I sit down on the couch after Warren closes the door. I stare at the floor.
I bury my face in my hands.
What is wrong with me?
I pushed Jake away. I pushed Ridge away. I even told Warren to get the hell out of my house when he stayed back and tried to get me to tell him why I was acting the way I was.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me this week. This isn’t me. I, honest to God, don’t want to be in a relationship with Ridge, but when I woke up this morning and saw him asleep next to me, it felt good to have him back. I’ve missed him. But not in a romantic way. I’ve just missed his company. And I started wondering if he missed my company, or if Sydney is all he needs now. Then I started feeling insecure again because he was here, even though he expressed just how much he didn’t want to be here. And as I laid there and stared at him, I started thinking about the day I found all the messages between him and Sydney and I got angry all over again.
I shouldn’t have posted the picture. I know that. But I think I did it because I thought it would make me feel better in some twisted way. I missed him, I was angry at him, I was angry at myself. I feel like years of just trying to live despite this illness is catching up to me. Because Ridge is right. I don’t take care of myself like I should, but it’s because I’m sick of this illness, and sometimes I don’t care if it wins. I really don’t.
I pull out my phone and delete the picture; then I open a text to Ridge.
Maggie: It’s been the shittiest week of my life and I took it out on you and I’m sorry. Tell Sydney I am so sorry. I deleted the picture.
I hit send and then power off my phone and lie down. I press my face into the couch and I cry.
The problem with hating yourself when you’re all alone is that you have no one to remind you of any of your good qualities. Then you just hate yourself even more, until you sabotage anything good in your life and in yourself.
I’m at that point.
Maggie Carson. Not so much of a badass today.
