Talk Therapy: Part 1 in Diary

Disclaimer: I went to write about one thing, and went to throw in some background referencing and ended up getting into way too much detail about everything, which is what I always tend to do.
But my psychologist has suggested that I write a journal as a type of talk therapy. She showed me what the brain does when we’re in a state of grief/anxiety/depression/trauma - however mild, and how talking and/or writing about it helps as its not manifesting and getting jumbled in your head. So that’s why you often feel better talking about things or writing them, even if its just to yourself.

Last year I went into 2019 saying “this is going to be my year”. For the first time in years I didn’t spend New Years with my closest friends. I usually get nostalgic and anxious on New Years. The whole saying goodbye and reflecting on the year that was; hearing the radio or TV chime that we’re a minute away from beginning a new year this one will end, and all of a sudden I’m trying to remember what I want to hold onto and all the things I want to leave in locked in the past. All these things behind me that I know and another year ahead of me that I don’t know. 

As much as that 60 seconds of that one night makes my stomach twist and my heart swell, I’m still sentimental about it and like to do something to celebrate. So rather than tag at the heels of my best friend and her husband’s plans as I’ve done much of my single life, I took up a mate’s offer to go to his place for a party. I’ve also got the mindset that the way you spend New Years is somewhat reflective of the way you’ll spend your year. I saw it as I had a ball at this party and I was able to do it on a night I get sentimental about without the security and comfort of my best friends. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean that I was glad I wasn’t miserable all night pining over non-existent plans. Which brings me to my point. It revved up this fire in me and I decided that if I wanted to have fun and do all the things that I could make these things happen. So I made plans to go to Melbourne for the Australia Day long weekend to catch up and party with friends and family. And again, I had a ball. 

About a month later I had a Friday off and decided to catch up with a guy I’d been on a date with the year before. We hadn’t spoken in months but in the new year we were texting a bit and having a thirst for all the social activity I was getting myself into I suggested going for a drink. A drink turned into a shitshow and getting absolutely plastered with him and his mates. But… I had fun. Again.

Between the Melb trip and this night, conversation had gotten pretty intense and real with an old fling from London looking like he was actually going to come to Australia. We talked daily and planned and discussed the activities and trips we would do. There was not a chance in hell that I was going to go and get myself into a relationship before he got here but I was having fun going out and meeting new people so I decided to date without intention. I was closed off to the possibility of a relationship but totally open to making new friends (and maybe a bit of hanky panky if I felt like it). 

Then in June, just before my house settled, after six months of making plans, going to the gym, sticking to an eating plan and smashing goals, saving annual leave (aside from a kickass girls trip to Bali (seriously, 2019 was looking to be the absolute tits)) and acting probably more single than I ever have, my London love told me that he’d started seeing someone. And you know what? Yeah I was sad for like a second but I’d actually had so much fun dating without intention and motivated enough to change my body in a way I didn’t even think was possible that I couldn’t even be mad at him. The day after he told me I texted a guy I’d run into before Bali (another one date wonder from the previous year) to see if he wanted to grab a coffee. 

We went for coffee, and then for dinner, and then the day off/working from home coffee visits started, and then the sleepovers. Actually, it was one sleepover at the time. After that sleepover he told me he wasn’t ready for a relationship. I told him I’d spent the better half of the year avoiding them and was in no hurry to jump into one. So we continued to see each other, although by now I’d already kind of caught the feels. He was such a gentleman and would say things like “I really value our connection”, “I think you’re amazing, I wish you could see yourself in my eyes” and call me beautiful ALL the time. 

We had a date planned one night. He went to the gym before dinner so I used the time to get my nails done. As I sat waiting I got a call from Mum telling me that my brother-in-law’s father had been found dead that morning. He’d committed suicide. I went numb. I thought I would cry but I didn’t. I think my eyes maybe got a bit wet but I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to deal with another loss. This was the first one since Dad had died and now my brother in law and his family were going through that same loss, the one they helped us through. 

I told James as soon as I saw him. He held me while I stared blankly at the shoppers around us. He said we didn’t need to go to dinner and I told him we needed to. I needed to be distracted. He held my hand over the table until our meals came out. He held me all night and told me in the morning that if there was anything I needed, now or in five years that he would be there for me. My walls kept dropping around him at a rate I wasn’t particularly comfortable with. But I thought we’d just continue as we were until we eventually just kind of fell into the comfort of a relationship with each other with no pressure to rush it. Except over that week I barely heard from him and my insecurities boiled over. I started stalking his social media and the likes he gave out and the ones he received. I hated it. I didn’t want to be that insecure person. So I messaged him and told him that I was sorry and that I thought I could do the whole casual thing but I was developing feelings for him. He told me that he understood I was going through a tough time and that if he was causing stress and I needed space he’d give it to me but that he still wanted to be part of my life. I told him that I didn’t want him to go anywhere but I didn’t text him for 4 days. I asked him to come watch the sunrise with me the day of the funeral. Everything felt normal. Good even. 

After the funeral I started seeing a psychologist. I realised that my way of dealing with grief is to not deal with it at all and medicate myself with alcohol and cigarettes. She diagnosed me with depression. I was baffled as to why but when she explained why it made a bit more sense. However, the reasons didn’t have anything to do with Tony’s death. 
James and I were still seeing each other occasionally but it was becoming less frequent and the texts were less frequent as well. But when we did see each other or text he kept me holding on by telling me how much he enjoyed my company and how he missed me. So I kept holding onto hope. Until one week I realised I was always the one initiating contact so I stopped and I didn’t hear from him for a week. 

Work had been an absolute shitshow for months after people were cut and others quit, Tony died, living alone got lonely, and this guy was hot and then cold and messing with my head; I needed to get away and clear my head. So I went down to Melbourne again to stay with my sister and have a quiet couple of days recouping. My sister helped me to construct a message to James that wasn’t full of angst. He apologised for being mute and promised to try better. But that was short-lived. A couple of days of half assed attempts of contact and failed plans to meet up. I felt so defeated, stupid and worthless one day that I considered smashing my car into a wall along a winding road. I’d been having such a great year and feeling good about myself and this fuckwit was taking it all away. I felt like an idiot for believing all the shit he had been saying to me. So I told him just that: that he had made me feel like an idiot and completely worthless.

I thought he was going to be different. He was a father, a recovered alcoholic/drug addict (15 years clean), a community do-gooder, ex-paramedic, author etc etc; Yet he turned out to be like every other sociopathic fuckwit. I really did feel like an idiot and was so embarrassed that I thought he’d be different and for holding on as long as I did. But one thing I realised was that if I was trying so hard for it to work that maybe I was actually ready to start looking for a relationship. Not that I felt a rush to find someone, just more or less that I didn’t want to keep dating for the shits and giggles (I’d been blogging about my dating escapades it was fun and all but it was getting old, fast).
To be fair though, I was also dating to find friends. I had a couple of nights out with the guy I caught up with at the beginning of the year and his mates and it was fun having people to go to the pub and gigs with. I also started hanging out with Craig again (the subject of my last entry nearly two years ago) and we have a great friendship now.

The weekend after James and I finally ended I went to a party at a mate’s place. I usually see some familiar faces at his parties/gatherings but most of the time it’s all new faces. However this party was for a friend’s 40th that we used to party with back in the day so there were a few more familiar faces at this one. It was a day into night thing. At some point during the night I spotted Ashley. Ash and I have a bit of a history. I met him when I was 19, just before I got together with my first boyfriend, Jamie. For me there was an attraction there but I was a timid, self-conscious virgin when I met him and I thought there was no way he could possibly be attracted to me.
We had our first drunk pash on the dance floor about a month after my relationship with Jamie ended. It was the weekend before I set off on a six week holiday to Europe as a means of putting that relationship in the past. The weekend after I got back from Europe I saw Ash at the club and we hooked up again.

Not long after this I moved in with Ali, which was down the road from Ash’s place. But also, not long after that, Jamie randomly popped up in my life again and I stupidly started hooking up with him again. That went on way longer than it should have but not long after that ended, Ash broke his heel and was hospitalised for weeks with an infection. I visited him once to keep him company but he was making it quite known on social media that he had a thing for a girl named Ang, so I backed off a bit. However I’d go and see him at home occasionally as he was housebound. I think we hooked up once but I remember feeling like he was just polite by saying yes to my offers to keep him company. So I was surprised when he came to our house one night and we hooked up again then but that was the last time. He got together with Ang a couple of weeks later. They bought a house, got engaged, got married and had kids.
I only saw him a handful of times over the next 11 years, but there was totally always an attraction and a weird chemistry still there. I still remember the last time I saw him, like 4.5 years ago, looking down at his wedding ring and thinking how that still burns, just a little.

Anyway, so I saw him at this party and went to say hello. I asked where Ang was and he told me they’d broken up about eight weeks previous to that night. I felt my body prickle inside. Not sure if it was excitement or totally not expecting that answer. He divulged some details to me, including that he was seeing a psychologist and had been feeling suicidal. Not because of the break-up, but they way she’d been treating him for years.
At one point he needed a drink re-fill or got a phone call and said he’d be right back and I thought that was the conversation dip out, because I do the same thing to people when I’m over a conversation. But he came back and we chatted for ages. We moved somewhere to sit down and continued with our D&M’s. Then at one point we just looked at each other with one of those “ahh life hey?” looks and then out of nowhere he just leans over and kisses me.

I felt like there were red flags though. Fresh out of a relationship/marriage, kids, mental health issues to deal with. It was fun (and hot) but that’s all it would be.
James had kids, which was new and different for me even though I never met them, but they were older and I felt like that would be easier to deal with. Ash’s kids are both under 4 and that age scares me.
However, I didn’t like hearing about how bad he was feeling and he’s still a friend so I texted him the next day to say I’d found his number (he told me to look for one of his stubby coolers with his business details on it) and just exchange some general chit-chat.

A week later my sister was visiting from Melbourne and I told her about it as she’d met him a couple of times and knew how much I liked him all those years ago. She asked me if I was going to date him or pursue anything to which my response was “hell no! He chose Ang. He can get fucked if he thinks he can just come waltzing back into my life 12 years later and pick up where we left off”.

But I did not tell him to fuck off…

Last updated March 16, 2020