As mentioned in yesterday’s post, I’ve been coming to terms with certain limitations in the scope of my relationship with Beaut, which made me sad. We are most definitely never getting married, and living happily ever after. Le boooo. (Side note: I imagine him reading that sentence and freaking the fuck out, and it makes me giggle. I am not always a nice person.)
I wallowed in my sadness for a few days. To the point where I was fighting a losing battle with my paranoid brain, so I booked an emergency appointment with my therapist. The last thing I wanted was to slide into another depression because of a boy. Been there, done that: ain’t fun and totally pointless.
During my appointment with my therapist, we talked things through, and he helped me come to term with my emotions and accept the limitations imposed by Beaut. I knew I was sad – that was the reason for my appointment, afterall, but I was taken aback by a sudden burst of honest emotion:
But the sex! What if I never have good sex again? I only just started having sex again, and it is awesome, and I’d forgotten how much I like it, and now I have to give it up? And risk never getting as good sex again? This SUCKS. I don’t want to! I don’t want to have to start dating again, and risk lots of disappointing, awkward, lame sexual encounters. It took me so much time and effort to be vulnerable with this chump, I got rewarded with good sex and now I have to start over? THIS IS STUPID.
That was the first clue that I was going to be ok. If my biggest concern was about the quality of my future sex, clearly, I wasn’t overly devastated by stunted turn of events with Beaut.
As the appointment progressed, I felt comfortable enough to mourn the end of some of the hopes I had cherished about Beaut. I cried elegantly – the kind of pretty crying Hollywood stars do when listening to a moving acceptance speech at the Oscars: a single tear or two, gently trickling down my cheeks. Which is when I noticed my therapist, sitting in front of me, full of pent up gleeful energy. I asked him why he was so hyper.
Hyper? I’m happy! Remember when you first walked in here, 19 months ago? You were in a full blow depression, spurred on by how 2 guys had badly treated you: you were barely sleeping with one, when you found out he had a surprise girlfriend, and the other one was a dude with whom you had attempted some emotional vulnerability, and he shut it down before you’d even made it to a date, and then he said some mean things to you. Neither one of those guys did you actually care about, yet, their actions were enough to push you over the edge into depression. Now, here, today, you are faced with a situation where you can legitimately be sad: it sucks when someone you care about, and have been involved with for months, does not reciprocate the same feelings. Totally normal that you are sad, but look how great you are handling it! You aren’t depressed, you are nowhere near being depressed. I’m so happy this happened: it is proof of how far you have come along! This is great news!!!
In the silence that followed, I dryly suggested that maybe he could get a grip for the remaining 10 minutes of the appointment, and do his happy dance about the end of my Beaut saga on his own, when I wasn’t crying in his face. Sheepishly, he agreed. 2 minutes later, I caught him hiding a grin.
So there you go. Apparently, I am going to be ok. And that is a good thing.
I’m just never going to have satisfying sex ever again. So my paranoid brain tells me.