Exorcising.

I'm pretty sure it is a combination of the impending nuptials, my annual reminder of my life's failings, the new season of Project Runway and this article that is making me do a relationship audit.

I do not own a pair of rose-colored glasses. Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows are just Lesley Gore to me. I am not pining for anyone. In fact, it is a much more common occurrence that I will be breathing in a paper bag over my memories of the people I've been involved with than longing for them. I'm not sure if other people experience it, but I still vividly feel the discomfort and anxiety of who I used to be at just a name drop. I would call it shame. My involvement with certain people make me feel ashamed. I am sitting here starting to blush and squirm thinking about where this post could be going. It is one of my only tells when I'm caught being truly shady. My ears turn red.

I want so badly to assuage my nerves. I am in love. I'm about to commit myself until one of us dies (or kills the other) to our relationship. It feels comfortable and perfect. It is more than I ever expected. Why can't I get beyond who I used to be?

When Stewart and I met, I was at the bottom. I had been broken up with by someone I wasn't even involved with beyond humping. I was in a delicate situation with my best friend over the rift, because the two of them were also very good friends. My self worth was at a record low, having realized that I was being used as a surrogate for an unattainable girl with whom I share some personality traits--again. I hadn't been sober for longer than it took me to open a bottle in the morning. I quit my job and didn't get out of bed for a week. I met Stewart at kareoke. We both had plans for the following night. His involved some drama queens. I decided to go to my favorite bar, my two closest friends and this guy who I thought I was cool with being around, and humiliated myself in a gallon of gin and tonic. The was I summed it up the next day, hung over and watching Ace Ventura, Pet Detective with my most sensible friend, "I have no dignity and I feel like shit, but I had a really good calzone, so I guess it's a wash." And I went westward. For good.

And I need to insert here that Mike was not the worst of them, but he hit at a time where I was definitely not the best of me. I did not have the motivation to pick up and go on like I had previously. I was isolated. I was in transition. I felt like I had failed and it was the camel that broke my back. But it was the start of my metamorphosis into the grown up I am. And I hope that at least that section of shame will leave me be.