There’s so much that I want to write, but I am drained from the day. I’ve gotten flirted with the other day. I didn’t like it. This guy approached me and he set his hand on my back. I jumped and moved away from him and it caused a full blown panic attack. I wish I could say that it was no big deal with this whole thing, but just by him touching me. It freaked me out. Of course he meant no harm (or at least I hope so) he asked me out to go to a baseball game with him. I declined. Honestly, in the grand scheme of things – it was a nice gesture. It was nice to be noticed. But how he he touched me. That was not okay for me. But I have to stop focusing on all the negatives. It was nice to be noticed. It was nice that this guy approached me and treated me kindly. I don’t expect anyone to kind anymore. I used to think the world was what you made it, if you were nice. You’d be treated nicely back. Karma, I guess I really believed that. But then. Things while I was with my husband shifted. I was out recently with and old friend, someone I loved deeply. And well. We were walking into this garden place and he held the door open for me. Honestly, I opened the door first. But then he insisted on opening it for me. It was a few seconds but those few seconds I was sweating. I’ve had to hold the door open for my ex for five years. On dates. On anything – it was always me doing that. So when I held the door open and then he insisted on holding the door open for me, it was weird. I had a panic in the back of my head like I was doing something wrong by letting him. Part of me wanted to stand there until he went. But then the other half of me had to talk myself down saying its a nice gesture. It’s weird how things can seem so normal that aren’t. Like a pregnant lady with toddlers in hand holding door open for a man. That’s a palm to the face moment right there. There’s much more to what I want to say but I get dissociation in trying to journal. I wish I could just journal out everything. But theres a lot of horror stuff that floods my mind when I try to write. I can’t seem to let it all out. My therapist says I should because the more I hold it in, the harder it is to heal. But its so much easier said than done. And the people i want to talk to. I don’t want to scare them off. And they don’t want to hear my junk. No one wants to hear the messed up stuff. Ugh.


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