existentialsex4

I thought about the ex today and all this week after she messaged me on facebook to let me know she blocked me on skype. Why the fuck did that bother me so much? I don't know. I suppose because that is the only way that we stay in touch. Perhaps I have some latent codependency issues I still need to work through. Perhaps on some level I hope I meant or mean something to her still. This girl is the boomerang in my mind that I simply can't throw away without thoughts and memories swirling back into consciousness. There are constantly sharp pokes and triggers that prod their way into my thoughts that I try to turn my back on only to be faced with the torture of my own imagination. An imagination that conjures up for me images of her smiling face in the arms of another man, perhaps a superior man. What am I to do? I am almost in hell as I think to myself, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

I had once thought and wrote about me turning the page on that chapter in my life, only to be bitten in the ass by the bitch that still haunts my soul. At least there are points of bliss that I can bask in. These are the points when I notice that I am not thinking of her, or at least when I do think of her it is not with the grief stricken sadness of losing something that I cherished. These are the points when my mind is on my work, when self compassion creeps in and offers me kindness, love and respect. A love and respect that resonates and begins from deep within myself. I whisper to myself in the middle of the night that I love and accept myself, that times are hard but I will soon pull through this darkness and sometimes I even believe it. This is progress, I suppose, but holy fuck it's hard to love myself. Not build my ego up at the expense of others, not have a larger self esteem, but love myself with the kindness and support that I try to offer others. Clearly, I have some work to do.

Speaking of work, what slow progress I am making. I sit down at my desk and cannot write what I am supposed to write on. I stare blankly at my screen and constantly check Facebook. My paper deadlines are fast approaching, a freight train that threatens to overtake me. I have no idea why I am not writing like my colleagues who turn out draft after draft of papers that whisper in their ears "success". Perhaps I fear something. Failure perhaps? Maybe I fear I am not good enough? Maybe I still think of myself as a fake intellectual. A fraud intelligence, as my ex tried to make me believe. I am supposed to call counselor within this week to schedule another appointment. I hope she can help.