Oh my god. I won. Damage is done. You had your fun. Bet you’re sorry now.

There’s something about therapy that wipes me out and makes me want to crawl into my hole and then dig about 24 miles deeper and live there.
Yesterday was communication and those hard conversations.   She had a lot of questions I didn’t want to directly answer and that was her point.  I just wanted her to hook into my brain and download 2009’s Greatest Hits and keep listening to 2014.   No, no, no…poor girl would off herself by the end.
I was told to sit with the good and the bad.  I told her that I had plenty of time to sit with the bad and I was going to jump on the good and stay there.   I’m sure if she hadn’t just taken a drink I would have seen her eyebrows roll up unto her hairline.
No, she meant the good in the relationships of the past.   She doesn’t want me to just revisit the shit, but also the good.
She asked me what my goal was when we started this journey and I wanted to cuddle on the couch again.
Yeah, that sounds stupid when I say it.
I was in a relationship where that was my absolute favorite thing to do with this person.  We actually went couch hunting for the perfect cuddle couch.  Every night we would find our cuddle spots on those new couches and melt into each other.    It’s REALLY hard to talk about this because my brain wants to jump ahead the part where we ended up on separate couches and the thought of cuddling was a long ago memory.
It makes me want to pull out a calendar and find out how long we had before it went to shit.
This…this is (pointing up at the last bit) why I am in therapy.   It’s not hard to see it’s a preservation tactic, but it also keeps me from healing.
Where was I? Oh the cuddling, right.   Anyway we cuddled.  I’m convinced his love language was holding me and not letting me get off the couch.  Those were the times I knew he loved me.  We would laugh and make fun of each other.  We couldn’t have been more different, but for some reason it worked.
As I mentioned, we ended up on different couches and that small living room could have been another country and we were in different time zones.
I tried to cuddle after that, but it was like I was unconsciously finding fault in the way I fit with another person and how vulnerable it felt to be there.  Letting someone wrap their arms around me and drowning in the smell of them made me feel awkward. It made me feel like I was cheating.  Yeah, that’s the fucked up part.  I stopped even trying and would tell people that I wasn’t a cuddler.
I blocked out the years we spent doing nothing more than cuddling and sharing every single thought we had in our heads.
That was were it started.  That is where I found it was safe to be vulnerable was in arms wrapped around me, a soft voice whispering thoughts and asking questions.  The darkness and blankets would keep me safe.

So now it’s a decade later and I don’t like to cuddle, because I don’t like to feel vulnerable.

Fuck.