Maybe go Drop Kick Yourself Off a Cliff




I have more to share about my in-patient experience. I think it’s so important to get those details out there for folks that might be on the fence about it. I can’t say I’ll persuade you to do it. But hopefully honest information can help.


I also really want to get back to the whole “Chasing Kitty” idea. The big, bold plans I have.

But I’m pretty down tonight. I’m still reeling from the in-patient experience and even though the meds have helped stabilize me, I’m pretty overwhelmed and miserable. I’m not feeling hopeful tonight.


I am, however, feeling retrospective. I’m trying to piece together what ended me up here, drinking in my tub, writing this sad post.


I think I’ll start with the most recent and eventually work my way back.


My most recent drama has been the wrestler. A funny, charismatic guy that I’ve known via social media for years who I hooked up with through a dating app and who completely swept off my feet.

I should mention that my ex-husband (a genuinely good guy) is also a wrestler and this is completely a coincidence. Honestly, its not even my type. I’m talking ‘rassler here. You know, WWE style. Yeah. Weird that there were two in my life.


This wrestler, he was all smooth talk and sweetness. Didn’t hurt that he’s hot to boot. Me and my little heart never stood a chance.


Now, I said before that my recent break wasn’t about a boy. And it isn’t. It’s about my years of depression and the past few months spiraling (that was happening well before I met the wrestler). But he was the match to my gasoline and there is a reason why.


I have mentioned that my last three years of therapy ended rather abruptly. That’s a story that takes a lot of explaining. But suffice to say, it left me a little vulnerable. But I was out there, doing the dating thing, learning how to be a single lady. Then the wrestler swooped in.

He said all the right things. He made me feel so pretty. We had an instant chemistry. Sure, he lived in another town an hour and a half south of here, but the drive didn’t bother me. He texted and left sweet voice messages everyday. When we were together, I felt ecstatic and he was making sure that I knew that I was always on his mind. My deadlines and schoolwork and everything else that were overwhelming me did not matter. I had my wrestler making each day seem dreamy.


We started out strong, but began to fade after Thanksgiving. He was so busy and had a kid and I respected both his work and family obligations. Every time we'd schedule a date, it would get a last minute cancellation. I started offering to flex my schedule to make things easier, and he avoided committing to anything.

Weeks went by without an official date. I began to feel a little frantic. I think at this point, most people with an iota of self-respect would have put the kibosh on things. Sweet words don't mean a lot if someone isn't putting in the time to see you.


My wrestler's big persona requires a big social media presence. I followed him and loved everything he posted. Eventually I noticed I wasn’t the only woman doing that. One in particular kept showing up. Heart eye emojis and all.


I tried to tell myself to play it cool. I didn't know the whole story. Don't be weird, I thought. So, in a total effort of not being weird, I checked out her social media. There was my wrestler, all over it, loving all her posts and commenting flirty things. Okay. Okay. They could still be just friends.


But I wanted to talk to him. Tell him how I felt, that I was falling for him and wanted a chance to treat him right. My heart, it was a goner. Unfortunately so was my brain. My gut, not so much. It had been screaming at me for weeks “if he wanted to see you, he would make time. There is another woman. He’s playing you.” But my dumb heart and brain told my gut to shut up.


Come Christmas time and it had been a month since our last proper date (and what a date that was) and I was now determined to see my wrestler. I could visit on the way up or back from my parents. It was sort of on the way and totally made sense. I offered to flex my schedule to his, changing my plans three different times in the hope that he would invite me to his place. Three times he cancelled on me.


I know. I can feel your judgement from here. I'm quite acquainted with the pathetic feeling. But here's the thing about me. I'm going to believe the best in someone until I have hard proof. I'm going to give it my all if I like someone. I'm willing to put myself out there.


I'm willing, apparently, to be played a fool.


I left my parents after Christmas brokenhearted and went home instead of to my wrestler's place. I tried to keep myself from looking at social media and checking up on him. I told myself things would be better in the new year.


That lasted a couple of hours before I checked her page. She had posted about her manfriend coming to Christmas dinner, and there was plenty of proof in the post that her manfriend was my wrestler. I had proof. She was the other woman.


It almost wasn’t even the other woman that bothered me. It was the fact that I had tried so hard to see him and he had blown me off so many times, yet he had made time for her. Still my damn heart and my absolute low self-esteem kept pushing me to find the real answer. Surely it was a misunderstanding. Surely he couldn't say such wonderful things to me and not mean them.


I know. Friends. I really know. This blog isn't about me looking good, its about me exploring the dumpster fire choices I've made thus far and how I can be better. Such is my life. This is my most recent dumpster fire.


I begged and begged to talk to him, to meet in person, or, if that didn’t work, to at least FaceTime. My sad head thought if I can tell him what I feel it’ll be OK and he’ll tell me she’s just a friend.


My wrestler ignored my pleas for FaceTime or a date and his texts became shorter and less frequent. I became more frantic, angry, and sadly pathetically desperate.


Finally I sent my wrestler a long text declaring my sweet feelings for him and how I just wanted to treat him right and see him more often. His response? None. I was totally ghosted.


You think that be the end of the story for me. That I would take up my battered pieces of pride and walk the fuck away. But hey, ho, no. I can go so much lower. That’s when I started to unravel. That’s when everything else in my life that is wrong overwhelmed me because if this one great thing couldn’t go right and everything else was going to hell, then what was the point?


My spiral started and even though it wasn't really about him, it certainly was triggered by him. And as my friends were rushing me to the ER I dramatically sent him a text screenshot of my "proof post" of the other woman and called him an asshole.


All things considered, that could have been a good stopping point for the story. And then I went to in-patient therapy, got out, realized I had been played, told him to fuck off and I lived happily ever after.


But, again dear friends, I need you to understand that I can go so low. I'm not proud.


This morning I convinced myself that he wasn't talking to me because I had overreacted. That he’s upset because I looked through his friends on social media and now he can’t trust me.

(Please, someone if you could stop me here that would be awesome).


So I sent him a message apologizing for my last outburst. In my defense, it’s really hard to know if you’re overreacting when you do something in the moments before being involuntary committed. I did call him an asshole basically as I was walking into the ER. I thought, maybe he will see that I'm committed to working this out.


Again, goddamn, I wish someone would stop me here, but it gets totally more cringe.


I was waiting for him to return my message, I decided to look at the other woman's page because I just can’t help myself.


Lo and behold, while I was in locked in the psych ward, brokenhearted, thinking about my wrestler and wondering how I could fix things, the other woman was snuggly snowed in with him. And, she helpfully commented that she visited him multiple days a week to hang with him and his kid. The kid he used as an excuse to not see me.


Folks, she wasn't the other woman. *I* was the other woman. I'm the side girl and I didn't even know it.


I once read that you should never put your happiness in someone else's hands. They will drop it every time. I believe that is true. Even people with good intentions can't be in charge of your own happiness. And it certainly can't be put in the hands of lying assholes. Your happiness has to come from yourself.


This is why my most recent spiral wasn't about the wrestler. It was about me. I had known for months that I was slipping and needed to get myself back into therapy (and had actually been trying...and was told it would be May before someone would see me). So I hyper-focused on a smooth talking, lying guy. I bought his story because I wanted it and used it as a band-aide to cover the problems in my life. And I paid a high price for it.


If he had been genuine and actually cared for me, would things have turned out differently? Maybe. Maybe it would have provided the happiness I needed to fix everything else. Maybe my story would be a happily every after. But I kind of doubt it.


I don't think anyone can provide the happiness I need except me, and maybe the wrestler was the universe's way of hitting me over the head with that lesson.


I'm developing a bit of a pattern, writing while in the tub, drinking. I kind of suspect my liver is doing overtime. But tonight I am consoling my sad heart. I can't deny that its broken. I want to cry, I want to scream, and mostly I want to punch him in the dick.


The meds won’t really let me cry right now (they have that weird side effect), screaming would scare the cats, and he’s too far away for me to punch him in the dick. But I am a writer, so I write. Even about this sad saga and my remarkable lack of self-respect.


My wrestler broke my heart. I should have never given it to him. A life lesson learned. Give me a little break. I haven't been in the dating world since I was 18, so I didn't really know about fuck boys and how the operate. I just trusted people tell the truth.


I thought being involuntarily committed was my rock bottom. But as one of my besties said, it can always get worse. And it turns out an even lower rock-bottom than sitting in a locked psych ward is sending an apology to an asshole who played me for a fool because I think I don't deserve better than that.


I’ve never lied to anyone to get them to sleep with me, I do not manipulate people, and I love fearlessly and enormously. That kind of love is a huge risk and I’m going to get hurt doing it. But I'm not going to let the likes of my wrestler change that about me.


This would’ve never gotten so far if I loved myself and respected myself the way that I should. Ironically my wrestler told me he liked that I am a "confident and bad ass roller derby skater." But I suspect he knew all along that I was a prime target for being manipulated.


I'm going to try my best to learn from this. I'll put it in my pocket going forward with my new therapy and talk about boundaries and self-respect and all that good stuff. But tonight I’m going to allow myself some grief, heartache, and anger. And a little hope that karma will punch him in the dick since I can’t.



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