Oh it was bad.
Bad bad bad.
I was in a funk most of last week.
Ok, all. Whatever.
And the one I love knew it. He was convinced he had done something.
Sunday night we went out for dinner & he stayed over. And I totally, 100%, little girl cried to him.
Cried about how I feel awful about myself. How I’ve gained back so much weight that I do not find myself attractive. How I don’t even know how he finds me attractive.
And I still wouldn’t stop crying. And because he is wonderful, or maybe just because he’s figured me out, he made me keep talking. Made me keep telling him what was bothering me.
So I told him about how the movie we watched the previous Sunday brought back so many memories of “the incident.” And how I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want him to feel like I was throwing it in his face or trying to make him feel bad about it. Because I’m really not. But sometimes things just hit me the wrong way, and that movie did. (Seriously, I cried during “Get Him to the Greek.” Who does that!)
And then when I still wasn’t acting right he made me keep talking. I wanted to hit him at this point. I didn’t want to say what I was feeling or thinking anymore. I didn’t want to put it all together for him. And so I started sobbing because I couldn’t say it. Because I knew it was completely stupid & wrong on so many levels. But I told him that I blamed myself for “the incident” because of how much I’ve let myself go. That if I can’t find myself attractive there is no way he can either & that I totally didn’t blame him for “the incident” for that reason.
Did I mention it was bad?
And he just held me. And told me that I am beautiful, gray hair and all (thanks, babe!), and let me cry until I was all cried out. And then he cuddled with me until I finally fell asleep.
Sometimes I don’t know how I’d make it without him.