The Discarded: Day 5 or The Robbery

It’s 6:40am on a Monday. My body gave in last night and I crashed around 10pm which is a type of mercy. And I didn’t dream which is another type of relief because when you dream you can be trapped in something wonderful or scary or hopeful until you wake up and are forced to face reality. Your new reality without this person. Technically today would be our 6 month anniversary, something that I teased D about 2 weeks ago. In spite of what was actually going on in the relationship, I kept thinking maybe we would magically “level up” at the 6 month mark. We need to just make it to that six month mark. So close in my reach. Therapists call this magical thinking and I’m so ashamed that I fell into its trappings.

While D had met a handful of my friends, we were guilty of isolating ourselves a bit so there are many others who never met him. Creating isolation or the safety bubble is something I am guilty of when I begin a new relationship. I have this misaligned thought process that if I keep this relationship in my protective little bubble for a requisite amount of time, it will strengthen and fortify. This never works and in retrospect, full or partial exposure among close friends is probably a better option. A handful of friends - all gay men and all couples - met D a few times so my best friend Roger has been charged with sharing the news with them so I don’t have to repeat this tale ad nauseum. It’s honestly like relieving it over and over again and I am still grappling with what the fuck “it” is. I mean, given I am writing a daily blog about it I could always forward this link to them too which might be my solution with several people when the sea of inevitable questions begin. You know the ones:

What happened?

You both seemed so good, what went wrong?

You were so happy, Theresa. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. Did you do something?

Did he cheat?

Was there a fight?

He just ghosted you? This doesn’t make sense. Are you sure something else didn’t happen?

And it’s not their fault. I have done the exact same thing when I found out about a friend’s sudden breakup although over the years, I have learned to temper myself when asking probing questions. Usually I enter with a “I know you are in hell. I am here to talk or not talk, or whatever you need during this time.” Everyone is different though and I have some passionate, inquisitive, loving “let’s get to the bottom of this” group of friends so I need to prepare for the the inevitable assortment of questions. While this is bad enough, what I am really regretting is that I finally got to a comfort level in the relationship and told my parents about D. Or “my friend” as my mother likes to refer to him. There were already loose plans to have D come visit with me for a cookout or maybe a lunch at my favorite restaurant in my hometown about an hour away. The idea that I have to tell them, especially my mom, fills me with nausea. I am older but my parents still worry about me which is a blessing, I realize but this will hurt them. Because I am hurting and the one thing I have tried to do with each passing year is to reduce any additional pain or worry or exposure of pain or worry for my parents when connected with my life. It seems the least I can do for people in their 80’s. I have been able to - at least via phone call - to downplay the seriousness of something or fake it when something shitty happens. While 90% of time I have been pretty successful at this, it hasn’t always worked. Over a year ago, I was held up by gunpoint (two guns, because wtf) outside of my house and my car was stolen. I waited about 24 hours to call my parents to tell them what happened and I experienced a full breakdown. I am talking a gran mal seizure level breakdown. There was no performance, no downplaying. I was traumatized and scared and still in shock. The incident was too fresh, too new. Tears flowed and I jaggedly explained to them what happened, gasping for breaths in between. This discard feels exactly how I felt that night when I was robbed. Helpless, scared, shocked, angry, vulnerable, in disbelief. What just happened to me? Why is this happening to me?

I am grasping at straws on day 5 (or is technically day 4?) Every therapist will tell you during a traumatic experience, you need to find a way to make it to the next day. It doesn’t have to be pretty, but you need to start removing yourself from the power the traumatic event has over you so you can make it back to your full, authentic self. I did a lot of work on this after the robbery, thinking - albeit incorrectly - that the chances of me experiencing these myriad emotions again would be highly unlikely. I mean, clearly these multi-layered thoughts and fears and emotions could only be tied to something as universally traumatizing as robbery by gunpoint, right? What I am realizing, is I honestly thought I wouldn’t have to experience this level of trauma again. Like, the law of probability wouldn’t allow something like this happen to me again. I mean, what were the chances of me getting robbed by gunpoint again? But I was robbed again, there just wasn’t a gun. When you get discarded, you are robbed of the opportunity to have a conversation, to discuss what happened, accept the outcome, feel the grief, and then begin the healing journey. All of this is stolen from you, your brain trying and failing to make sense of what just happened while your body remains in shock.