An ugly truth | 10.12.18
Preface: I wrote this while in a dark place. When the bottom fell out last fall, Matt had been traveling for work all week. I dreaded his return, not because I didn’t miss him like hell, but because I knew it meant I’d have to act like everything was fine. Then I realized there was another option. Rather than set us both up for failure—by acting like everything was fine then getting upset when he didn’t recognize the lie—I decided to tell the truth. Naming and claiming my feelings changed everything.
Hi,
I’m excited you’re coming back today. It’s felt like forever. You’re going to ask how my week was when you get home, well, maybe. I’ll exhaust my energy trying to look busy, too. You might have to get on calls or do some work. If you do I’ll say it was fine and we’ll move on.
Here’s what it was really like. I had one of the worst weeks ever. I needed this to be the week I got motivated about work again. I read some stupid horoscope last week that correctly said I was in a philanthropic place but some moon was moving over some planet or some shit which would light my spark, set me on fire professionally this week. That sounded uncomfortable and scary, but needed, as I’m on deadline for my biggest client yet. And weeks behind. My own deadlines, not theirs. It’s now Friday morning and still no fire.
The last actual meal I ate was Monday night, after you left. I reheated that delicious pasta you left. I had electricity running through me all night so I was up grading papers until after 1. A girlfriend texted, she misses me + wants to catch up. Which really means she wants to see what I’m like in person right now so she can have answers when people ask her what’s going on with me. Like a zoo animal. We made plans for Wednesday. That gives me two full days to prepare. To write my script. To make it believable. To memorize it.
Tuesday I got up early and went to SoulCycle. It felt amazing. Then I was barely able to get off the couch all day and didn’t shower and take my dirty workout clothes off till 430. I wasn’t sore from class. But my whole body hurt. I didn’t do anything all day. I have work I need to do. But I’m incapable of doing it. Of making progress.
I did read about this blogger who makes $10k a month taking online surveys. I can’t believe that. She lists the ones she uses. I sign up for seven of them. I start getting surveys to take right away. I know this isn’t productive but it’s something. And I can say I’m doing market research. It’s good to take other people’s surveys. See how they ask questions. I can’t believe it - I’m taking a [redacted] survey. I think it might be their weekly one with [redacted]. Now I’m watching different Comcast commercials and they want me to rate them and tell them which one I like best. I watch them each probably 10 times. I want to get this right.
I only stop because I hear someone coming inside the house. I’m upstairs. I tell myself it’s the cleaning ladies. It’s the right day and time for them. But I still squat at the top of the stairs to listen for clues. I think I’m making Sammy anxiety ridden, too. She sits there with me, not moving a muscle. Maybe she’s listening for the clues, too.
We must’ve both heard the familiar sounds and voices so we went down and said hi. They don’t talk much. I start to straighten everything up. It’s already straight. I haven’t done anything all week.
There’s a hurricane coming on tv. I had to mute it. It’s going to be so bad for those people. I feel so bad but I don’t know those people.
I go upstairs while they work downstairs. I sit on my bed wishing I could get back in it while I tell Comcast what I really think about their ads and finish the survey. I sit on the bed and do it there instead. I don’t want to cleaning ladies to talk about me. Wanda would tell Matt I was in bed doing nothing. Worse, what if she tells his mom?! She’d worry.
More surveys keep coming in. I’ve already made $10. I do more surveys. There are so many questions about fast food restaurants and grocery shopping, it’s almost like I had breakfast. Feeling nourished again, I realize my laptop is downstairs.
Oh no. They’re going to know I’m not working. But too much time’s gone by, I can’t go get it now. They’ll know I’m faking it. So I start straightening the rooms upstairs. They probably appreciate this. And it means they’ll be done faster and leave if I help. Who has people clean their house while they’re home and not doing anything? I should’ve left. I meant to leave. I don’t like this. But I guess I like it more than cleaning it myself. They probably hate me. That’s why they don’t talk to me. I consider studying Spanish again, that way I’d know what they’re saying about me. Maybe if I can make $100 on these surveys while they’re here, I’ll feel better about it.
I get my laptop finally and do nothing on it. They leave and I finally shower at 430 and I didn’t know what to do next. You text that you’re taxiing on an early flight. I didn’t even know you were going to Nashville today. So there’s that. I guess I should’ve asked. Pretty sure I would’ve once upon a time.
I don’t want to think about that so I take Sammy for a walk and get the mail on the way back in. You call from the ride to your hotel. I have no idea who you’re even there with. We talk for 15-20 mins till I get annoyed you’re trying to check in and talk to me at the same time.
I sit down and use the post it notes to analyze the differences in a magazine’s marketing materials that arrived in the mail today, but not for the work I need to be doing with them. I waste a lot of time doing this. It feels good to be working even if I’m not. It’s work related! -ish. Like the surveys!
I should post this to Instagram so people know I’m working and that I’m still as smart as I used to be. Lots of people respond to my story about this and they’re so impressed. That’s really nice to hear.
I am able to write then, so I do that. Then I couldn’t stop. And it wasn’t work related.
I never was able to eat on Tuesday. I tried an olive and it tasted awful. Where did my appetite go? Am I actually starving but just lazy? I had some red wine and wrote.
And wrote.
And wrote.
And felt.
And hurt.
On the verge of tears all day but never really cried. Just felt like it. I have the idea to set an alarm at 1140, before midnight, to remind myself to text you I’m going to bed. Even though that won’t be until hours later. I go to bed at normal times when you’re home and don’t understand why I don’t when you’re not with me and I don’t want you to worry even though I don’t think you actually would. You’d probably just be annoyed by me.
Wednesday I got up at 730 only because the AC guy was coming. I thought I was going to die. It felt like the walls and ceiling were going to crush me. Then I remembered I just needed some food. But I felt heavy as a rock. I felt like I was sinking. This feeling is awful, whatever it is. I’m not sick. I’m not hungover. I’m in pain. All I wanted to do was stay in bed for the rest of the day. The AC guy called to say he was late. But I had real clothes on and set up my laptop and some post-its to make it look like I was super busy and professional.
Just like those pics of Trump fake working and being busy in the Oval Office, I tried to convince or impress this AC repairman - look at me! I’m not bitching about your [AC guy] tardiness because I have no where I need to be today! No office or colleagues to fool! When you ask me to go upstairs and turn the heat on, I’m going to become convinced you’re going to follow me upstairs and do something ungodly to me. And I left my phone downstairs. I wonder if I should actually turn the heat on. The heat will make this so much worse for Sammy and she needs to be ok.
And you [Matt] don’t come home for three more days. The heat won’t help how you’ll find me then and I feel bad about that for you. I guess [friend] would notice when I don’t show tonight. But we don’t really have nailed down plans. So she’d probably be relieved when she texts later to ask where and when we should meet and I don’t answer.
So that’s why I walked up the stairs backwards or sideways, always looking behind me to make sure you [AC guy] didn’t follow me. You probably didn’t even notice, AC guy, but that’s why. I survived. I turned the heat on. It works.
I ate three cereal bars while he was here. He probably thought I was a psycho. What if he was scared of me too? I asked a bunch of questions about the new AC. All ones I knew the answers to because I wasted my time googling them while he was late. But it was nice to talk to someone in this house, even if only for a few minutes. He left.
I was so proud I remembered to turn the heat off as soon as I locked the door behind him. I didn’t feel like I was going to die anymore which was nice but I didn’t do anything for hours.
I sat.
I felt sad, lost, confused, scared, unsettled.
I really needed to work.
Begging myself to do some damn work. Or even do something. Anything! But all I could do was focus on motivating for having to move my body later. Leave the house. Put my mask back on. Or maybe tonight I’d leave it at home. Who knows. I definitely need to shower and wash my hair. That helps people think you have it together.
Later while I’m still just sitting downstairs I hear a key enter our front door and I grabbed Sammy right as I hear it turn and unlock. Cleaning ladies? No that was yesterday. Maybe Matt? Oh no does he know I’m a total mess, is he worried and home early? Did AC guy tell him? Or was it the cleaning ladies?
I’ve never noticed how much time it really takes to unlock a door and open it. Finally I see a man I don’t know and have never seen before. Holy shit.
He’s coming inside. Why is he coming inside? Who the hell is he?! “Hi Sammy,” he says. I start to tremble. But I don’t let go of Sammy.
“Sammy who is this?” I want to ask an animal. “Why is your tail wagging while you bark?”
Do I know this guy and I’m just losing my mind? Is that what this feeling is? Sometimes I don’t recognize people I should. But he has a key! People with keys are important and you remember them.
I ask if I can help him. What a dumb question. To ask an intruder probably here to kill me. “The dog walker,” he tells me. “So sorry, must’ve gotten days wrong. A mixup!”
I ask his name and introduce myself after all this time of never meeting my dog walker. Like the responsible dog mom I am. I don’t shake his hand because I don’t want him to know it’s shaking uncontrollably. He backs out the door and locks it.
I’m so glad I was wearing work clothes and my laptop was open. I’m still shaking and think my heart is going to burst through my chest. I text you, maybe you know why he came today. Maybe you sent him, worried about Sammy. But you don’t know anything.
Then I feel bad I didn’t let him take Sammy for a walk. She could’ve used the exercise even though I’ve walked her a lot this week. He could’ve used the work probably. I could’ve used the time to catch my breath, if only I could remember where I left it.
After all morning of not being able to do anything but sit on the couch, now I can’t stop moving. I walk in and out of the kitchen a bunch of times. I need to eat. That’ll help. Sammy gets excited when I start moving things around in the kitchen. She comes to watch. It hurts but I reach for the avocado you said was ripe. You were right I think. I start to slice it, then things start feeling normal again. So I go wild and cut an onion. Then cilantro. And a lime. Next thing I know I’m making guacamole! Olé!
I get some chips, I even toast two tortillas because that goes with guacamole too, right? Plain, toasted tortillas? Yes.
I am able to sit again, so relieved I can sit down to this meal that I made. I feel ridiculously proud - I made guacamole. It’s like a real meal. Definitely could be part of one. I feel the most normal I’ve felt all week. It’s going to be fine.
I get excited about having plans in a few hours so I text [girlfriend] to make them. Girl, that’s some initiative! I even do a little work. Sort of, I email my client and move my self-imposed deadline to next week. I breathe a little easier.
I see something on instagram about world mental health day. Some fake hashtag holiday. I click on it for some reason. It’s amazing! All these people talking about their feelings and all these other things I totally get, lots even describing what I’ve felt all day. It was like that on twitter too. I felt so normal. So seen. So understood. I wrote a new Lies so I could feel heard too.
Am I taking this Lies thing too far? [Girlfriend] texts that she’s en route to meet me. I haven’t showered or washed my hair. So I take Sammy for a walk. I rush to throw on makeup. I’m wearing real clothes so it’s fine. I race out the door, running late. The 7-minute walk all I think about is how dumb it is that I’m going to be late. I wasn’t even doing anything. I beat her there.
The first few minutes are so hard. I’m out of practice. We have months to catch up on. Baths aren’t very social, apparently.
She asks a very personal, leading question... sooo, what’s new? What’s been going on?
I spend about 10 mins listing the itinerary of the last few months. It’s easy to list off places. Eventually I feel normal sitting there and talking to her. She only wants to talk about me which is uncomfortable and I try unsuccessfully to pivot to her. We talk about N.C. and my idea for there. She asks about Lies. That’s really why she wanted to catch up. But it’s easier to be honest about every time someone asks. I like that feeling. She really likes Lies and relates. I love that. She can’t believe you don’t read them before I publish them which I think is weird, but it makes me feel really brave.
I hoped we would order food, because I’m starving, but she didn’t want any. We just split a bottle of rosé and called it a night, both tired. I really was finally. She dropped me off and I started writing and posted my Lies.
You text me and ask how my day was. I loved that. So I say honestly it was weird and I’m unmotivated and hope you’ll probe a little. You don’t react or respond at all. You text about the photo of Sammy I posted. I once again remember how awkward honesty is and how much easier it is to not be that. I set alarms to remind me to put your farmer bags outside. I had to get that right. Kept the one alarm from night before to text you goodnight so you wouldn’t think something was up, and kept writing. It was 230. My alarm was set for 530. I went to bed.
The alarm goes off Thursday and I stare at it. It takes me 10 mins to get out of bed, which means I’m going to be late for SoulCycle. I don’t want to go and I desperately do. I’m actually a minute late which has never happened. It’s stressful to set your bike up in pitch black darkness with music pounding and thirty something sets of eyeballs on you. I get in the groove and have a really great ride.
I have to teach class alone today and haven’t made my presentation or lecture. I’m so relieved to have these kids forcing me to pull myself together this week. I have to shower AND wash my hair. For real. I knock out a really strong deck and lecture, it comes really easily once I start. I’m teaching data and analytics today. I got this. I do shower. I do wash and dry my hair. I even help the neighbor move some furniture.
Then of course I’m late.
Yet I make it to campus 20 mins early.
Earlier classes must not have let out yet because there are no empty parking spots so I sit and wait for one. To distract myself from worrying about what happens if one never does, I look at Instagram. Oh! Another hashtag holiday. I could join this convo, too. So I write.
Finally a space opens up. I get to class and actually manage to get the projector and my deck all set up with time to spare. Go time. It’s hard to tell if they’re paying attention with all the laptops and phones out. I see a smirk on one side of the room, then one on the opposite side. I’m convinced they’re making fun of me. Or emailing the university asking for their parents’ money back for this fraud of a teacher they got stuck with. It’s almost fall break. So I let them go a little early to get a head start on it. Definitely didn’t do it because I couldn’t stand the anxiety anymore. Lots of them come say thanks before leaving, some stay to talk to me after class and get my professional advice on things. Maybe they don’t hate me.
I go across to Starbucks. There’s all this commotion. Then the cops come. A homeless man tried to attack the store manager. I just sat there. I was curious what had happened but I wasn’t scared. Maybe because of all the people there. Maybe it’s because the cops are there. Maybe it’s because no one got hurt and the guy ran off. Maybe because when you get used to watching your life on a projector, you forget it’s actually happening in real time.
But it’s weird to have felt all these near death experiences this week and then the only actual potential danger has no effect on me. My head is actually scarier than the real world. Great. That’s a lovely development.
I pick up my phone to text you about Starbucks several times but I put it back down every time. Definitely not something you’d tell me about. Maybe you’re trying to lead by example. I overshare in hopes it’ll rub off on you just a little but it never does. Maybe *that’s* what you’re doing. Which is funny since I’ve been doing it too and we’re just canceling each other’s efforts out. It’s not that I’m so unimportant you can’t be bothered to tell me things. It’s the Gift of the Motherfucking Magi! That’s a relief. Maybe I should follow suit. Try your way for once. You seem fine all the time.
It’s late afternoon by this point and I do a little work but barely. I mostly wonder if [girlfriends] are coming to visit or not this weekend. It’s making me anxious and I can’t get answers so I don’t know what to do.
I haven’t talked to my mom much lately. Afraid of what I’ll say. I text her to see if she’s free for a call. Then instantly regret it. She says she’ll call in 20. I spend the next 20 minutes trying to think up really good excuses for why I’m going to intentionally miss her call. I don’t have the energy for this. I either have to fake it through the call or open the vault. Both options are exhausting.
I think about how great my last meal was, that guac. And how normal making it and eating it felt. I want that again. I grab the butternut squash and try to make it without texting you. It gives me the energy to answer the phone when mom calls.
We do our normal dance at start. Hate how bad she’s been feeling. Then we’re talking about the hurricane and how it’s made me feel and I tell her my idea. She thinks it’s good and she’s done a lot of work in relief areas so she would know.
It’s a shame ideas don’t build themselves. That’d be so much easier.
Then we talk about fake internet holidays and my opening up. It’s been making her really happy. I tell her how it’s just pouring off my fingertips and I can’t make it stop. Rosé makes it easier too. I’m not sure that’s a good or bad thing but know I want it all out of me so whatever does it I’ll take.
We talked about how we want to go to couple’s therapy and give it our best shot. She says it’s so good you’re willing to go to therapy. I agree. She’s proud I’m letting myself feel things finally and even share them out loud. It does help. A lot. She blames it all on my dad. It’s not his fault. I’m honestly over the divorce. I know they’re both better off without each other.
But that timeline terrifies me and is undeniably related to my dad’s affair. I made you my security blanket basically from the start and let it go too far.
Now here I am wanting more, needing more. It feels so unfair to you. I’ve changed. I feel like a different person and you’re the same. You were a good one to start. We talk for more than 3 hours. She’s yawning but just let me keep going. Until I got tired, too. I went to sleep earlier which felt good. I slept with music on.
Woke up this morning and wasted time writing this. Not sure I’ll share it. It feels unfair to share it with you. It feels unfair not to. You and [girlfriends] are both getting here this afternoon. I have so much work to do. Instead I’ll probably straighten the place up and make it nice for your arrivals. Neither of you will notice. Which is fine. Not every little thing has meaning to you. I wish I had that super power. Now I’m crying and don’t have time to cry today. Maybe I’ll shower now cause I can do both in there, shower and cry, conveniently. The good news is it was chilly here this morning. I love that. It feels like the start of something new. I’m excited you’re coming back now. And excited about my girls’ weekend. It’s going to be fun. And hopefully all of that will make me feel more normal. I definitely don’t want to feel like I have this week anymore.
It’s been the worst.