I felt physically ill and scared, all day. I kept thinking “I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to be the person who ruins everything. Maybe I should just drop the whole thing”
I would guess Jon probably feels this way even more often than I do.
I checked in with so many of my friends. Am I crazy? Am I making a huge deal out of nothing? Do I need to just chill the fuck out and give Lora another chance?
No. No. NO.
The birthday show didn’t go great. It went OK. I think both the birthday guys had fun. But they were both disturbed at the end of the night when I started taking klonopin as we were getting ready to leave. I crushed up four tabs in my wine, because I literally was unable to go home unless I medicated myself.
Earlier in the day, when I was at work, and though about how I was going home at the end of the night, I became hysterical. I locked myself in the bathroom and whimpered “please don’t make me go back there. please don’t make me go back there” over and over until I convinced myself that I wouldn’t be going home for HOURS, and that in the meantime, I would take my klonopin as soon as I got back to my desk. This one time, I’d take as many as needed to get through this night.
I was terrified at this. I knew I’d gotten to a bad place, but it was that clawing feeling of hysteria at the idea of going home to Lora that really pounded home to me that I had no other option but to leave. There was no way for the three of us to salvage this situation. She had hurt Jon one time too many for my psyche to handle.
I managed to keep it together long enough to get back to my desk and take two klonopin. I should have taken more before the show, though. Jon could see how upset I was all night. Any time we were alone, I couldn’t keep the mask of “having a great time” up. I cried. I didn’t want to. I tried not to. I tried not to feel anything. And even with all the drugs in my system, I kept looking at him and crying.
When we got home, he told me that he didn’t know what to do. And I ended up talking to him about half the stuff I was going to read to him tomorrow. About how I literally could not relax with Lora home. How her screaming at him had damaged me, terrorized me, horrified me. How his minimizing of the situation made me feel insane. How I just couldn’t do it.
At one point, when we were talking, I was so upset, I was so close to screaming, I bit my arms. I needed to bite something so I could clench my jaw and keep the screams inside. I bit my arms so hard that I drew blood in a few places.
Jon was horrified. I was horrified. I’d never done that before. And I told him that I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I was afraid that if I started screaming, I’d never stop.
And I asked him. I finally asked him. Please, I said. Please, Jon, look me in the eye and tell me that you believe that Lora is going to get better. Tell me that the outcome is going to be worth all this pain, all this suffering, all this fear. Look at me and tell me it’s worth it.
He stared at me.
He didn’t speak for a long time.
Finally, he told me that he needed to go for a walk. But he was afraid that if he left, I’d hurt myself. I told him that I didn’t bite my arms to hurt myself. I bit them to stop from screaming. I’d go find a pillow. I didn’t want to hurt myself; I was already hurting far more than I wanted to.
He said that he didn’t want to go walking anyway. He was too worried to leave me alone. So we should go to bed. And we did. Between the wine and the drugs, I passed out blissfully quickly. And slept through the night.
My last thought before I fell asleep was that I wondered when the next time I’d sleep with Jon was, after this night. I remember feeling tears slide steadily down from the corners of my eyes, even as I was falling asleep.