Another blow-up with Frank

Well. Yeah. Right.

So, no lessons learned and not moving on aside, they effect me, the blow-ups. If I'm in a bad place, they take me somewhere worse, if I'm good, they hollow the goodness out.

It feels like it's too banal and teen angsty to have any real impact. You know that whole "devote your life to getting hitched but don't be so fucking hysterical if it doesn't, oh ", for fuck's sake, lighten up, he is just not that into you, m'kay?" thing.

On the other hand, I have known him for so long, it should hurt to loose him.

My old therapist called it a fixation. My friends don't want to talk about him, they have given their advice, I didn't take it. My current therapist mumbled something about how it's not exactly masochism.

But then there is this: even though it seems like he could walk away whenever he wants to, he has a black belt in extended silence treatment, but he hasn't, see, he hasn't walked away.

Remember, therapist also said it's a non-trivial relationship for him...

See, how I do that, building castles in the air?

Fixation. It's such dirty, disgusting, pathetic word. All in my head, see? It's not true, though. It's not the whole truth, anyway. I know it isn't.

No comments:

Post a Comment