There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. -- William Shakespeare


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But did you die

Maybe a little. 


I’ve decided that I just need to deal. I just need to feel what I need to feel and get over it. 


In cognitive behavioral theory much of the focus is on automatic thoughts and repetitive thoughts. As a man thinketh in his heart so is he… right?


So I have been trying to catch the automatic repetitive thoughts that are…. making me sad. I’ve got to change those to something better… drowning them in sertraline is not really going to work long term.


I don’t think I mentioned that one of my side effects from that stuff is I don’t dream. I have always loved and cherished my vivid dream life.  It’s part of what made living in my head so nice. So… I’ve stopped the medication and my dreams are coming back little by little. 


In one I run into John on a ferry. It’s crowded and neither of us saw the other until we were awkwardly standing chest to chest inches apart. The awkwardness is everything I would expect it to be. We resign ourselves to talking as we both want and don’t want to do. What’s the point? He looks at me like he did before- like he’s thinking dirty things and doesn’t want me to know except now he looks sad and he says, You have it easy you can replace me in a minute- it wasn’t easy to leave you, that’s why I couldn’t see you again. But if I stayed for you I would end up blaming you… and you’re…  he touches my hair … you’re blameless. Fuck! He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at his feet and I feel him pulling away.  I’m terrified of him pulling away and with both hands before I can even think I grab his sweater and keep him from retreating. My voice sounds small and frail, nothing like me as I say No… you don’t realize that every stupid piece of me loved, hell loves you… wants you… shit. “before we get attached” you said well I was attached. My voie cracks and gets hoarse as I choke back these tears. He’s stunned. He didn’t know. He had assumed whatever he had told himself to make leaving possible. I continue, Why couldn’t I keep you… I’ve been good my whole life- my whole fucking life John and then I met you and you’re… you’re fucking perfect for me the way you look at me, the way you touch me, the way you talk to me… his body is pressed against mine now I don’t know how that happened but I’m short on breath an his eyes are looking heavy and are fixed on my mouth and I can feel him getting firmer against me so I just briefly run my hand on his inner thigh and his face gets that look and he draws a quick breath through pursed lips and he steps away from me and I let him because we both know he has to, and that face, I tell him,  I love that face. Why can’t I keep it?! I deserve to be happy… he’s taking slow, steady, purposeful breaths in an effort to regain control of himself. I wipe angrily at my face now aware the tears are definitely falling. 


I just... I miss you... and... I'm sorry.... I don't know what I'm apologizing about, the situation perhaps? The hopelessness of it. 








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