Boyfriend is an accountant in public accounting. In his first year. When I get back from Christmas, it will be busy season. This means I have to avoid having a crisis until the end of busy season. Because there will be several weeks with just me. Months. Where I will have to solve my problems by myself. Because maybe I will get conversations time or a phone call or two when he is on his train home. But it is seeming more and more unlikely that I will be able to. No physical interaction. No in-person interaction.
I hate that. I hate accounting. I hate him being busy. I hate his long commute the opposite direction that means there is no way what so ever to be able to drop by. I hate that he lives at home with his parents who won't let anyone visit. I hate that we can't live together unless we are married because of family, people, etc reasons. And I work myself into a panic where the only possible outcome is that I will never see him again ever. And at the end of it I hate everything and everyone.
...
And eventually I remember to talk to him when I work myself into this panic. He reminds me gently that I will still be able to see him. And he reminds me that I am near the top of his priority list. And that he will be able to see me less frequently, but not never.
And things become better for a while.
...
I put myself near the bottom of my priority list unless I actively, consciously think about it and remind myself about it. So I assume that is where I go on other people's lists. That my job is to stay quiet. To help people live their lives. To inconvenience myself in order to make their lives run smoother. To fit my activities around their lives. To not make a fuss. To fit myself into whatever spaces I need to fit in other people's lives. To be a brilliant conversationalist when needed. To know when to sit quietly.
I need to be perfect (whatever that means) so that I can fit into other people's lives perfectly. Because I assume they only have very precise spaces where there is room for me. I can't expect them to drastically change to fit me. It has to be a perfect fit. But then there are all the other multiple people whose lives I need to fit into perfectly and somehow it all has to happen.
And yes, I know these look a lot like enzyme-substrate diagrams, where I am the substrate. And then other people act on me, alter me in some way, and then spit me out and go along their way, with their full enzymatic activity still intact, because while I am expected to change, and they need me, they are catalytic. And they retain their activity perfectly once separated from me. And there are so many more substrates present than enzymes usually. Even though I feel like a substrate and everyone else is an enzyme. They all have inherent biological activity. And I just sort of lurk until they change me.
And... I'm starting to dig too deeply into this metaphor right now so I shall stop for several minutes. AND THEN there are so many people whose lives I need to fit into and I DON'T KNOW HOW TO!
And to do all that is overwhelming. And impossible.
There is not a perfectly fitting space for me in everyone else's life. I don't even know how to find what shape I need to be to fit into one person's life. Because I don't know what roles they need me to play. I don't know how to how to start figuring that out. And then when you start considering that I want to interact with more than one person. How do I make myself the shape to fit into multiple people's lies simultaneously?
I cannot be perfect for everyone.
If they are worth it, then they will rearrange their life a little bit, so that I fit in their life. And I can rearrange my life a little bit, too. But it doesn't need to be all on one side. Both people can work on it.
I shouldn't have to be a perfect fit.
No one is expecting me to be perfect.
I don't need to be perfect.
People will still want me in their life if I am not perfect.
Boyfriend has specifically stated this. Other people have specifically stated this. I still don't really believe it.
...
So the next couple months might be trickier than normal. It will be a new semester with a new lab and new classes. New and I don't get along. And even though boyfriend will be around, it will be less than normal. And he will be tired and maybe a little more sleep deprived. And I will feel bad every time I tell him about anything wrong because he will be stressed from work.
And I tend to panic more when I know boyfriend won't be available to help. It was pretty consistent throughout the last four years of school. When I know he's busy or tired or at work, I don't tell him about all the little things. But the problem for me is that everything is little things. When I don't tell him about the little things, I start worrying about them. And then I'm having full fledged panic attacks about the possibility that he might die of a heart attack in 30 years because he doesn't sleep enough. Or I have a meltdown over being unable to completely weigh the potential benefits of what size or type of pet I should have when my lease runs out and I can move to a pet-friendly apartment.
I will need to remember this. And remember to say small things before they get to big things. Because everyone prefers the question that takes 30 seconds or less to answer over the panic attack that takes an hour to diffuse and still ruins the day. That's what text messaging is for. Small messages that can be answered at someone else's leisure or on breaks. Text messages I've been told do not interrupt at work. Text messages are ok.
...
So after Christmas (break), we are on to busy season for him and panic season (hopefully not) for me.
But I think there are things I might postpone until after busy season, like the end of my antidepressants. Except I will run out of them during this time period and to renew them, I would have to make some sort of appointment and talk to people somewhere probably, and that is also stressful. So that will perhaps be a decision I discuss and figure out later at some point. (So decisive, me.)
So onto new adventures and stuff like that.Labels: autism, boyfriend, change, coping mechanism, grad school
