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He emailed me.

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I got it literally as my therapist walked in the door to the waiting room. We read it together. I cried a lot.

So much for what I thought we were going to talk about today.

My heart has been racing. S asked how I was feeling after reading his email; I couldn’t even get my brain to focus long enough to come up with an emotion. She finally asked if I was anxious; how anxious on a scale of one to ten. I said seven. It would have been higher, but I know myself, and I wasn’t on the verge of an anxiety attack. Kind of surprising, to be totally honest. Although, who knows what the rest of the week will bring.

He wants me to leave the apartment, go stay with someone else on Saturday night, and let him have the whole day Sunday to pack and move his stuff out. While I’m not here.

(I am preparing myself to tell him) Hell to the no.

My hopeful plan is to have a load of people who love me come over Saturday. Box everything up and stack it near the door. Have some of the guys come back on Sunday and move it all out for him after church. He spends minimal time here. I am surrounded by people the whole time. And then … next week I guess I go to IKEA and start refurnishing. What a daunting task that will be. Maybe I should start Friday night.

Yeah, I’ll be surprised if I don’t have an anxiety attack by the end of this weekend.

He still doesn’t know I’ve changed the locks. That small scrap of knowledge is one of the only things I have to hold on to right now. I am still in control of the apartment, physically speaking. He can’t get in unless I’m here to let him in.

I think I need to go throw up now.