7/13/2022
I feel a little less anxious about my knee. Turns out that I have a medial and lateral meniscus tear. THe cartilige between my joints is well-preserved, as the orthopedist said, but says I will probably require surgery which means I would need to minimize being on my feet for two months or miss work for two months.
That's some scary shit, let me tell you. For now it's going to be physical therapy and see where I'm at in 2½ months.
After that I went to therapy for the first time in a few months. My therapist changed offices and she's really close to me when I am at work. I told her about going out to dinner with Leah on July 5th. I covered the start of our evening in yesterday's entry.
At dinner she listened to me, didn't interrupt, didn't try to give unnecessary counsel, and she was pleasant. Towards the end of the meal she wanted to ask me a big question, "How would you feel if I invited you somewhere out with me and I was with someone I was being serious with?"
My hands began to fidget, I think I stroked my beard, my eyes stared at the table, and my social gas tank went from half-full to the engine light glaring from the dashboard. "I think I'm about done now." Leah responded, "I'm not saying that's going on now. Just hypothetically." "I think I'm done. Please."
We drove back in relative silence, I said good-bye and drove home. I was shaken and the way my therapist put it is I found myself thrust back into grief over losing the relationship. I told her how I got drunk that night or the night after. For days I tried to keep myself on an even keel and found a glimmer of hope that the anti-Leah voice was stronger than the nostalgic yet broken-hearted voice. Still wasn't enough and I texted my therapist on Monday the 11th to see if she could fit me in.
I teared up twice. I couldn't myself to cry nor feel catharsis, but beneath those tears I was furious. I mentioned how Leah casually said, "Did I tell you about 'Santa'? Oh, he's the guy I was seeing that time when I told you I was going to Wal-Mart but didn't and came back hours later and crying." This was before she asked the previous question, precipitating the leak in my social fuel tank. Told my therapist I don't want to know about former, current, or future partners that Leah has. I don't want to be near them and mentioned how I'd commit violent atrocities upon their person without regard for my personal safety. From there the hurt began slicing into my heart and I grabbed a tissue, "This is me." I wiped my eyes and threw it to the side. "That's what Leah did to me and that's what I am to her" as I glared at the crumpled kleenex I threw to my side.
Made an appointment to go back next week.
