On Tuesday, I woke up absolutely defeated. I got dressed without showering. There was no water in the house, and my mood couldn't handle even the occasional bucket of cold water or having to wait forever for my electric stove to deign to boil a few liters.
A bad mood could be normal. I never wake up feeling full. But I wasn't hungry, and I always wake up with the appetite of a truck driver. I ate a piece of fruit and went to the gym. Every workout was hard. I felt like crying. I looked at my phone's calendar to blame it on my hormones, but I was in the ovulatory phase, not premenstrual.
That day I had to go to the dentist for the fourth time to solve a problem that was supposed to take only 1 or at most 2 sessions, but as you know, lately nothing in my body works the way science expects.
Afterward, I went to therapy with my "dream map" in hand, a "ridiculous" exercise that made me remember things I wanted, which ones I gave up and why, which ones materialized and how, how many underwent transformations, but especially... what I desire and hope for today.
But before starting, the psychologist questioned me about my obvious discouragement.
After a few minutes I realized that I was once again being affected by expectations, comparisons, and the belief that everyone was having the most amazing Holy Week of their lives while I was there: alone and tormented by the 7 plagues of Egypt that fell upon me in the last few months, including the clicking and post-otitis tinnitus, which have me on the verge of insanity (seriously).
She made me see what is obvious to everyone except the one at the center of the hurricane and then concluded with:
You've already parked for too long, don't slow down again for a man who isn't available or one who never arrives.
So, I promised him yes, that I would accept all the invitations he had, that I would do things alone, that I wouldn't stay locked up at home.
However, my body didn't agree with that, and on Wednesday I woke up with a really bad flu. I thought, who do we call when we feel bad? After all, those are the people we truly trust, the ones we know will be there for us, right? Does it make sense that the person we say we love isn't on that list?
Suddenly, I remembered a story I've told you about before: the glass door to my shower fell, and I, covered in cuts and blood, in the throes of a panic attack, called my partner to ask him to take me to the hospital. But he just replied, "I can't, I'm in Los Teques. Call Raúl" (my best friend's husband), and locked the door. That day, something inside me died. I began to grieve. And a couple of months later, when we broke up, it hurt less.
The point is that I activated my "SOS," including the call to myself, that "faggot, make some chicken soup like you would for your loved ones." Soon the coconut water arrived. And that night, a friend who lives across town brought me the best fish soup I've ever had, and it felt like a "See, Jessica: whoever loves you... will be with you, take care of you, and be able to. Don't forget that."
I started my 'Sex and the City' marathon. Yes, I'm watching it all. When it premiered, I was only 9 years old. As a teenager, I watched a few episodes but never fully grasped how revolutionary it was… despite its toxic aspects or banal edges.
The series has made me realize I have a little bit of each of them. I can be free, irreverent, direct, and pragmatic like the wonderful Samantha Jones, but in one episode, Samantha cried because she had the flu, the curtain fell on her, and there was no man to help her. In others, she suffered because she trusted and was betrayed.
I can be beautiful, independent, the best professional, a successful girl, with her cat and her apartment, like Miranda, and still have complexes, apologize for my achievements instead of celebrating them, fall into crisis because my ovarian reserve is depleted, and end up in a back-and-forth with people like Steve... noble, loving, but who will never keep up with her.
I can also have the multifaceted, passionate, curious, funny, and empathetic personality of Carrie Bradshaw but spend my days chasing after guys like Mr. Big, who are evasive, afraid of commitment, and manipulative.
And I also have to admit that I can be, even though I don't like her that much, naive, idealistic, self-critical, and with the dream of an eternal couple and family like Charlotte.
While I was thinking about all this, a friend called me. He wants to be more than that, but says he's waiting for the six months that, according to him, I need to recover emotionally (one month for each year of the relationship I had).
We reminisced about his failed attempts and my many blunders, I laughed at his jokes for two hours, and, even though he didn't know it, in the midst of his dog-eating, he helped me feel like something bad was going to happen.
When I updated him on my relationship situation, he told me that such and such an episode was normal because it was impossible for a man to forgive himself for losing a woman like me.
Beyond the ego stroke, I thought maybe he was right.
Eventually, all my exes, even the ones who dumped me, came back. I remember one of them called me right before his wedding, like a soap opera, to tell me that if I came back, he wouldn't get married, haha.
At some point, that seemed like an achievement to me. My friends often say that guys love me for life, and I tell them yes, but… they all leave… and with other people, of course.
Today I no longer want a man who won't forgive himself for losing me, but rather one who celebrates having me, who ensures that I remain by his side.
But like in 'Sex and the City': we must work on ourselves so as not to end up confusing ourselves, sabotaging ourselves, deceiving Aidan (who, in reality, may not be the best option either) with a harmful Mr. Big.
By: Jessica Dos Santos /Instagram: Jessidossantos13
Tell me your story, write it however you like, together we shape it and share it. In life, spreading the different forms of love is always necessary: lasultimasnoticiasdelamor@gmail.com
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