ten minutes

This morning on my way to work I went somewhere in my head that I really only let myself go for those ten minutes on my way to work.

I thought about my trouble in interpersonal relationships lately. My lack of confidence and feeling of ineptitude. My feeling of being excluded. 

I thought about this g-chat conversation and the moments it described:

me:  we went with two other couples to trivia last night and the last gal showed up late because she was at the gym

 Jessica:  ok

 me:  and so she got there and i asked her how it was and she said 'sweaty' and then basically ignored me

and then the other gal came back from the bathroom and asked her how it was

and she was like 'good!' and launched into an animated explanation of it

 Jessica:  oh jesus

that's just rude

 me:  i don't know, it just rubbed me the wrong way

  i know she doesn't realize she's been doing it

And then I started thinking about you. Because when I'm low, I want to get lower. And you're a first class ticket to the bottom. 

Sometimes lately when I'm driving to work I spend those ten minutes thinking of how I feel like I'm in the periphery of every group. I remember that I didn't always feel this way. I didn't always feel obsolete and unnecessary, just a supplementary addition. I remember my 17 year old self, sitting shotgun next to you in your truck, driving anywhere. I felt like the center of the universe then, like a leading lady in my own story. Prickling with explosive energy.

So in less than ten minutes, I worked myself up to tears this morning and then had to immediately recover and slap a smile on my face when I got to the school, so now I'm feeling a little bit of emotional whiplash.

But I guess I'm finally feeling like writing with real emotion and not some half-assed attempt at humor, so it's a start.  

What I want to say is this. 

I miss you every day. Not every second of every day, but still, every single day. I wish I could say that I want you out of my head, but the truth is that I'm terrified of not missing you. I'm terrified of you not being in my head, because I need you there, I need to know that everything that happened between us is real. That you were my best friend and I was yours, even if it couldn't stay that way. Being that vital, indispensable, it's a good feeling. 

I get the impression now that if I wasn't here, no one's life would really be all that different.  

And I worry that you're always going to be the most important person in my life, and you're not even in it anymore.

And what does that mean for me, then? What do I have to look forward to? 

I'm a little scared that I'm going to keep walling myself in with people who don't make me feel special because it makes it easier to not let them be special to me. That I'm not going to be special and so I somehow deserve to be in a relationship with someone who has refused to have sex with me for six months, for no reason at all. That no one has to say bless you to me when I sneeze and mean it or ask me what I think about the silly little decisions of everyday life and want my input. I have a good life, and my partner loves me, but I am so, so lonely. And I sometimes feel like it could be anyone going through the motions with him, it doesn't have to be me. 

I'm not special.

There was a version of me that never never would have stood for this, and I can't decide if I lost her by accident or on purpose. 

I miss being the me who people heard when she talked, even in groups. Who was part of an attentive, inside-joke filled, sensitive, honest, open, pair. Because even when we had disastrous arguments, at least I knew you'd say you were sorry if you hurt my feelings. At least I knew that at the core of it all, that you came from a place of deep love and had my best interest at heart. I knew it and I took that for granted because I guess I thought it was always going to be that way no matter who I was with.

I miss the way you would defer to me, refer to me, when having a conversation in a group. Especially when I was standing right there. It made me feel worthy, important to you, like you were proud to be with me. "Sara's really good at that too." or "Sara was telling me about that a few days ago." I know I did that for you too. I didn't realize how important that part was until my boyfriend started turning away from me when he got into conversations, instead of drawing me in. I feel excluded. I feel like maybe I should be more independent? I feel like it's all my fault, apparently. Maybe it is.

The fact remains that I never feel that anymore, like anyone is proud to be with me. Maybe I'm not that person anymore, or maybe I just have a knack now for picking people who only care about making their own point, feeling proud of themselves. Maybe it's a flaw in me, that being proud of myself isn't enough. It makes me feel like I deserve more. It makes me oh so aware when I don't get it.

I made my choice. The last time we slept together, I flew back to Montana two days later. The one who is with me now picked me up at the airport. It was the beginning of something new. I was excited. Bloated with hope.

And now I am where I am. I've waffled with you enough in the last 12 years. Changed my mind. Been unsure. Reminded myself why it can't work. I can't turn back now, I made my bed.

I'm not going back. 

So here is where it always goes. It goes to reminding myself of the reasons why not. I cling to them. Those reasons, they've become the most important thing about me. They keep me in line.

And that's about as far as I get in the ten minutes I allow myself each morning.