Maybe I would have cried anyway. But tonight at yoga, when we began on our backs, chests (and therefore hearts) elevated by a block, tears ran down my cheeks.
It's been that kind of evening. I'm not really sure why – well, that's a lie. I do but I don't have the energy to unpick it – let alone publicly – right now. It is all the usual stuff, nothing new or dramatic. (Maybe I should be grateful, at least, for that.) It's just that I can crater breathtakingly quickly, and without too much provocation. I was happy and busy until sometime midafternoonish.
It probably didn't help that I spoke briefly to my sister, who always manages to make me feel like a freak. In a conversation that lasted all of 10 minutes, she twice (maybe three times) managed to question my decision to go to Greece, and after I told her it was probably going to be another quiet weekend, said a little too hastily and desperately: "But that's by choice, right?" Like, please do not make me worry about you – I would like to get on with my evening. Frankly, I can't really blame her for that.
It is evenings like this that make me wonder why I even try to give up bingeing, if I'm going to be unhappy anyway. Although just typing that I immediately remember that the misery and self-loathing bingeing produces is an order of magnitude or several greater – and that doing so will not make even one of the things dogging me any easier. In fact, it will make it worse.
I just needed to say that out loud.
Day 23.
PS The Italian psychotherapist texted today – he's back from his (Italian) vacation. I didn't expect to hear from him again after I ignored his text just before I left for London. Presumably he's facing the same slim pickings I am, is my best explanation for it, because I don't think that date was me at my most charming. Even if I went out with him again – something I would rather have another evening like tonight than do – I wouldn't find out.
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