Therapy
Looks like some of the things I was going to talk about I have already journaled about. However, I haven't written since spring and here it is Autmn.
Click to viewStill such a great memory. Such a great song.
I keep hearing the ad for "Better Help" and all the reasons you should sign up. And I have, a couple of times. But for what it takes to establish therapy with someone, its more money than I can afford. So, I am stuck not being able to really get the therapy I need.
In the last ad, I thought... And what would I get from it? They would first tell me I'm in a narcissistic mentally abusive relationship due to my codependency. Uh, yes. I knew that. I am in it because my mother had me in on my first 40 years. Yep. Got that one too. They would say I need to take more time out for myself. Well, if I do any kind of therapy, I would be taking that time out for myself. I don't have the time. I don't have the energy. I don't have the spoons. I'm having a hard time enough just keeping any of my shit together.
As I get older, my menopause and my mental health are playing havoc with my body. My hair and teeth are depleting. My brain fog is so intense I keep forgetting some of my favorite things. However, some of my favorite things aren't even important anymore as they aren't important to my partners I chose. My anxiety in driving is getting so much worse. I can't seem to do ANYTHING for MYSELF. Not really. If I have spoons, they go to Bailey. And unfortunately, that means I'm leaving Brandon and Merritt in the dust. (Albeit, Merritt is doing pretty well for himself). And all I can do is beat myself up for it because I don't have the energy to do what needs to be done. Any extra spoons I can gain outside of work I spend cleaning up after my depression (i.e., hanging up my clothes, cleaning Baileys room) or spending some time with my mom that she needs as she's getting older and really needs me. She's finally forgiven me enough to let me help again.
I never got around to posting about my Womens Retreat. Which was really amazing. It was draining, recharging, fulfilling and a LOT of work. And... the enemy in the real world without the protection of 24/7 watchful angels, I've lost a lot of my drive. I started off really well. Until I was "scolded" for the money I spent on Bible Study books. So, there they sit. Collecting dust. He gets to "win" a lot. I don't have much power to fight. I am a devout Christian living with demons. And I frkn chose it. Some days I can't live without them. Some days I long for escape. Escape seems to either mean runaway or unalive myself. And I love enough of my life to not want those 2 options.
Maybe they would call it codependency, but I need it. I get showered with love and devotion, (the love bomb), as long as I don't.... (the list is endless). I follow the unwritten rules to get the rewards I live for. And... a therapist would congratulate the self-awareness and tell me to come up with a third escape option.
This morning, I attempted to think of one. "Covid" (the block of time that made me have a mental breakdown) really changed who I am. I thought back to my letters from the retreat. (the ones I really need to re-read). Those letters came to me after God stripped away every single part of me to a raw state. And as I sat, crowned and raw, I was reminded that there are many out there who still love me. And that meant the world to me. However, coming home, bandaged, healing, and with SO much work to still do, I entered my den of demons and almost ritualistically was reminded where I "belong".
My most meaningful letter reminded me that because I was seen a long time ago, I was changed for the good. And I was. That time in my life made me grow up so much. I even felt like emailing my ex, after hearing "Little Lion Man" on the radio, to just apologize that I was too young and immature, and I see that now. That train has left any station close to me. Now, grown, I sit in a deep well. No one out there would know who I am based on who I was. I laughed and thought, If I went over and had dinner, they would make sure to not put onions in my food. And now, I love onions. What the hell? I'm no longer immature, but my grown-up self sits very deep in that well. looking up at all the obstacles I need to do and accomplish, and I just don't want to. I don't blame him. The master of my Monters. He didn't break me. I just broke.
My meds keep me alive and balanced. I still have low days, but I can get out of those within a short time. God gave me a name at the Well. It's Waterfall. I will save that post on a happier day. I reached out to my favorite artist in hopes that if she brings out the name in a visual, maybe I can try to climb up out of the well and become a source of a free-falling cleansing. A therapist would tell me everything I already know I need to do. Ironically, I need to go to therapy. LOL. I just don't seem to have the energy...