I think I might be on the verge of a fucking nervous breakdown. I’m siting here sipping a rum with cranberry juice because I need something to reduce my anxiety.
I texted RG about an hour ago, saying that I would like to meet up with him on Thursday evening. He replied immediately, but the only thing that was in the text was ” : -) “. I asked if that was a yes, but got no reply. This has made me spiral into a deep depression.
My moods are all over the place. I think I have built up this little fantasy all around him. What sort of woman falls for an alcoholic loser? Because once I peel off the blinders that are obscuring my vision I can see that this is what he is.
Two weeks ago, he needed to pick up his uncle from the bus station. He asked if I wanted to come with him, and when we went outside, his car had a flat. I’d been inside his car before, and it was a fucking mess of cigarette butts and fast food wrappers. It turned me off that his car had a flat. It wasn’t a surprise at all.
When we got to the bus station, his uncle wasn’t even there. It turned out that RG had got the wrong day. Yet again, I had a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach that the guy was a loser, but I immediately pushed away that thought because I wasn’t ready to deal with it.
We went for something to eat, and RG said he needed to smoke a cigarette and that he’d be right in. He disappeared for 10 minutes, and a feeling of abandonment and panic set in. I knew that it would always be this way, that he’d always be skipping out on me, abandoning me. I eventually saw him come back, carrying a plastic bag in his skinny hands. I knew what was in that bag because I could see that he’d left an opened bottle of beer sitting on the hood of my car. He needed his fix so badly that he couldn’t wait until after we’d eaten. Again, I was flooded with the awareness that the guy was no good, but I refused to think about that because I so badly needed to believe in some sort of bullshit romantic fantasy.
He came into the restaurant holding three carnations that he’d bought from some flower seller in the street. I was charmed, but somehow deep inside I knew that this sweetness and thoughtfulness was something that he put on for all the ladies. By this I don’t mean to suggest that he manipulated the ladies consciously, but he had at some point understood what he needed to say and do to get the ladies, and now it was second nature to him.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, I have created this little story that he likes me a lot but is just too scared to get involved with me because his feelings are just too intense. Hahahahah! What a fool I am! What a master storyteller! I could win the fucking Pulitzer Prize for fiction. He has also helped fuel this little fantasy of mine because he jokingly says that he “hates me” because I have upset all his plans. This is the only time he has ever given me any indication about what he feels for me, and I clung to it the way a drowning man clutches desperately at a life raft. I interpreted it to mean that he is falling for me despite his desire not to.
Last week, after his “friend” from out of town had left, I kept on hoping that he would send me a text saying that he was sorry about what happened, and that he missed me. He did eventually send me a text but all it said was that he needed to give me back the Netflix movie I had left at his house. Again, I chose to interpret this as a sign of his feelings for me. I told myself that he missed me, but that he was too proud to say it, so he used the movie as an excuse to see me. I asked my friends what the text could possibly mean and they were, like, “Um. He just wants to give you your movie back”. My desperate hope to see something that is not there is so ridiculous that I almost want to laugh out loud at the sheer comedy of it all.
Last night in the bar, when I was sitting with that other guy I had picked up, I saw him come in, and laugh and joke with some people he knew. It looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Of course I know better. I know that he comes to that bar because he can’t stand being alone by himself for a second. But it doesn’t matter whether he likes me or not. He is an alcoholic, and his disease means that I will never be in his mind for very long. I go out and socialize, too, but every time I do, I can’t stop thinking of him. I tell myself that I need a rebound guy to get over my rebound guy but I’d probably be thinking of him if I fucked anybody else. RG, however, doesn’t give me a second thought when he’s in the bar.
I need to stay the fuck away from this guy. He is dangerous for me. Every time I see him, I am filled with such an intense longing for his affection that I spend the next fews days in a state of extreme emotional instability.
On Friday night, he finally called his father asking for help. This was a huge step for him, and he told me it was probably the hardest thing he has ever done in his life. I was cheered by this, and imagined myself being there for him as he finally kicked the booze. I felt hopeful that he admits he’s an alcoholic, and that he has asked for help. However, he seems to be in denial about what going in to rehab actually means. He doesn’t appear to understand that this is going to change his life forever, and that it’s going to be really fucking hard. He thinks that he’ll spend a few nights there, getting through the DTs with some medical assistance, and that then he’ll leave, and that everything will be OK. He doesn’t get that entering rehab is very first teeny tiny step on a long, long journey. What is this man going to do who, even when drunk, has to head out to the bar to stave off loneliness? How is he going to be able to stand the emptiness and the pain when he is sober? How is he going to replace the bar which is at the very centre of his social life? I ask him all these question and he breezily answers that everything will be OK.
Everything is not going to be OK. Most addicts attempt to kick their habit seven times before they finally manage. Or they just don’t manage it. He needs to hit rock bottom but he is not even close.
But I’m only focusing on RG‘s issues because that’s easier than dealing with my own. I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m a love addict. Some people don’t think that it’s possible to be addicted to romance or relationships but, oh, let me tell you – you can. I can’t even begin to describe the pain and the feelings of desolation I have when relationships ends or when my little romantic fantasies are blown to smithereens. If you knew how dark my world was then you would believe in love addiction.
The irony is that RG is probably a step ahead of me in terms of curing himself. At least he admits that he’s an alcoholic. When I’m still feeling the pain of rejection, I believe wholeheartedly that I’ve got some kind of addiction problem but as soon as I get over that feeling and my life returns to normal I think that I’m OK. The trouble is that there are only certain men who trigger my “love addiction”. They’re broken men that I want to fix and who give me enough tidbits of affection that I just can’t let go. RG is just number three. Just three guys in 34-years. This is why he leaves me feeling like shit. Meeting somebody like him is a huge fucking deal.
The most annoying thing is that RG senses my desperation, my urge to cling. He is backing off, running away, but not because he can’t deal with his feelings for me. It’s because he can’t deal with my feelings for him. He doesn’t want to get sucked into my vortex of neediness. He tells me I’m “intense” and that I’m “a lot of work”. I would be too much for even a healthy man to handle, and it certainly doesn’t feel good to be given the heave-ho by an alcoholic fuck-up like RG.
I’m not stupid. I know that I need to fill my life up with healthy things- friends, hobbies, creative things like writing in this blog and singing. I will do this. But I doubt that any of this will help. It is just too fucking hard to live thousands of miles away from my friends. It is too fucking hard not to have any family, not to have unconditional love. It is too.fucking.hard. No matter what I do, I think I’m going to always have this emptiness inside me and I am always going to be alone. There’s not a man alive who could deal with my shit.
I need somebody to help me. I wish I had a father I could call for help. I wish I could go into some kind of rehab. I wish I could be strapped down to a table until all the withdrawal symptoms had disappeared and I could go out into the world, trying to re-build my life from scratch. But there is nobody there, and I don’t think I can do this all by myself.