With no word from Lars again today, I was even more convinced of our relationship’s demise.
I didn’t leave my bed the whole day.
I felt my alcoholic tendencies enter hyper-drive. I didn’t want a drink, but, I was sure as hell thinking about having one. And, subsequently hating myself for putting myself into a position where I’d allowed myself to be vulnerable. Had this been the reason that everyone told me not to get into a relationship in early sobriety?
Would something as silly as one evening together gone awry derail my sobriety? And, if not my sobriety, my mental health? I had just returned from a trip that had changed my life, and my thinking, so drastically. I had felt on top of the world. And, now, I lay in bed, leveled by the weight of my own obsessive thinking.
Was I crazy? Had I lost a screw in Ireland? I started rethinking everything. It felt like the apocalypse. Like the world had suddenly spun helplessly and hopelessly out of control. And, I felt responsible. Why hadn’t I just gone to the fucking show? Why couldn’t I have swallowed my pride? Was it worth this? I felt helpless and lonely. I thought that calling someone in the program might help, but, the phone suddenly weighed a ton. I could never trust my sponsor with my emotional vulnerability in the past, and, this was no different. She had never supported my relationship with Lars, and this would only fuel her fire. Or so I told myself.
So, I lay in bed. Crying. Assuming the worst. In my mind, I watched the millions of scenarios in which Lars left me. Called me a child. Told me my expectations were unreasonable. Told me I was inflexible. Told me our difference in age had finally shown its limitations.
Eventually, I tired myself out with negative thoughts. I’d cried every last tear. I’d accepted we were over.
And with a heart, heavy and broken, I drifted to sleep.