I still remember how it physically felt the first time I saw him many years ago.
I can be precise in the date and number of years but if I am I can't help but think that I'm still very attached instead of feeling like I'm finally in the process of healing.
I was walking down a staircase when I first saw him, I skipped a beat, I know this because I had an overwhelming feeling in the pit of my stomach, pretty much like when we get spooked and all our blood seems to rush to our stomach or when our diaphragm contracts and it's like we carry all our weight in our belly.
Eventually I felt butterflies in my stomach but this wasn't it. I was so freaked out that I rushed to the bathroom and saw that I was completely pale - it was such a reaction that my best friend saw and came after me; I told her about how I felt when I saw him and that I knew that something would happen, something big.
I now wonder if this was some kind of red flag that I ignored - I hoped it would be the opposite, the love story of my life. Maybe it is, it just wasn't what I had imagined.
I'm currently doing psychoanalysis and my therapist is encouraging me to write this story - he says it's good and it might be good to put it out there, for my sake instead of repressing it.
I have this idea that I'm a very uninteresting person, some sort of impostor syndrome only I haven't really accomplished much. This relationship might have something to do with it but I can't blame everything on it, some of it it's my fault.
So I'm choosing to write in chapters, still don't know if I should be sharing it. I'm trying to be more adventurous and less prude, emotionally speaking.
I want to bare it all.