So, in the words of Wikipedia, today is a, "...federal statutory holiday celebrating the anniversary of the 1 July 1867 enactment of the British North America Act, which united Canada as a single country of four provinces."As a result, all women below the age of 50 who weigh less than 300lbs are obliged by federal law to wear the national costume (see right). Thankfully it doesn't apply to men - those bikini bottoms look like they'd chafe.
Like xmas though, national holidays such as these can be a bit of a pitfall for GAD and CD sufferers. For me, it seems like everyone I know has something better to do and, more pointedly, has a family to visit. Cue lane-to-lane traffic jams on the 400 and 401 highways as everyone tries to get to somewhere else at the same time, wall-to-wall packing of cottages everywhere in Ontario with relatives, and carnage in every liquor store for the preceding 24 hours.
The stakes were raised this year by a potential LCBO employee strike that might've resulted in a dry Ontario for the country's birthday. I got to my local LCBO store yesterday afternoon and it was like the January sales at Harrods. I think the longship-ful of vikings must have just left before I arrived. The shelves were raped, the staff looked pillaged, and there was an air of thinly-disguised panic as people guarded their stashes of booze like their lives depended on it. I managed to get out alive with my MEC rucksack totally stuffed with wine and beer. I wish I had scales somewhere in the house 'cos I'd have loved to know how much the rucksack weighed.
Anyway, as a result of a quick e-mail I sent last night I have succeeded in my objective of ensuring I'm not left alone today. There'd be nothing worse. Being alone is fine, but being alone without having a choice in the matter tends to be a bit of a trigger. Again, as I think about the invisible woman and her alleged daughter, I imagine them ensconced in a big family get-together. Kids running about squirting each other with water pistols, adults drinking beer, chatting, and barbecuing various dead animals. There's nothing like a national public holiday to highlight the fact that such family get-togethers are not part of my life, that I have no such obligations, that I'm neither needed nor wanted that way.
Ouch.
That said, I decided last night that I won't be talking about the invisible woman on here for much longer. The only reason to do so would be if there was some kind of epiphany or volte-face in terms of her behaviour, quality and quantity of communication, and maturity - assuming of course that the important bits she has told me over the last few months are really true. If I'm honest with myself then I have to say that, deep down, I hope she's been recovering, preparing, and gearing up for us to finally get together. If she could muster the courage to be honest with me, then I could certainly reciprocate with the patience, understanding, and integrity to forgive her. It's still top of my wish-list, and a rare occasion where I'd gladly have all my suspicions proved wrong. But it's unlikely. During all the time I've known her it's been me that has been making the suggestions. It's been me coming up with ideas, brainstorming, laterally thinking, trying to figure out a way to get her over the hurdle of that first eye-to-eye contact so we can put all the shite behind us and relish what is rightfully ours. It's always been me offering to meet whenever, wherever, and however. But as Aesop said, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink". In short I have had all power, control, and influence castrated. While I have tried every way conceivable to invite her into my life, and equally tried to get into her life however possible without terrifying her, she has tried nothing, risked nothing, explained nothing, and attempted nothing. It's one of those classic situations that is the arch-nemesis of the anxiety sufferer - where you have to admit to yourself that there's just nothing you can do. That it's beyond your power to change.
So, as in group therapy, talking out one's problems and issues is of huge benefit at the beginning. It's a relief to know you're not the only one suffering in the way that you're suffering. It's cathartic to be able to talk about how you feel without receiving the cocked eyebrow or having to explain what it means when you've had, "a bad day". But, over time, a different paradigm starts to apply. One reaches a tipping point when the best thing you can do is just put it all behind you, because reliving all the heartache and frustration just prolongs recovery rather than concluding it. That point is close - I can feel it.
All I have to do is accept that, if the majority of her words were truth, then it just wasn't meant to be. That her issues are greater than mine and without playing an active role in her recovery, there is no role for me to play in her life. Of course, if I could be sure she'd been telling the truth then I could wait for her but the only way I'm going to believe her is if she meets me - the one thing she insists she isn't able to do. Such is the cruel irony of the situation. Besides, all I have to show for this so-called relationship thus far is a renewed addiction to cigarettes, several anxiety attacks, an extended bout of clinical depression, and a massive amount of wasted time.
If she was duping me from the start then she did a brilliant job. I don't know what her day job actually is, but it would seem she missed her calling as a con-artist. She made me feel like she was tailor-made for me in so many ways it was - dare I say it - too good to be true. I don't know how she did it - there just isn't enough publicly-available information on me for her to have known me that well, and we have zero mutual friends. Equally, I felt I was tailor-made for her, that any physical get-together would be little more than a formality before taking the relationship to the next level. Strewth - it was literally hook, line, and sinker.
But all the above is a moot point. Regardless of which bits she said were true and which ones weren't, at the end of the day the only thing that'll keep me interested is actually seeing her. If she's real, but too busy sulking or brooding because of what I've said on here, accused her of, and admitted in terms of cognitive distortions...or still stubbornly insistent that she won't trust me enough or dare risk enough to meet me then it's over. If she's fake and can't meet me because she's actually married, a man, something other than what she's described, then it's over.
In short, the only thing I can hope for is that she either shows up here before I move house, or calls to say she's already on her way. Anything other than that and for me there is no reason to concentrate on anything other than self-preservation. Shame eh? 'Happy' Canada Day folks.
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