Last night I left a meeting utterly triggered and antsy, ready to crawl out of my own skin. This, my friends, should not be how a meeting affects one.
Upon arriving about ten minutes early, I parked my car and walked up to the church. Seeing two girls I sorta had met before, both members of my home group, I approach them with a smile. I ask something like, uh, “Hey. How’s it going?” One of the two mutters something that sounds like “hey,” and the other completely blanks me. She stares at me, takes a drag of her cigarette, and stares at me some more.
Ashamed and embarrassed, I put out my cigarette and go into the church, avoiding looking at anyone that may have seen this very public snub. I was hurt. I was insanely embarrassed. And I was angry.
By the time I left the meeting, the hurt had turned more to pure, simmering bitterness and I had a devastating thought.
“Fuck it. I want to go to a bar and I want to sit at that bar and I want to drink and I want to get fucked up. Fuck them.”
Makes all kinds of sense, doesn’t it? People hurt me and so thoroughly destroying myself is somehow the answer? Right. [Aside: Addicts are insane. That is all.]
I didn’t go a bar. I went home and I took my dog out and I called Jed and whined to him about the girls’ (despicable) behavior. And Jed reminded me, in the midst of my ranting that everyone is suffering. I damn well know everyone is suffering, but my feeeeeelings were still hurt.
I’ve since calmed down and I’ve thought about and this is where I am: I don’t like being vulnerable (diggity duh) and I have, in this past year, allowed myself to be vulnerable. And when you do that, kiddies, you open yourself up to the possibility of real hurt.
So be it.*
*They still bitches.