I feel like I did when David told me he had cheated.
I feel like I did when Michael said goodbye in the parking lot of San Jose.
Or when he left me in the elevator.
I feel it rush in my body.
Along with anger. Dread. Sadness. Loneliness.
I scroll social media.
I make lists of things I should be doing to be good enough.
To be loved enough.
I email a nonprofit to volunteer.
I write down ways I should be donating my money and why I should feel guilty that I'm not.
I steam clean my car.
I email the detective again.
I write in my blog.
I find enough ways to overdo it until I feel better.
While avoiding the things that actually make me feel better.