Last week was hard. Really fucking incredibly mind-and-body-numbingly hard. I kept lying to myself - lies of omission mostly - that everything was fine. Nothing was different. The challenge was all in my head, I repeated. But it wasn't.
We talked about the instability and fluidity of things recently. Matthew, Chiara, my job, my recovery (I cringed), my relationship with ED (I cringed again, burying my face in my hands, from myself), my lack of grounding. Also, you added, we haven't been seeing each other as regularly as we had been before. Your travel schedule, you pointed out, has been crazy, work has been crazy. Everything has been a little unsettled for you. And, I'm not saying I'm a central relationship in your life, but you don't open up about this with many people. There aren't that many people you confide in about everything.
You were right.
Your observation stunned me with it's bluntness. As if you had said to me, "You are wearing a black skirt and shirt, you're 5 feet 4 inches tall, you have an intense fear of vulnerability, as well as a paralyzing ineptitude when it comes to discussing your body and it's physical mechanics with others. And you need me, you rely on me, you value this relationship and derive comfort from its safety and it's function as a receptacle for your endless needs."
My insides turned out. Gutted.
It's hard to explain how it felt to have you describe such a complex thought in anatomical terms. I wasn't angry. But I was floored by my own transparency.
Shocked by how easily you confirmed what I've long known and feared; I am a human, a person with a body and desires and full of abject wants, and am fooling no one in my attempts to prove otherwise.