I’ve had a stomach ache since Friday afternoon. I used to get stomach aches from anxiety and stress many years ago, but lately my anxiety manifests as nausea. I’ve been nauseated too, since Friday. At first I thought, maybe I have a mild bout of gastro – seeing as how it’s going around. But given that I have still been able to eat some food, usually in the morning and into the early afternoon, with the nausea setting in after that, gastro is likely not the culprit. Saturday night, despite not eating any dinner (maybe a few cookies while I was baking), I took shelter in the bathroom, next to my trusty porcelain friend until my gravol and zofran kicked in. I probably would have thrown up if I let myself, but the nausea finally subsided into the usual shivers and chills and I brought myself back to bed. Again yesterday, I hardly ate all day and every time I did, my stomach ache would get worse. Out of fear of being nauseous at work, I hardly ate anything. Today, I thought I was feeling a little better, but I ate a bird-sized dinner, and handful of nuts as an evening snack, and now that “funny feeling” in my stomach is preventing me from finishing my nightly tea.
I had an appointment with my psychologist this morning. I told her how I’ve been feeling sick all weekend. I told her about my letter and what it said. She said she was surprised that I didn’t sound more angry and asked why I had no intention of sending it. Then I told her that I did, indeed, send it. She smirked: “Good,” she said, “I think that’s a good decision.”
It feels good to know that my psychologist (who does this stuff for a living), as well as all you here felt that I made a good decision. It doesn’t make me feel any better about what sending that letter has done to her – and to our friendship, though. My psychologist said that the letter opens the doors for open and honest communication, if that is an option for her. Given that our friendship has been stripped down to a bare skeleton comprising semi-daily fitbit challenges (and the occasional small talk associated with that), she thought that sending the letter, despite what the end result is, would be better than just letting what’s left slide into oblivion. I thought for a second that maybe she was right; over the weekend, however, the fitbit challenges have disappeared. This morning I thought I would send out an olive branch and I initiated the challenge, but she never accepted the invitation. After hours and hours of looking down at my phone and witnessing this tangible form of rejection, I withdrew the challenge and shut off the app on my phone.
I laid in bed for most of the afternoon, drifting in and out of a restless slumber. I felt sorry for myself. I wondered what I had done. I wondered what I could have done differently. I wondered if there was anything more I could do. The realization that everything is up to her and, therefore, completely out of my control, was even more depressing. This wasn’t how our friendship was supposed to turn out. I kept flashing back to a time we were together before I moved. She said to me: “We will continue to be good friends because we want to be.” I really believed it, and I really wanted it. I do really want it. Even after all of this, there must be an explanation that would make it all understandable and permissive. There must be, right? But for all of this to happen, could she have really wanted it? Was it all just a romanticized idea at the time, and now that I’m not there, it’s easier to let go? I fear that I’ll never know the real answer.
In the meantime, I am doing my best to cope – alone. And, my best is making me sick – again. What else can I do? Can the truth really set you free?