Almost a year ago, I, Tiger Slut, was unceremoniously dumped. It was an unpleasant occasion on all counts. Tiger Slut was upset, the dumper was upset and the family was upset. When you are with someone for a very long time (5 fucking years) and when you have certain expectations (unrealistic – marriage and kids with someone who could not even talk about marriage and kids) it can be a big blow. Especially when it is your first experience with this kind of thing (First relationship – handed over the vcard for its only ever swipe = young/naive/inexperienced)
I sat there, on a sofa that didn’t belong to me, in an apartment that was not under my name, crying tears of confusion and grief that were over the end of a relationship that was long overdue to end. I was lost.
Where was I to go?
Where was my home now?
What would I do without him?
How would I face everyone?
How would I make ends meet?
There was one comfort (Kitty – the cat – my cat – there was no custody battle)
She sat on a table, a black table from Ikea, a black table I hated. A black table I constantly stubbed my freakishly long toes on, that was too short to do anything on, that seemed so out of place. The black table stood stubbornly on a carpet that wasn’t mine, a monster faux persian rug mess that collected far too much dust and never came clean no matter how many times I took the mini vacuum to wage war against it.
My sweet Kitty cat sat in front of me. She was as cool as a cucumber. She licked my hand once. A warm tear fell on it and our eyes met. My messed up snotty teared face met her calm and knowing eyes and it happened.
I got a fucking grip.
The tears stopped. Yes, temporarily, but they stopped. Long enough to come up with a game plan, long enough to make some decisions. The first step was to pack everything the fuck up and get the fuck out of there in as little time as possible.
I moved home – my worst nightmare – or so I thought – and it turned out to be fun.
I moved back to the city I was in, this time on my own. And after some roller coastiness I managed to have my own place where I stay of my own volition. Everything balanced and settled. It took time, it was fucking painful, but it was the wake up call I needed.
It was this punch to the Vagina that made me realize I needed to change. It would have been very easy if I could simply blame the person I was with for my misery/upset/depression/offness/insecurities/every bad thing I ever felt or ever would feel. But even with him out of my life it remained. Something was wrong and I had to get to the bottom of it if I wanted to function and really let myself be happy.
After some episodes – to be expanded upon – it was suggested I see a counsellor. Here, at the age of 26, I found out I had a Disorder. It was called GAD. I wasn’t the only one suffering from it. Lots of people had it. And I have had it all my life.
I just did not know.
Knowing changed everything. Knowing meant I could take action. Knowing meant I had options. It took a long time to accept that I had a disorder, that my thought process was not how it had to be. That I could let go of big burdens if I wanted to. It has/is taking a lot of work. It can be/is exhausting. It can be/is rewarding to make progress. I am working on it/I am coping with it/I am suffering from it/I am fighting it/I am accepting it. I have GAD. And now I know.
I have changed since and partly due to the Big Dump.
I’m not the only one, so has my cat.
Kitty is now known as Miss Kitty and she won’t take your attitude and she will deliver advice with Sass at a 1 dollar and twenty cent per minute basis. Plus Applicable Taxes.