A little down...
Love with abandon. It’s my favorite phrase. I think it’s my favorite phrase because I’m not exactly capable of doing it. I want to love with abandon, and, more than that, I want to be loved with abandon. It’s what I’ve always wanted and what I can’t wrap my mind around. People who do it, flagrantly, stun me, spin me around and off my axis and leave me feeling less than. Why can’t I do it? Because I’m afraid. I have to hold on to a little bit of the fear that keeps me grounded, guarded, stuck. Without that fear I might just forget who I am and how deeply I can hurt.
I am slipping a little. Back into old patterns, old ways of thinking that have never done me any favors. I stopped seeing my interim therapist. Nothing against her; she was perfectly nice and perfectly capable and all that stuff. I just found myself unable (not unwilling, I think) to be open with her. I found myself glossing. I do it with StT too but I trust her to know when I’m doing it. Unfair, I realize.
I’m holding a lot of stuff in these days, and that usually doesn’t end well for me. I’m clinging to my mom again, and that doesn’t, either. I’m afraid this baby isn’t ok and I don’t get to know for sure for at least another ten days. I can’t relax until I see or hear a heartbeat. I’m eating too much to make up for all the empty slots: alcohol, cigarettes, Ambien and Xanax and everything else I can’t do anymore. It’s infinitely easier when you’re doing it FOR someone and I do feel better physically (breathing is easier, certainly) ... Still, there are days when I’d like a glass of wine, an after-dinner cigarette, a little help sleeping or calming down. Those cravings have me edgy. (And we all know how easygoing and placid I usually am, wink nudge.)
Mostly I just want to talk to somebody before this stuff gets too built up inside me. Before I forget how to be honest, which happened last time. Mostly mostly, I want StT to come back and ease my fear that she’s just a figment of my imagination.
I am slipping a little. Back into old patterns, old ways of thinking that have never done me any favors. I stopped seeing my interim therapist. Nothing against her; she was perfectly nice and perfectly capable and all that stuff. I just found myself unable (not unwilling, I think) to be open with her. I found myself glossing. I do it with StT too but I trust her to know when I’m doing it. Unfair, I realize.
I’m holding a lot of stuff in these days, and that usually doesn’t end well for me. I’m clinging to my mom again, and that doesn’t, either. I’m afraid this baby isn’t ok and I don’t get to know for sure for at least another ten days. I can’t relax until I see or hear a heartbeat. I’m eating too much to make up for all the empty slots: alcohol, cigarettes, Ambien and Xanax and everything else I can’t do anymore. It’s infinitely easier when you’re doing it FOR someone and I do feel better physically (breathing is easier, certainly) ... Still, there are days when I’d like a glass of wine, an after-dinner cigarette, a little help sleeping or calming down. Those cravings have me edgy. (And we all know how easygoing and placid I usually am, wink nudge.)
Mostly I just want to talk to somebody before this stuff gets too built up inside me. Before I forget how to be honest, which happened last time. Mostly mostly, I want StT to come back and ease my fear that she’s just a figment of my imagination.