One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

1-forward-2-backOh regression, how I hate you.

Maybe I should have known.  Having been split for six months and seeming to deal with it incredibly well emotionally . . .  Sure, a few sad moments here and there, that’s to be expected – especially around certain landmarks like birthdays, anniversaries or even hearing a familiar song that may trigger a memory.  My sad moments became full-fledged days of depression last week.  Not the type of depression that led me to a freeway overpass (melodramatic, yes) or unable to get out of bed (more realistic) but the kind where I felt as though the split had just happened.

All I could think of was my ex.  Not pining for him, absolutely not.  But feeling hurt and betrayed all over again.  Feeling angry and wanting to punch his face in, even as I remembered all the things that had drawn me to him in the first place (and questioning my sanity, as well as my sobriety levels).   Feeling anxious and scared about my future.  Would I ever find anyone to love again?  Would anyone love me again?  Would I want them to?  What if I was alone forever?  What if Number Two went on with his life without me?  What if he was happier?   What if he was more successful?  What did this mean for Thanksgiving?  Who invented Cheez Whiz and why?  (Okay, that one I stole from one of the funniest movies of the 80s – – The Sure Thing.  Haven’t seen it?  Get to it, John Cusack fans.)

Maybe the worst is the sleep (or lack thereof) issue.  I have a brand new bed.  It’s fabulous.  I have brand new sheets on my brand new bed.  They are fabulous.  I can sleep with my window open because it’s what I want – – plus it’s quiet – – so that’s fabulous.  Yet I am still tossing and turning and every damn dream involves my ex is one way or another.  So not fabulous.

And yes, I know.  My subconscious is at work.  It’s working overtime and it’s driving me crazy.  And I know that eventually it will go crawl into a hole until I’m stressing about Christmas or (hope against hope) I meet someone else that sets my heart aflutter.  But for now it sucks ass – – I’m tired and I’m a grouchity grouch when I get tortured sleep.

The stressed out stomach could be good, if I was losing numbers on the scale the way I wished I would.  And if I was at home where stomach cramps aren’t nearly as annoying and embarrassing as at work.  It’s a fact that if you ever have stomach issues at work, it will be the day all your bosses are in or you are stuck on a conference call or in a meeting . . . or the most gorgeous man ever sets foot in your office.  Irony is a cruel bitch.

So what do YOU do when you find yourself regressing?  It’s easy to know that it’s a normal part of the grieving process but how to accept that and still go about your daily life without strangling the impatient and rude woman in the grocery store checkout line or burst into tears when someone makes eye contact with you or launch into your sob story when making idle conversation?   (Okay, so I haven’t strangled anyone . . . yet).