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I feel like a failure, and I have no idea how to come back from it.
Even though I still have a semi-successful career as a journalist, part of me wonders if that’s going to fall apart too.
The rest of the world moved on while I was stuck in limbo.
When I was stuck trying to win the love of a man who can’t love anyone but himself.
Why the fuck did I waste so much time on him?
Because you married him. And you don’t like giving up. Even when you know you should.
“Babe, there’s nothing wrong with going to therapy. You need someone to talk to.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m not a licensed therapist, and unless you start paying me—”
“I can do that.”
“I was kidding,” Savannah continues. I can hear the exasperation in her voice. “You do realize that even if you did pay me, it still won’t work. I’m not supposed to be the one helping you.”
“Then let me eat ice cream and binge-watch The Bachelorette. That’s all the therapy I need.”
“You can discuss that with your therapist. Anyway, look I’ve got to go. I’ve got leftover pizza to eat and a whole lot of assignments that need correcting. And I’ve got a pop quiz to prepare for.”
“Alright, alright. Jeez, I get it.”
“You’re going to be fine. Message me when you’ve got your bag. Is someone picking you up?”
I stare at the bags spinning in a large circle and sigh. “Yeah, but I’m starting to think I should’ve sprung for something fancier. And fucking Trevor should’ve paid for this whole thing. He’s the one who needs therapy.”
“I agree. But unless you can figure out a way to forge his signature or something, it’s all on you, girl.”
I run a hand over my face. “I hate it when you make sense. Okay, I’ll message you before I get into the car. Just remember that I won’t be able to use my phone much. They have some policy about laptops and phones. We’re only allowed to use them for like an hour a day.”
“True! I forgot about that. In that case, I’m so glad I didn’t come! Talk to you later, babe.”
“Talk to you later.”
When Savannah hangs up, I glance around at the cluster of people waiting. The knots in my stomach tighten.
I miss my best friend already. And I really hate that I’m out here on my own. Still, I try to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing.
Between the therapy and a near-total social media purge, I’m hoping this retreat delivers on everything it’s promising.
Including rest and rejuvenation.
Because I desperately need to feel like I’m not floating around, aimless and lost.
A part of me can already hear Trevor’s critical voice in my head. Dragging me through the mud like he always did.
Another part of me keeps reliving the day I woke up to his horrible mess.
When I saw Trevor in his den, leftover food and take-out boxes littering every surface, a pair of headphones pulled low over his head, something in me broke.
I realized that I’d had enough.
I’m still not sure what it was about seeing Trevor like that that made me snap.
