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rivkaI'm being an idiot.
Last weekend - really - I felt bathed in love and acceptance from beginning to end. I was radiantly happy. I felt so at home. All this week, I've been able to reach back and touch that warmth of belonging. It's all been so good.
Today, damn it, I've been sucked into endless rehearsals of a poisonous script. Under the spotlight: every stupid thing I said. Awkward moments. Teasing comments ("Wow, Rivka, you really are a control freak") which in my head have picked up the weight of full-scale condemnations. I spent five minutes trying to word a response to "what made you feel included?" in the Jennie's-questions thread that didn't sound presumptuous, like I was claiming more acceptance than I'd actually been offered. I couldn't think of one.
Today, in my head, I'm convinced that I spent the con being overbearing and loud and rude and controlling, and that the people who seemed to like me don't like me as much as I thought. And through every minute of this litany I know I'm being utterly ridiculous. I'm missing Ben and feeling bereft and it's bleeding through in stupid ways. I know that's what it is. But insight seems to be doing me limited good.
I don't even want to be writing this. At best, it comes off as irritatingly neurotic neediness. At worst - Christ, what's less attractive than someone who's been showered with attention and affection making a big public play for more? How many times have I rolled my eyes at that sort of thing in the past? I exasperate myself!
Okay. It's nearly two, time for - heh - group therapy. I'm disabling comments on this entry, because it would feel too self-serving to invite them. If you have some vibes to spare, however, I'd appreciate if you'd direct them towards hopes that I'll snap the fuck out of it.
Last weekend - really - I felt bathed in love and acceptance from beginning to end. I was radiantly happy. I felt so at home. All this week, I've been able to reach back and touch that warmth of belonging. It's all been so good.
Today, damn it, I've been sucked into endless rehearsals of a poisonous script. Under the spotlight: every stupid thing I said. Awkward moments. Teasing comments ("Wow, Rivka, you really are a control freak") which in my head have picked up the weight of full-scale condemnations. I spent five minutes trying to word a response to "what made you feel included?" in the Jennie's-questions thread that didn't sound presumptuous, like I was claiming more acceptance than I'd actually been offered. I couldn't think of one.
Today, in my head, I'm convinced that I spent the con being overbearing and loud and rude and controlling, and that the people who seemed to like me don't like me as much as I thought. And through every minute of this litany I know I'm being utterly ridiculous. I'm missing Ben and feeling bereft and it's bleeding through in stupid ways. I know that's what it is. But insight seems to be doing me limited good.
I don't even want to be writing this. At best, it comes off as irritatingly neurotic neediness. At worst - Christ, what's less attractive than someone who's been showered with attention and affection making a big public play for more? How many times have I rolled my eyes at that sort of thing in the past? I exasperate myself!
Okay. It's nearly two, time for - heh - group therapy. I'm disabling comments on this entry, because it would feel too self-serving to invite them. If you have some vibes to spare, however, I'd appreciate if you'd direct them towards hopes that I'll snap the fuck out of it.
