I Dated a Rockstar and all I got was this Lousy Kombucha Code
I am trying really hard to make healthy choices right now.
I know I will thank myself.
Eventually.
I say this on a daily basis.
To whomever needs to hear it.
Sometimes that whomever is me.
Like now.
Make healthy decisions despite your desire to dive deep into the darkness.
Despite how tempting it is to collapse into the suffering.
Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.
Make healthy choices and follow them blindly.
What the fuck does healthy mean anyway?
That I will live longer? Is this a good thing?
Or live better?
I will definitely be drilling down on that one.
This edict pertains primarily to what I put in my body.
Isn’t that all we really do as human beings by the way?
Put things into our bodies, into one of our nine entry points.
Objects, people, ideas, substances…
This is relevant now only because I tend to sabotage a little during times like
these (breakups during pandemics).
I Smoke more.
Vape more.
Sleep less.
Ruminate more.
Run less.
Run faster.
Spiral more.
Meditate less.
Yoga less.
Shove more.
Trust less.
Sit still with less…
He is not going through a breakup.
He did not have a girlfriend.
I had a boyfriend and I am going through a breakup.
Math.
Alone. Also math.
As I sit here in my sadness I cannot imagine him sitting over there in his.
He is not feeling despair.
Worst question to ask yourself ever that everyone everywhere asks themselves… Does he think about me at all?
He did not miss a beat.
I cannot decide if this disparity makes it easier?
Or harder?
Jury’s out.
Who fucking knows.
It’s just hard. For me.
I feel like nothing.
I feel like no one.
I feel so unimportant, and irrelevant which, ironically is why I broke up with him.
Do I feel less important and irrelevant since I broke up with him?
Perhaps.
So much irony.
Ugh.
I am spending the entirety of a fucking gorgeous day, in bed. Trying to write.
The hardest part is sitting still with it. I can keep myself busy. My actual life has not changed much in the day to day. Sit still and let it wash over and through me, whatever that looks like. Whatever that feels like.
It feels like being splayed open in the OR after they ran out of the building for a fire drill and are all standing in the parking lot chatting like 4th graders.
It feels like a c-section. I am completely cognitively aware and conscious. I am paralyzed from the neck down. Strapped to a gurney, why I am not certain as I am paralyzed. I am behind the blue curtain. I feel the pressure of the pulling and the cutting. I smell my flesh burn as they cauterize my body open and closed. Ya, that’s it.
It feels like waiting for the anesthesia to wear off while they chat in the parking lot, then somehow unstrapping myself from my gurney and finding the needles and the staples and the stitches without all of my guts spilling out all over the floor and then having to, without anesthesia, as it has worn off in case you forgot, sew myself up, making sure not to leave any foreign objects inside my cavity.
I am terrified.
This is necessary.
Despite the hardness, which comes in waves, I do sit with it, when I can.
No smoking.
No vaping.
I quit vaping 4 days after my breakup.
Unplanned.
Hypnosis just happened to be scheduled within days of the breakup, which was the unplanned part.
Instead of covering or hiding from my sadness by chain smoking or hitting my
vape non-stop, I am crying.
Panic.
Vape?
Nope.
Cry.
Rinse and repeat.
You cannot smoke and cry at the same time.
It is a breathing thing.
You also cannot run and cry at the same time.
So I run.
I always run btw, I am just reframing it as “I am making healthy coping choices despite my desire to play word games on my phone and vape”.
Reframing works.
Take something you already do and reframe it.
Give yourself some credit.
You are making good choices.
You have healthy coping skills.
Perspective.
So, speaking of healthy.
I was grabbing a Kombucha out of the fridge.
Instead of pouring myself a 4th cup of coffee or a shot of tequila.
It is 10am.
That will happen.
Later.
And I remembered.
Mr. Yummy gave me a code to get a free case of Kombucha.
8 months ago.
I never used it.
Not sure why.
Today, I am compelled.
Gee, I don’t know?
Maybe because I am obsessing.
I am angry.
Angry with Mr Yummy.
That he doesn’t love me.
That he wasn’t “proactive on it all enough”.
And somehow by using this code that he gave to me, btw, I will get back at
him.
Logic is flawed. I am aware.
Yet, still, seems like a healthy expression of my anger.
Fuck him. I will use that Kombucha code.
That’ll show him.
He is really going to be sorry now.
I have a case of Kombucha coming.
And 48 extra dollars. Plus shipping.
Fuck you.
Take that, jackass.
I have officially lost it.
Will he know if I use it?
That might be embarrassing.
Would be.
I was never crazy, yet this move may usurp all of that.
Is the code still valid?
Will I be denied, yet again?
I did a search in my imessages for the word “code”.
I love this feature btw.
It came up.
All over the place and a solid 10 times in my conversation with Mr. Yummy.
Evidently we exchanged a lot of codes.
I read through some(all) of the messages.
8 months.
Ouch.
It was not nothing.
We were sweet.
He was sweet.
He liked me.
He was attentive.
And responsive.
He was into me.
What happened?
I don’t know.
Where is my vape right now.
I am letting go of knowing.
I found the Kombucha code.
It worked.
Order #108020 confirmed.
