The Pivot Point

Last night might have been the moment.

Now, this may sound slightly dramatic. And perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps the moment has been nagging at the corner of my brain for a few weeks (months? years?) now. But no matter how much I ignore, or think I've changed, or push it away, something had to give. And last night it did.

I can count the number of panic attacks I've had on one finger. Yes, one finger. But last night, laying in bed with my mom on speakerphone, staring at the ceiling and heaving, HEAVING sobs that absolutely wracked me, unable to get the images out of my head of Sean's face, Sean's beautiful smiling face and being absolutely unable to breathe, I knew that I couldn't. I just couldn't. I can't do this. I can't live like this.

Mom said what's true, and what I've known all along. I live in fear of being alone because I don't trust that I will be okay. I'm scared to be alone. Hell, I can't sleep at night without Sean next to me.


Back when I was in college, I lost track of myself. I lost track of the wonderful, marvelous, unique me, the one that I loved with all of my being. The me that was just right as she was, with all of her misery and crazy and exuberance and childishness. I've always been just right. Just as I am. And then I lost it. When I broke up with Trevor, I vowed that it would never happen again.

And now I'm right back where I've started. The fabulous, beautiful, marvelous me is slipping away again. Sean's noticed, and it's the one thing that's affecting our relationship the most. What I've realized is that all the times that I said I was my best self around him, I meant that I was my best self for him. I was patient and caring and sometimes withheld myself because I knew that was what he needed. But what I lost sight of was the my part of the equation. Because even though I adopted all of these traits (that are quite good traits to have), I was so focused on how I could be good for him that I forgot how to be good for me.

I forgot... how to be good for me.

That just came out, but I have the sense that that sentence has been waiting for the right moment to spring out.

I forgot how to love myself, how to be when alone. I've placed my life within the context of him, and I hate it.


I want to be okay sleeping alone. Hells, why wouldn't I be? I have the whole of the delicious cozy bed to myself. I can spread out, wear pajamas, not worry about sweaty bodies. Maybe I can stop viewing it as a death sentence. Maybe I can rejoice that I don't have to brush my hair before I fall into bed, that I can masturbate when I wake up, that my zits can come out in all their glory and I can goop on zit zapper without worrying how I look. Maybe I can rejoice that I don't have to wear mascara to bed. I can wear ratty pants and giant cozy t-shirts and socks and pile my bed with pillows. I can wake up to the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack over and over. I don't have to turn the hot water off in the shower. I can take extra time drying my hair, doing my make-up. I can wear big giant comfy undies. I can watch lesbo porn on my computer. I should probably start falling asleep to music, and I definitely don't like falling asleep in the dark. I'm going to string up Christmas lights again.

The point of this blog is for me to fall in love with myself again. For me to learn how to be alone, and not just how to be alone, but to enjoy it (gasp!). For me to be able to have more moments like this morning, when I was smoothing lotion on my legs and I was a little surprised at how firm the muscle was there. I LIKED that. I like my body, my wit, my insight. I like that I'm approachable. I like myself when I'm quiet. I like myself when I'm busy, when I'm puttering, when I'm cooking, when I'm taking on huge craft projects or a garden. I like vegging out and watching TV with a glass of wine and a big cozy blanket.

I'm going to find myself. And I'm going to fall in love all over again.