As bad as I am, I'm proud of the fact that I'm worse than I seem.
It's almost 11 and I can't sleep. As I was lying down tonight, I suddenly remembered, again, that I have therapy tomorrow. I immediately started coming up with all sorts of logical excuses reasons not to go. They're all still floating around, on top of this intense fear of doing anything to make myself better. But almost two years later, and all I've done is take my grief and pain and push it down or curl up with it. Pretending like you have all the answers, like you have your shit together, is exhausting.
Then I start to wonder, how long has it been since I was stable? Was I ever stable?
I'm more than a little apprehensive about meeting this woman tomorrow, too. It's not the idea of "telling my shit to a stranger" that bugs me. I did it before, and pretty successfully (I thought). I just hope she is what I want, what I need right now. I hope it's not awkward. I hope I feel safe and heard. There's a looming feeling of "this woman has better things to do" when I think about sitting there talking about myself for 50 minutes. I'm already wondering what kind of shit her other clients are dealing with, what she's dealing with, if she really cares.
I think I'm sliding through a very subdued version of the "anger" stage of grief right now. I'm mad that he ruined fall, maybe forever. Once the air changes, his absence is all I can feel and I count down the days from October 14...and then count how many days past the year it's been. I'm mad that I'll never have a birthday without thinking about the one for him that wasn't celebrated the day before. I'm mad he never saw my place, or heard about my first adult job. I'm mad he didn't hear about my engagement, and he won't tell me he loves me when I get married or that he's proud of me when I get my PhD. I'm mad my kids are going to miss out on an awesome grandpa. I'm mad that home doesn't feel it anymore. I'm mad that somedays I still feel him and others I feel like he was never here.
I know I need this change. I just...have my doubts. But I'm going.
Then I start to wonder, how long has it been since I was stable? Was I ever stable?
I'm more than a little apprehensive about meeting this woman tomorrow, too. It's not the idea of "telling my shit to a stranger" that bugs me. I did it before, and pretty successfully (I thought). I just hope she is what I want, what I need right now. I hope it's not awkward. I hope I feel safe and heard. There's a looming feeling of "this woman has better things to do" when I think about sitting there talking about myself for 50 minutes. I'm already wondering what kind of shit her other clients are dealing with, what she's dealing with, if she really cares.
I think I'm sliding through a very subdued version of the "anger" stage of grief right now. I'm mad that he ruined fall, maybe forever. Once the air changes, his absence is all I can feel and I count down the days from October 14...and then count how many days past the year it's been. I'm mad that I'll never have a birthday without thinking about the one for him that wasn't celebrated the day before. I'm mad he never saw my place, or heard about my first adult job. I'm mad he didn't hear about my engagement, and he won't tell me he loves me when I get married or that he's proud of me when I get my PhD. I'm mad my kids are going to miss out on an awesome grandpa. I'm mad that home doesn't feel it anymore. I'm mad that somedays I still feel him and others I feel like he was never here.
I know I need this change. I just...have my doubts. But I'm going.