He told me I’m not allowed to talk about how nice he was last night and today, because he is, you know, the Mean Guy, and it might wreck his Mean Guy rep, but obviously I am ignoring that. ~grin~
There’s a price to pay for the things we do. A price I often pay, hours or days later, in what’s commonly referred to as “subdrop.” Sometimes it is light, a mild feeling of disconnect or fuzziness, maybe a bit of sadness or sense of loss.
Sometimes, it is much worse.
The fact that W and I play at such an intense level also contributes to the frequency, length and severity of my subdrop. The fact that many of the things we do are so emotionally charged also affects it. I don’t have the research to back up my theory, but I conjecture that my own struggles with SAD (Season Affective Disorder) also play a part in the severity of my subdrop. As such, I take these sometimes vague, amorphous feelings and anxieties seriously and attend to my emotional & psychological needs without my usual bravado or attempts to be tough. I have no problem telling my SO or the Mean Guy, “I’m feeling fragile, I’m feeling broken, be kind to me, fix me” when I know that it is subdrop (or simply “The Drop” as I see it in my head), something I would never do if it was just me being mopey or letting the anxiety-hamster out for a spin on his wheel. To be perfectly blunt…when it’s bad, it scares me. During those times, I am careful about being alone, I don’t drink alcohol, I limit my proximity to things that might trigger the darkness.
In the past, it has always been A that has picked up the pieces when I am feeling shattered. W does wonderful aftercare directly after a scene, but since we don’t live together he is usually not around to bear the brunt of The Drop with me. And there’s also this: when I have been in the midst of it before I have avoided him, plain and simple. I have canceled plans with him and gone home alone, or to A, or taken myself somewhere where there are people and I can’t be weak, rather than turn to him. Not because I don’t think he would be loving and take care of me, but because…even if I am able to say, “I’m feeling vulnerable, I’m feeling small, I need you,” I hate to let someone–I haven’t wanted to let him–see that side of me. Call it vanity, or pride…
Or maybe, call it what it is: fear that he will not want me anymore if I am not the Jade he knows. If I am this small defeated person that I become when in the midst of it.
That changed last night. We have a party we are planning for, and I have been over at his house each night working on it. I was committed to going over last night, but not so much that when I started spiraling sometime in the late morning I couldn’t have called and said, “I need to go home,” or some other excuse. I wrote and deleted about 5 emails. I picked up the phone. I vacillated back and forth. Mostly the thought of being home completely alone (SO had class, his father was out for the evening) kept me from canceling. The Drop was sharp, and dangerous. Being alone was not an option. So I planned to brazen it out. I could do that, right? (Ha.) Then A called–he had skipped class due to car trouble. And suddenly I had my usual option. Cancel with W, go home to A, let him pick up the pieces of me and help me put myself back together.
I didn’t do it. I emailed W, and told him I was feeling…not well. In need of care. “tlc” I said in my email, b/c I was writing it from my cellphone and I couldn’t see the damn number pad thru the fog in my head to make capital letters. He sent me back a note to expect TLC – capital letters. And capital letters TLC is exactly what I got. He took wonderful, gentle care of me. Yes, he’s the Mean Guy. But he’s the Mean Guy with a kind heart.
But don’t tell him I told you.
