Learning not to hand my life to the next person who cares

I’m obsessing over a woman I met in therapy — and it’s showing me exactly how I’ve been trying to escape myself.

Intensive outpatient treatment might be more challenging than straight-out hospitalization.

Certainly, it presents its own, unique challenges, separate from the ones I already went through when I was in the hospital.

Like, what to do with all the time throughout the week when I’m not in the hospital… and not surrounded by other patients and staff, whose mere presence is enough to remind me that I’m not actually alone.

When I’m done with outpatient each day, I go home, to my empty apartment, and I am alone… every minute, every hour, every day, that I’m not in treatment.

And somehow, being alone now hits harder than it did before I was hospitalized.

I think it’s because I know, now, that I don’t have to be alone, if I don’t want to. In the hospital, I made friends. Both times. I barely even had to try. As soon as I knew I was safe, and comfortable, in the hospital setting, making friends was almost effortless.

But I haven’t figured out, yet, that I’m just as safe in outpatient treatment — or that I’m safe in my apartment.

I don’t feel safe when I’m alone; not the way I felt safe in the hospital. In the hospital, I knew that if I ever got overwhelmed, or if things started to spiral out of control, there was always somebody I could turn to who could help me through.

Now that I’m home, I feel like I’m on my own again, to sort all that out and to keep myself safe from my own dark thoughts and overpowering emotions. Although, I’m getting pretty good at just allowing the dark thoughts to come and go, without getting too hung up.

But my emotions are still killing me.

The pain and the intensity makes every emotion feel like it’s the end of the world.

Even happy feelings are overwhelming, right now.

The part of my brain that processes feelings can’t tell the difference between good and bad, positive and negative, helpful and harmful. It only knows that the feelings are too much for me to handle on my own.

Which makes it really hard to be alone, in my apartment…

But even harder to think about what if I go somewhere new, and meet people and start to have a good time, and then feel overwhelmed and have an emotional meltdown, in public, in front of people I barely know?

That thought keeps me from even trying to go outside, and try something new.

I still go on my walk every day, but that’s totally different. That’s me, walking alone, around my own neighborhood, on the same route I walk every day, where I know I’m safe and no one is going to bother me because I’ve got my headphones on and I’m singing along to all my favorite songs, so…

Yeah…

No one can touch me while I’m walking.

But going somewhere new? Somewhere outside my established routine?

No, thank you. I’ll pass.

I like the people in outpatient, though. I like seeing them three days a week, for three hours each day, and hearing their stories, and sharing mine, and feeling connected.

I’m terrified of what’s going to happen in another nine or ten weeks, when the staff decides I’m done with outpatient, and I’ve gotten all I can out of it, and it’s time for me to move on.

What happens when I’m done with IOP, and back to spending all of my time alone in my apartment, with nobody to ever talk to and no friends to go hang out with?

I don’t have a job.

I’m not in school.

I don’t have any hobbies that require hanging out with other people. I mean, I do love to sing, and play my harmonica, and yeah, it might be nice to do that with other people… but then again, other people might just tell me I’m no good, and to go home and not come back until I have skills worth putting on display.

And maybe other people wouldn’t even do that. Maybe I’m just imagining scenarios that make it easier for me to justify my self-isolation…

But if there are people who would treat me that way… I don’t know if I can handle that.

I think it’s safer not to take any chances.

I tried to share all that in group last Friday, in ways that are relevant to outpatient treatment and the group setting. I told everyone I’m enjoying the groups, and that, even though I’m just in my first week, I’m already afraid of what will happen when my 10-12 weeks is over, and I’m back to being alone all the time.

I explained how I was able to feel safe in the hospital, and so I know now, that once I feel safe, it’s easy for me to make new friends… and that I don’t feel that safe in my apartment, or out and about in Lubbock, and I don’t know, yet, how to feel safe…

And I started to cry.

It was uncomfortable, crying for the first time, in front of some people I’d just met that day.

So I didn’t let it go on for very long; just a minute or two, then I reeled it in, and once I was calm I got up and went outside to do some deep breathing and try and refocus.

I was terrified at the thought of being alone again, after IOP ends. I still am terrified of always being alone.

Alone is the scariest word in the English language, as far as I’m concerned.

I don’t know, yet, that I won’t be alone anymore. All I can see right now is all the past evidence that proves, over and over again, that even when I have the opportunity to really connect with someone, I’d still rather choose to remain alone. So, I’d say this is a pretty big fear I’m facing.

Here’s the ugly, awkward plot twist:

When I came back inside, the woman sitting next to me had left me a sticky note, on top of my papers, that read, simply, “You’re not alone.”

In that initial moment when I read her note, I was grateful. I felt like that was validation that I am on the right track, and that I’m making choices that ultimately will lead to me not being alone.

But in the moment after the initial moment — and in every moment since — I’ve been obsessed with thoughts of wanting to make this woman fall for me, and make me happy.

I hardly know her name, and I already think she holds the key to my happiness, to my healing. In my mind, I’m ready to turn my whole life upside down so I can be with her.

I’m not even attracted to her. Not really.

And yet, I’m ready to hand her all of my power.

I’ve spent all weekend thinking about her. Daydreaming. Fantasizing. Imagining what it would be like to get to know her… to go on dates with her… to hold her… to kiss her… to feel her love and to make room in my life — and my heart — for somebody new…

I don’t want her. Well, I don’t know her well enough, to have any idea whether I want her, or not. But I can’t stop obsessing over how badly I need her to want me.

I want to change groups so I can permanently be in her group.

I want to show her my wounds and feel her loving me in spite of all the reasons I can give why she shouldn’t — why I don’t deserve to be loved, by her, or by anyone.

I want her to be my girlfriend, and I want to get lost in our relationship, and make that my identity, so I don’t have to spend another moment trapped inside the identity I already have, and despise.

I regret that I didn’t ask for her phone number… or at least, give her mine.

We could probably be together right now, kissing, talking, holding hands, falling in love… fixing each other… saving each other from a lifetime of loneliness.

We could be laughing together. I could be looking into her eyes, and seeing my future.

I don’t want her, though. I’m not interested in her. I don’t feel an attraction to her.

But even so… even temporary togetherness… even if it’s with the wrong woman… or maybe it’s just the wrong time… either way… it would still have to be better than no togetherness… and no woman.

But these are the exact thoughts, feelings, and desires, that I had for Sara Jones, before I went into the hospital. And they weren’t healthy thoughts, feelings, or desires, with her.

And I know they’re not healthy thoughts, feelings, and desires, with this new woman.

Yet, I feel them all so intensely.

It feels like she could be the answer to all of my life’s greatest problems!

The only difference is this time, I know I only want a temporary girlfriend. I thought I had to make Sara Jones love me forever… and this new woman… I just wanna love for a little while… just long enough to show me that I don’t have to be alone… but nowhere near long enough to where I’d be expected to commit to her.

I want her to love me to the point I can know I’m still lovable — and then I want to move on, in search of the woman who I will love for the rest of my life.

As if I know how to truly love a woman…

I mean, maybe I can learn, someday. But today? Not a chance.

Any woman I would fall in love with today, is only going to get her heart broke in two when I ruin the relationship with all my codependent behavior. And I know, now, that’s what this is.

I know because I’ve been codependent ever since I met Carrie, when I was 16 years old. I think a lot of people probably run into codependent love, at least once in their life. But I feel like most other people probably outgrow that behavior once they reach adulthood.

I feel like I should have outgrown it, 33 years ago. But I didn’t. I haven’t. And sometimes, I don’t think I ever will.

I’ve ruined every relationship I was ever in — I might even be the main reason Carrie left me; I don’t really know, anymore. It doesn’t matter all that much, after a whole lifetime of not being together.

Except that, until now I’ve never felt safe enough to emotionally let her go, and to examine what’s left of our love, and see if there are any lessons in it that I’m finally ready to learn. But that’s for another letter.

I am obsessed with trying to figure out how I can get this new woman to want me… to pursue me… to choose me… to finally be the one who will heal my heartache, and show me how to live again…

And I’m ready to ask myself why? Why am I obsessed? Why do I want her to save me? Why do I think she can save me?

(Do I really think she can save me? Or do I just want something to distract me from having to take a long look at myself?)

Part of me — the same part of me that wanted Sara Jones so badly — wishes I could let this new woman be the answer.

I guess, a bigger part of me knows she never will be.

But I’m still hurting so much from all my past relationships, I’m not ready — yet — to take that look within, and to ask myself what I really need… and who I need it from.

I know the answer is “me.” I know I am the only one who can heal what’s broken inside me. But in this moment… possibly for the last time… I wish the answer could be somebody else.

Because in this moment… I’m still afraid to be alone with myself.

I’m afraid I’ll find out that I’m not as strong as I want to be.

I’m afraid I won’t know how to take care of myself, after spending so many years longing for somebody else to take care of me.

But I know she won’t fix me. I know she can’t.

I don’t know if I can — but I know I can’t put it on anyone else to do it for me. It wouldn’t be fair… and besides that, it just wouldn’t work.

She didn’t put me in this mindset in the first place.

I did.

And I’m the only one who can get myself out.

I don’t know but I guess it’s finally time for me to face the pain I’ve been hiding from? That might be the only way it ever really goes away, after all.

I wish this woman could be the answer. But I know I’ll be better off leaving her alone, and looking within. It’s all I can do.

I sincerely hope it’s all it takes, for me to finally give myself the love that can only come from within. The love that I really need. The love that will set me free, to someday give my heart to somebody new.

After I’ve learned to take care of myself, the way that I need to.

Until then, it’s probably best that I avoid romance altogether. I really don’t want to be codependent anymore.

I just never knew, before, that I could be any other way.