After a very restless night that included waking up what felt like every hour for no reason whatsoever, my alarm went off and I checked the temps. 73 degrees. I should run. 73 degrees is a God send. Lay in bed until 2nd alarm goes off. Continue laying in bed for what feels like a very long time guilting myself over not taking advantage of these "cool" temps. Get up, get ready for a run, brush teeth and recheck the weather (which now says 78 degrees at 75% humidity, which I don't like being trick-sied at ALL, Weather App), go to living room and sit in the recliner (which I rarely sit in) and actually think to myself, "Wow this chair feels like it's hugging me." Put on my running shoes and just sit there. Not moving, watching the clock as the minutes pass. 3 minutes, 5 minutes, 7 minutes. I should go run. I don't want to run. I should go run. I don't want to run. I don't want to do anything. I just want to sit here. I should accomplish something if I'm not going on a run. I could do a yoga video. I could just sit here. I should do something.
Yep, not going on a run. Instead get up and put down the dog food and let the dogs in and prepare dinner in the crockpot. Let the dogs back out and get in the shower. Self-actualize about the fact that I'd really like to cry but can't. I don't have feelings in this state. I just go through the motions until something changes or I crack. This time, something will change before I crack. I know that. Which sucks, because crying would seriously be a nice relief.
Part of me secretly read Hyperbole and a Half because it deals with depression and maybe it would help me. My depression isn't like that. It's not rendering me unable. Instead, it's making me a robot... and fat, but more importantly a robot. I think that's a direct effect of being told, "No, I don't love you, but I want to love you." I'm not certain on that, but I have a feeling if I were to talk to a shrink, they might agree with me.
I've stopped really talking to my friends, because I don't want to be that person who bitches about the same thing day in and day out and doesn't do anything about it. I'm not sure if I'm doing them a favor or not. What this really means is that I'm not really talking to anyone about the problems. I'm just holding them close to my heart, waiting to play my hand when the time comes. There are several people that remind me that they are availble to listen to me rant/get things off my chest, but sometimes, there's just something about sitting in the same room with a person and telling them about your problems. A closeness that modern communication methods don't give; giving assurance that things will be ok, even if they aren't ok right now, they will be eventually.
Part of me is reckless in the same way Brosh talked about, you eventually attain that lack of feeling towards anything and you feel invincible. The problem with that invincible feeling is that it doesn't stop you from crashing into a wall and the hurt occurring, it just makes you ignore the parts of your brain that tell you, "Hey dumbass, this is going to hurt," while you do it and then after you're all, "Shit. Fuck. Damn. Son of a bitch that hurt." (That's actually the exact order I'd say those things in outloud. Yay for accuracy!)
This recklessness is also part of the reason I've withdrawn from my friends. I'm at that say anything point and the wrong people to burn are those close to me. And that whole bitching about shit that I could change but haven't isn't something I wouldn't want to hear about day in and day out, so I don't subject them to that. I'm also struggling with the lack of close friends in SC. This is really my own fault because I don't really get out and do anything outside of my normal modus operandi to meet people. I go to work, I go to the gym, I go home. Rinse, repeat. I considered branching out and doing organized group runs that Fleet Feet puts on, but they are so far away and on Monday evenings which is when it's hot and miserable.
I'm full of excuses for everything. I'm full of apathy. I'm full of ...................
I signed a lease for a house. I'm moving out.
I went home after work and waited for Mr. Scrooge to come home and bombarded him at the door with my announcement because the world's shittiest realtors happen to be the property managers of the current house and an email that I had sent was replied to and copied to 4 people, including myself and Mr. Scrooge.
The biggest truth? I'm relieved. I'm stressed because so many things have to be taken care of, but I'm relieved to be getting out of a situation that has caused me much heartache and stress. For every moment I'm relieved and exited, I dread it and I worry that I'm making the wrong choice. When Mr. Scrooge "doesn't understand" and I'm giving him my list of reasons, they seem invalid, even though I know they are completely valid.
But what really made me KNOW that I made the best decision for me?
Mr. Scrooge repeating to me that he still "wanted to love" me after I told him that his NOT loving me was a reason that I was moving out.
Technically, we classified this as a relationship in March 2014. In October 2014, we moved in together. After 9-15 months (depending on if you want to be technical or not), I'm tired of waiting to be loved. I'm not asking him to change because that is unreasonable. Truthfully, even if he did change, we'd come back to these same issues a month from now, a year from now, 5 years from now and it's just not worth it to me.
So I'm moving on. We'll see where the relationship goes from here, but in the Benjamin Button way of this relationship, I have my guesses.
So here's to new beginnings and moving and being overwhelmed at all the things.