Fractured yet Partially Functional

My brain is in a million fucking places right now. I’m kind of reeling from fucking up telling somebody I was in an open relationship and have little to no hope for my actual romantic future and potential for partner. This normally would depress me, but I’m in a weird space. I’m almost gaslighting myself with Mandela effects of things. I incorrectly remembered a James Brown country album, misnamed a bunch of stuff with conviction, and misrepresented where a project was at for absolutely no gain with client or my coworkers. I am really scattered and don’t feel like I’m making good choices at the moment.

I went for a walk to blow off some stress and felt the strangest despair I ever have. I uncontrollably cried, but with no sobbing whatsoever; just tears falling out of my eyes. I stick to the alleys and wonder what in the fuck is happening with me. Then I get a cold rush of intense fear. My ex partner had vowed to be there for me when the abject depression from quitting smoking started kicking in due to quitting smoking. This was part of the abject depression coming out. I walked myself through the fears and what could possibly happen, and whom I could lean into when I needed to. I am going to have to find a friend I can trust that will be available. My ex open relationship partner was fantastic at getting back even if she was sleeping during the day. I need that availability as this shit kind of comes out of nowhere and almost cripples me. Sadly, I don’t think any of my bandmates are really up to the task except for two of my drummers. I’m a little nervous to broach the subject and ask them. Guys talking to other guys about mental health is a really fucking weird topic to broach. It always makes us uncomfortable, no matter how close we may be. To date, only a couple of my male friends even know I was hospitalized for a suicide attempt, and I have probably 20 male friends that I’d consider “close.”

Tuesdays is probably my favorite day of the week as it’s when my favorite band rehearses. We have a good time and it’s all about having fun together and talking and jamming shit out. My drummer (one of the two candidates for whom I can contact in need) gets there early. I run down everything that had happened to me in the last few days but in a way that was humorous. Luckily, he and his longtime partner† used to be swingers, so he was privy of the ins, outs, and perils of open-style relationships. This felt pretty good. I don’t think I’ll be relying on him for that, although he is one of the most reliable people I’ve ever known, because he is also going through some shit personally with friends and work so I don’t want to burden him with needing to be basically on-call for my neurosis.

I am woefully behind on transferring products for my large project, but they were happy yesterday so we should be good to finish and launch by the week’s end anyway. At least there’s a win in one direction for me.

I started a new exercise routine that, at first, looked more rigorous and more full-body. This was attractive to me as seeing results from the work I’ve been doing is really fucking cool. Although my shrinking belly is getting much, much softer. My belly used to be hard to the touch. Now there’s a jiggly layer that’s quite evident and getting moreso each day. I’m a little bit concerned that I’m going to look like I had twins a few years back when this is all said and done, so I’m gonna figure out how to get my skin to bounce back from this weight and size loss.

† – I almost called her a concubine for comedy effect, but then realized it’s a literal term that applies then felt weird and dismissive of her to call her that