I want is some comfort. And If I decide to leave it alone, because I very much don’t want to ruin anything, I get told it should be easier than this. I can not win. And I hate those stupid cranky guts of mine with a passion. I tried to do the right thing by my own heart and mind and body and I got nothing in return. I feel very much to blame. I feel like I am in the naughty corner. I feel like I am not worth the fight to even try.
Where is my counselling session when I need it?