Killop: Lesson Learned

Lesson Learned


28 Feb 2019 at 03:42am
24 hours after a day in DUMBO (on cobblestone) my lovely boyfriend was icing my ankle while dotingly feeding me painkillers. 24 hours after a Bruce Springsteen concert (on crystal light and vodka) my head was in the toilet and my lovely boyfriend was calling me heinous, not at all concerned about my well being. He told me I did this to myself. He explained that the night before, he had warned me that I was wrong, that the crystal light wasn't absorbing the alcohol, like I had hypothesized, my empty stomach was, and that I hadn't listened. We need our boyfriends to comfort us but sometimes we also need them to tell us what's up, particularly when vodka is involved.

He wasn't mad, though on the DUMBO day when he told me to wear comfortable shoes and I didn't listen because they didn't go with my outfit. I guess as long as I looked cute he could look past my disobedience. I looked cute that Saturday in DUMBO and I looked relatively cute when I was on the couch with my ankle suspended in the air. After Bruce, I didn't look cute (at all) vomiting (loudly) with make-up smeared down my swollen face.

At first it may seem obvious. He is right. I am wrong. The ankle is a real injury and the puking thing is gross and possibly a sign of an alcohol abuse problem. But, it isn't that simple. Like relationships this is about sacrifice and compromise. I sacrificed my ankle to look cute. Then the morning after Bruce Springsteen I made another sacrifice, I gave up looking cute in front of my boyfriend to relieve some of the nausea in my stomach. Then it was time for my boyfriend to make a sacrifice. He sacrificed the ability to remain in my good graces by telling me what I needed to hear: I drank too much, I should have eaten and puking is gross and not cute. Then I needed to compromise. My pride. I told him he was right, but he still had to listen to me vomit.

Sure, he was right. It's not a good idea to drink so much that I puke. But the lack of concern that I had grown accustomed to after my ankle injury didn't help things one bit. I had already felt bad physically, but then I felt bad emotionally as well, and yes, I learned something of a lesson. Of course, he might be helping me, but he could have held my hair while he told me I'm heinous and disappointing. He could have comforted me physically while chastising me verbally. Perhaps, that would have been the best compromise. I still would have learned my lesson, but, perhaps, felt a little a little better about it.


Sources:
Supportduweb , Hookyoup , Talkter , Ello, Yourtango, Kirka, Trafficswirl

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