I’m sitting here waiting for my boyfriend of 5 months to call me, like he always does after he gets off from work. His hours vary, so I just go about my business with an ear out for his special ringtone that I’ve assigned to him.
But as the minutes tick by, I start to get anxious, just like I did when I was a young girl, waiting for my dad to come home from his weekly Tuesday evening out. He (now deceased over 30 years) was the king of introverts and loved his alone time. He’d even go to movies all by himself, which I admire greatly.
The anxiety? Yeah, that stuff runs in my veins.
Maybe today is the day that my boyfriend dumps me, I start to think. Or else he got hurt while cutting tomatoes or something like that. My mind is a hatchery for negative thought eggs that smell like sulfur when they crack open.
Being in a new relationship after being cheated on and emotionally manipulated, abused and used for 15 years…let’s just say that my baggage is heavy and my self-esteem is as delicate as a house of cards, my mental health is teetering.
Yeah, I remember I was like that with my boyfriend after my divorce. Sucks. It’ll get better though. Somewhat. Hopefully. Oh hell, I’m not going to lie. Sometimes it does, sometimes it don’t. ❤
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I think it runs too deep to go away. ❤
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If that old phone rang I’m not sure I’d know how to answer it. I understand where you’re coming from on the “waiting for a call” thing, though.
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See, this is why I dream sometimes about living on an island all by myself, eating coconuts.
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