"You're not the same person who came to see me two weeks ago," my therapist said.
"You're probably right," I replied.
I stopped taking the Celexa, going only with Welbutrin at this point. I couldn't take the numb any more.
But I have to say, I think I've reached a strange peace with my situation. That's the only way to describe it.
He asked me about it, and I tried to explain.
"You realize that many people in your position would be angry, furious, and would not go out of their way to be helpful or nice. Some would be downright nasty. Why aren't you?"
"Because I've been here before. I've been the man dumped, and I've responded badly. Did Sherri come back when I groveled and cried in her dorm room? Of course not. Why would she?"
"You see, doc (he's not, but I call him that anyway. I can't call him Gerry), I have a simple rule for life these days, and it sounds selfish, but not the way I look at it -- What's in it for me?"
"If I were an ass to Squeaky, if I tried to make her feel bad so I would feel good, what would I gain? Nothing. What would I lose? The respect of someone I care about and I might hurt X in the process. Net result--a loss."
"If I sit and mope around because Squeaky's leaving me, what do I gain? Perhaps a serious increase in listening to Phil Collins' first two albums. What do I lose? The time spent moping around about something I can't change."
"She's not coming back, doc. Even if her life changed drastically tomorrow, she wouldn't come back to me. There's no point in wishing for it or spending any more time than necessary wondering about it."
"I have two goals. One, to get to the other side of this so that we can all move on, especially me, since I have farther to go. Two, minimize the impact on X. Those are things that I can control, at least in part.
"I won't try to hurt Squeaky because I don't want her to be hurt. But there's also no profit in hurting her. There's no profit in making things difficult for all of us. And frankly, anything that distracts me from my goals has to be put aside."
He said he was impressed by how far I've come. He told me that I didn't need to bother to see his partner about changing my drugs.
And I have to say: I _feel_ better than I have in a long while. For the first time in, hell, probably forever, I'm putting myself first (or in a tie with X). And this is the one point in my life so far that I can say that's the right move. That's what I need to be doing.
I've got enough messes on my hands. I've got a maple tree I'm trying to save, despite knowing it's very unlikely to work. I'm expanding my photography business so I can try to get out of debt more quickly. I'm looking at the prospect of doing something that, technically speaking, I've never done: Dating.
One my favorite parts of The West Wing involved Barlett and Leo arguing about what Barlett should do in the coming election season. Leo picked up a legal pad and wrote four words: "Let Bartlett be Bartlett."
For the first time in years, I think it's time to let Zippy be Zippy. Zippy 9:17 PM
My life's kinda in a holding pattern these days. Squeaky's looking for an apartment, and when she finds one and moves out, we can move on to the next phase: truly separated.
I'm not ashamed to say I don't want her to go. I'm not ashamed to say that I still wish we could work this out. I'm not ashamed to say that she's the center of my universe and has been for years.
But I also recognize that this is something she feels she _needs_ to do.
In the end, for better or worse, the vast majority of decisions I've made in the past 10 years have been, at least in part, an effort to make Squeaky happy -- because I think she deserves to be happy and because I love her.
So if, in the end, the only decision I can make that will help her find happiness is to let her go, that's what I shall do.
I won't like it, I'm sure I'll regret it all the rest of my days, but if that's what it takes, so be it.
Yes, there's always the question about "What about your happiness?" Well, in this case, I'm not sure there's a way for us both to be happy together. Yes, I've told her that I'd go to counseling with her if she wanted, and I would drop everything to make that happen. Squeaky and X mean more to me than anything on earth.
But if my happiness makes her unhappy, then I'd soon be unhappy, too. And then we both lose.
Plus, there's X. He's going to be confused enough as is when this all goes down, and the last thing I want is for him to see us as anything but caring for each other -- which we are, and likely always will be. You can't erase damn near 20 years, after all.
So now, I wait and see what happens. I'll talk to my therapist Thursday about how to move past this avoidant personality disorder. The goal is to reach a point where I don't _have_ to take antidepressants. I don't think I'll be able to be much of a boyfriend/lover/husband to anyone else if I'm still taking these drugs.
When X was born, I went a bit off the deep end. I ended up seeing a therapist and the doctor, and they put me on Celexa. A variation of it had worked for Squeaky, so I was glad to try it.
And it worked. My anxiety dropped to almost nothing, and everything was fine.
A few months back, I switched to a different drug and stopped the Celexa. I found that I was getting angry at things more easily than before.
When the whole separation with Squeaky started, I didn't handle it well. I mentioned it to my doc, who suggested I take the Celexa again.
I started three days ago.
And today, I had that moment you see in the movies when all the flashbacks appear to tell you why what's going on now is going on now.
You see, it appears that the Celexa did more to me three years ago than I realized at the time. Yes, since I've started it again, my anxiety has all but disappeared again.
So has joy So has sadness So has motivation So has opinion So has attraction So has affection So has anger So has happiness
Not everything appears to be gone. I still have great caring for the wellbeing of my family. I still show up to work, do my job, play with Xander, etc.
But an awful lot of me is being heavily suppressed, if not completely cut out.
And that's when I start thinking about the past three years, as Squeaky and I drew farther and farther apart. And I can't help but think that if this is what I've been like for three years, I don't know how she stayed here that long. It was probably like dating a library. Not a librarian--the library.
So now, I have even more reason to fix what's wrong in my head so I can stop taking this again soon.
And if I'm right about how I've been for the last three years, Squeaky, I'm so, so sorry. Zippy 4:26 PM