DJ is making spudnuts tomorrow. He invited my brother and family, and Adam to come to his apartment to help with the making and eating. I am not invited.
This is not because DJ doesn't love me, nor because he doesn't want me to come. It's because he knows I don't like donuts. Adam said I could come anyway because it will be fun. I thought about it, then I realized: I don't want to.
Five years ago I would have crashed the party--invited or not. And I'd have helped with the making and even tried some of the eating. Today, I recognize I'm just too tired. While I've definitely been recovering and feeling more like myself, that happiness draining emotional fatigue still lingers. My tolerance for people is not what it used to be. And my ability to give support is pretty much nonexistent. When I'm with people I want to be held and coddled and taken care of.
Yes, I have become that annoying, icky person.
Yesterday I called a friend and cried because I was having a bad day. Did I ask about his day? No. Did I make sure he was having a good day before I dumped on him? No. Did I care? I would like to say, "Of course, I did! He's my friend and I love him!" But probably the truthful answer, in that moment, is, No.
I'm not sure how I feel about this, what to do about it, or even if I want to do anything about it.
Still, I don't feel sorry for myself when I'm not invited to family things. Instead, I feel relief, so clearly I'm not offended. I increasingly desire alone-ness (which would not tally with the things I told my online chat person last night--but that was then--it's not last night anymore).
This could have something to do with the following:
1. My house is in complete disarray. We had to move all the furniture and box up my studio so that we could have the main rooms painted three weeks ago. And everything is still boxed up and moved weird places because now we're waiting on carpet to be installed. Yay for new paint and carpet. Boo for disarray.
2. I'm doing enormously difficult therapy crap right now. And if you're thinking to yourself, "Is this person EVER going to stop needing therapy? This has been going on for years!" the answer is, I will probably be in therapy for the rest of my life because I'm that messed up and it's 50% due to things that happened to me during my life, and 50% due to just being Samantha. And if you know me at all, you understand exactly what I'm saying. And Therapist said no one works as hard as I do to learn ways to live with being someone like me--whatever that means. Regardless, please don't judge and just remember, I'm trying my best to be as normal as you are. It's not easy.
3. Tabitha is coming home for an extended stay next week. She'll be here for seventeen days. I feel many different things about this, but mostly I'm fighting myself every second so I don't stack up work project to do while she's here because that's my impulse. Make what you'd like of that. I love my daughter. I'm excited to see her. I'm also very stressed about spending that much time with her. I know she's ready. I'm not. It doesn't matter because this is going to happen. Next week.
So today I'm doing things for me. It's selfish and I don't care. I'm going to the library and I'm going to find several books where everything ends happily and maybe I'll read them all today. I will play Chopin and Beethoven and Debussy and Prokofiev until I'm tired. For dinner, I will make fun to eat food that's colorful and delicious. Tonight I will watch one of my favorite movies...or maybe Scooby Doo cartoons...or maybe I'll just play Facebook games.
But first, I have to work. And doing work is a much better option than wandering around my house, wondering what's wrong with me. Much better.
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