Simply sitting with my emotions, feeling them and processing them was unavoidable as a solo dweller; even with five magazine subscriptions, Netflix and a constant supply of red wine. But, according to my therapist, sitting with my emotions was exactly what I needed to do in order to heal. This was a complicated task to wrap my brain around because I was certainly feeling stuff but I didn't feel as if I was any closer to healing.
My lack of sex was a complete non-issue to me. I had more serious concerns to worry about, like, finding another way to greet my day without saying “I hate my fucking life!”. Everyday I tried talking myself into believing I was happy when really I was scared, lonely and uncertain about my future. I didn’t even have the energy to search for happiness.
