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Right now, I’m debating whether I should make sure he’s okay. I don’t want to check in on him if he doesn’t want me to, but I don’t know where his head is at because instead of talking to me, or giving me something to go on, he shut me out and told me not to come back. So I’m not sure what I should do. I make an impulsive decision. Not wanting to make things worse, I set my phone aside. If Trace needs me, he knows how to get in contact with me. I should trust that he will do that.
I should probably focus on myself. I’ve never wanted to be at home with my parents more than after they left me today. The dorm has never felt lonelier. Bec has gone out somewhere, so it’s just me. I pull out my textbooks and alternate between studying and working on homework. One and a half months left. That’s it. I’m not sure if I can make it, though. It seems like such a long time, even longer when adding how I feel.
My anxiety hasn’t been too bad today, but depression is making up for it. Everything seems massively overwhelming and like so much work. It’s like everything has been bundled together to build this gigantic wall that towers over me in the most intimidating manner and my task is to climb over it. To make it worse, it’s a flat, solid wall with no footholds and zero materials are nearby to help me climb it. Thinking about everything, big or small, simply stresses me out and seems impossible.
What I want most is to lie in Trace’s recliner with him. I don’t know why it’s so comforting, but it is. What did I do before he moved here? What did I do to get some relief? I frown when I realize that before, I texted or called Trace. He’s always been the person I’ve leaned on. He’s always been my source of comfort in some way. I’m at an utter loss as to what to do since he seems to need distance.
Tired of my homework, I set it aside, crawl under the sheets of my bed, and try to sleep. My mind is oddly blank, but I’m grateful for it. I need a new thing to calm me. I guess I can bring that up in therapy tomorrow. Maybe it is a bad thing to depend too much on Trace. The thought saddens me. I close my eyes, hoping that one action will help me sleep.
“What’s bothering you today?” Mrs. Potter asks.
“You know, that’s a crappy way to start a session. Do you start them like that with all of your clients?” I pick at an imaginary spot on my sweatpants. It was not a good morning, so I went with a bra, hoodie, and sweatpants.
“Just you.” She smiles, and I force a chuckle.
“Lucky me.” I refrain from rolling my eyes.
“I’ve come to learn you always have something bothering you, but you always pretend nothing is at first,” she adds.
“I don’t pretend,” I grumble. Mrs. Potter leans back in her chair and waits me out. “I think I depend on my boyfriend too much.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always turn to him to make me feel better, but I can’t turn to him all the time. What am I supposed to do? I don’t,” I pause to search for the right word. “I don’t know how to cope otherwise. That’s bad, right?”
“How does he help you cope?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“You said you don’t know how to cope if you can’t turn to him. How does he help you cope then?”
How do I describe it to her? “He’s there,” I eventually say. “He can talk me through it, he listens to me, or he’s simply there. It’s not necessarily what he does to make me feel better. It’s that it’s him. I couldn’t get up with him yesterday, so I was left on my own. I ended up sleeping because I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t take it anymore.” And I still haven’t heard from him today.
“What do you like to do? What makes you happy?”
I shrug. Nothing comes to mind. God, is that where I am now? Where I can’t even think of one thing that makes me happy?
“There must be something.”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“Okay, that’s fine. My suggestion is that you try to do something else that makes you happy that may comfort you when he’s out of reach. You can’t solely rely on him to help you or be your happiness. That is a disaster waiting to happen. You need to find more things that can do that, and I think that’ll help.”
I nod, and my session moves on to other topics. Usually, I leave sessions feeling better, like I got everything off my chest, solved what needed solving, and was reminded on how to keep improving. This session hasn’t affected me at all. I still feel as crabby and sulky as I did before. Regardless, I force myself to attend my classes, do my best to pay attention, and suffer through it. Who would’ve thought that suffering through stuff would be an accomplishment?
Once my classes are over for the day, I head back to the dorm to get my homework done and out of the way. At this point, I don’t care what my grade will be. As long as it’s a passing grade, then I’ll be happy. I just want to get it done and over with for good.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Rebecca asks when she enters our room to find me lying in bed on my back, staring at at the ceiling.
“Nothing.”
“Bad day?” She sits down on her bed.
“When isn’t it?”
“Super bad day, then.”
I roll toward the wall with my back facing her. “I’m calling the grinch.”
