Today I have my first visit with a psychologist, happy to be tackling my new years resolutions so quickly! Todays visit is a two hour intake… I am nervous, my head hurts thinking about it. My problem is that there is a constant argument in my head; one side says that there is nothing wrong with me and I am living a completely unimpaired life, while the other says “no, no, no, you can’t even do half the things you want to because of it!” This in turn makes me sad. Sad to think about all the times in which I wasn’t able to enjoy myself with the guys I dated, or where I went out to, or even paid attention in class because I was too preoccupied thinking about something else.
But there was a moment in time in which I did enjoy myself with someone. From the moment we laid eyes on each other he made me feel safe, and as though I was the only one in the room. Although, this was during a time in which I had forced myself to loose a ridiculous amount of weight (the guy I was interested in at the time liked women who were athletic, and from what I saw he also liked them skinny). He was a mid-distant runner, handsome, great upper body (strong), and had the smile and kind eyes that let me know how incredibly honest he was with me. Whenever I get sad, I turn to think of times I spent with him.
We had dated briefly and lost touch for a while, but reconnected somehow and it was during one of those times when we were just friends (and no intentions from his or my part on seeing each other again) that he invited me to join him and a couple of friends to the Keys. I was taken back, but then again, it was such a sincere invite to join him. As he packed, and before I left his place to go and pack myself I asked him to please pack his running shoes. He looked at me with the “Really? but it’s a vacation?” look. I told him that I’d like to take a chance and go for a run early and I’d like for him to pack his shoes too.
After the long ride, we headed off to our rooms and called it a night. It was a private mansion like house on the water, with a boat, jet skis, a pool, and a hut. I woke up really early (I tend to be a morning person by nature) and found that he had also woken up and was downstairs… actually he was sitting on the stairs. I went up to him with a smile on my face (I can’t remember when I wasn’t with a continuos smile when around him) and asked him if he would like to go for an early run (it must have been 7am). He groaned a little, and i just took my hand and placed it on his arm, looked at him, and then he said he was going to go change. I ran upstairs and happily change to my running gear. Did I forget to mention that this was an athlete? He was an all american for his previous college, a mid-distance runner. And here is the irony of this situation. I have always felt as though I was never good enough to be with any of the guys I dated, not in the same level because obviously they were athletes and I wasn’t. I was in high school, and I’ll be honest I wan’t the best, nor the worse, just average. I feel like I’m always being judged and ridiculed, especially if I were to do something physical, so I avoided it at all costs. The Italian was different, it was as though he just appreciated me for me, and I WANTED to share time with him doing something I really enjoyed doing -running-.
Two others saw us about to go outside and said they’d like to join, my anxiety started then. I don’t know them well, and one was a pretty girl who insisted on sharing a room with him. I felt like a cow in fox clothing. Thankfully she lasted less than a minute, and the other one (a guy who was hitting on me since we got out of the car the night before) was out of breath in the next five minutes. Heaven! It was only him and I. We had our iPods and just ran together, four miles. He never sped up, or made it a kind of moment where he thought he should show off . I did on the other hand let him go ahead and spring the last quarter mile (the sun was starting to take it’s toll on us and I couldn’t keep the same pace as before so I didn’t want to hold him hostage at the end).
When we got back into the house he asked me if I wanted breakfast. Of course! I was starving, and well, I can’t remember the last time someone made breakfast for me… actually this might have been the first now that I think about it. We had scrambled eggs, bacon, and bread if I recall. He made me feel special and important, knowing that he wasn’t getting anything in return made it the more real that he did this because he wanted to, for me.
At times when I feel sad, or anxious I turn to think of moments like these, the good times I had with the Italian.
Oh, and by the way this guy was a stallion, haha 😉