That’s the loudest voice in my head right now. Throw the towel in. Walk away. End this shit show once and for all.
I am trying hard to repair the rupture with J. I didn’t want to do therapy today, but after a gentle nudge from a friend who suggested I was ‘throwing the baby out with the bathwater’, I uncancelled my session.
Yesterday seeing J made me feel more angry and more hopeless. I decided I’d probably kill myself when I got home. After all, if even my therapist can’t stand me, what hope do I have? I was pulled back by a friend in crisis reaching out to me for help. And a kind comment from a fellow blogger that made me feel cared for.
It went a little better today, but I still feel like the reality of the relationship is hitting me full force. J is not my family. She isn’t my friend. She cares about me, but she cares about a load of other things a lot more. It’s easy for her to drop me if something more important or interesting comes up.
The juxtaposition of that knowledge with how I feel about her is excruciating. I don’t want to feel like I desperately need someone who doesn’t at all need me. That makes me feel so utterly pathetic and vulnerable. A large part of me would rather just end the relationship than have to confront that.
So I’m sat in the pub with a large Scotch, pointlessly hoping that the solution will be found in the bottom of this glass. Or the next glass. Or maybe the one after that.
But what I really know is that the more I drink, the more that final and permanent solution becomes appealing. And I drink towards that. I drink towards letting go of what holds me back from going through with it. Because I want an end to this. I want relief.
I am tired of fighting.