Yesterday, I signed the divorce papers with my ex. Woot! There are several reasons to be excited here.
- When I saw the ex for the first time in months, all I really felt was disgust, and a little irritation that he hadn't completed the paperwork like I had wanted him to. (He finished the basic stuff, but he didn't write up our monetary agreement, so I had to do that for him. *sigh* I swear, I shouldn't have to baby any male who is not having sex with me.)
- I am on the way to being completely separate from him. Not just by continents, but by paperwork, and a certificate. And soon thereafter, no house.
- Boys who I date will be less nervous about dating me if I have the paperwork signed. Yay!
I didn't have to break up with the boy because he didn't cancel on me!! I feel like dancing with this one. Or jumping. Up and Down.... I'll stop elaborating now.
Second session of therapy went really well. I felt like I was vindicated in a lot of my goals and beliefs. I also didn't cry this time (yay, I hate crying!). It went so well, she asked if I wanted to do sessions every week or every-other week. I told her let's stick with every week for now. Because while Monday was a good day, the weekend kind of sucked, and a lot of what got me through it was knowing I was going to be able to talk to her on Monday. I also feel like, if I'm not so utterly depressed or panicked, I tend to gloss over things. I'm just used to not wanting other people to worry. In fact, I hate it when other people worry, or pity me. Or even worse, if I do tell them, they think I'm exaggerating.
Speaking of, I went out with a large group of friends last night, before the boy came out. I mentioned, just a short while before the boy came out that he was coming out, and they all started teasing me. I know they were teasing and didn't mean anything by any of it, but somehow it kicked off a panic attack. And when I realized I was having a panic attack... in public, it got worse, a lot worse. Before I knew it, I was hyperventilating, and asking for another car bomb, asap.
***Big Medical Breakthrough!!!! Irish Car Bombs are the cure to panic attacks. I immediately felt better.*** It's just too bad I can't have Irish Car Bombs at work, because besides the eventual consequences of kidney problems and possible alcoholism, my problems would be solved.
Back on topic, only one person really noticed that I was upset. Today, I tried to kind of apologize and explain that a panic attack isn't really just from one thing. I kind of got a side-ways look and I just stopped talking.
True, I can control mine better than a lot of people. Just because I don't have hysterics or pass out when I have one, doesn't mean I'm not having one. Part of that is worrying about how stupid I might look. I'm happy to realize they didn't really notice, but I think it sucks that they might think I was exaggerating. That's what I get for thinking an explanation/apology might be pertinent.
That's my update for today. Other than feeling like I've been having a panic attack all afternoon (ugh, I haven't had one of these for days...), things are going well. I'll be going back to college for our homecoming this weekend. I'm sure I will have stories and pictures from that!
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