Saturday, August 30, 2014

Ahead of the curve

I shed tears in my therapy session yesterday.
This is not a new thing for me, but for some reason, figuring out the dynamics between myself and this new doctor has been a process.  I did not feel immediately comfortable.  I did not feel good about sharing the strange and intimate details of my life with him.  Every time I'd confess something new, I'd cringe.  I'd feel ashamed.  I feared judgement.
Over the weeks, I have slowly come to see him as a loving, dorky grandfather.  I've become familiar with his vocal quirks, his high-waist pants, and the awkward way he sometimes swears, in what seems like an adorable effort to relate to me.  I like him.  And I feel liked in return.

My week has been rough.  

There are financial struggles.  Big ones.  
There are divorce-related disagreements.  Shitty, hurtful ones.
There are PTSD symptoms that are getting much worse, instead of better.
There are house-related repairs that desperately need attention, and I can't do it.  My sink has been plugged for two weeks, and I am still not sure how to fix it.
I've been dealing with fibromyalgia BS, and haven't felt well all week.
And my boyfriend was here for a visit, and had to go back home...that's the worst.

I showed up for DBT group on Thursday, and didn't look at anyone.  Just sat there, disengaged, crying, and writing in my notebook.
When I arrived for my therapy appointment the next morning, my doctor asked immediately about my apparent sadness in group.
And I cried.
My anxiety, and crippling fear of leaving my house.
The accusations and hurtful, mixed messages from my ex husband.
The painful and cumbersome distance that separates me from the man I love.
And I just cried.  

We talked about how I had been dealing with those situations when they have arisen, and I said I'd just been trying to stick to the facts, state my case, and stay on topic.  Repeating myself when necessary.  I have tried to avoid judgments and assumptions.  I have tried to take steps, little ones if necessary, toward solving the problems, instead of wallowing.
And I still felt shitty.
I still feel afraid to leave my house, worrying I'll run into someone unpleasant, who likes to hurt me.
I still feel heartbroken when my boyfriend leaves, and spend the next two days stumbling around like a confused newborn calf separated from its mother.
I still don't know how to fix that goddamn sink, or what to do about the stagnant water festering in the pipes.
I feel shitty.  Damn shitty.

And he just looked at me, contemplating.  Curious.
He frowned, thoughtful, and shifted his glasses to his head.  "How do you know how to do all of this?"

My face stuck, and I wasn't sure how to react.  "How to do all of what?"

He looked at his notes and then back at me.
"These are skills we teach for conflict resolution.  Staying on topic.  The Broken Record...repeating yourself calmly.  Taking actions to solve problems.  Where did you learn these things?"

"I didn't.  I mean, I haven't."

He just looked at me, blinking.  And I realized that this man wasn't sure what to say to me, or how to say it.  Because everything he planned to teach me, I was already doing.  I was ahead of the curve.

"I guess...I suppose I'm better at this than I thought," I said.

My homework for the week is to keep track of every time I don't let my fear and anxiety get the better of me.  To note when I feel that fear, and move forward despite it.  To note when I live my life the way I fucking well want to, instead of caving to anxiety over what someone will think about it.  To go out and buy a tube of goddamn cookie dough, and to hell with what anyone thinks of it. Because I am allowed to do those things.  Because it is my life to live.  Because I no longer have to answer to anyone else for my lifestyle choices.
Ever, ever again.

I have to give myself more credit.
I might have no education, but I'm smart.
I might have a truckload of mental illnesses, but I don't have to be a slave to them.
I'm a good person, and I'm allowed to remember that about myself.

And I can do it.  I'm already ahead of the curve.
And no matter how hard anyone else ever works to prove otherwise, I will never ever forget that about myself.


  1. What's going on with your sink? I'm not a plumber, but I've dealt with plumbing before. Tomorrow is booked, but get ahold of me, and I can try to get over there Monday

    Sara from lush

    1. Thank you, Sara. I have weird plumbing under my sink, and sometimes it just clogs. I know how to do it, and I have the proper tools, just lacking the muscle and the gumption. It's on my "list of grown up shit to quit avoiding," and my goal is to tackle it before the weekend. Thank you so much for offering tho.

    2. Does it need to be weird for any particular reason, or could it be replaced with a standard U trap? If it can, it might prevent the problem. If any of this is garbled, I'm on my migraine heavy hitters.

    3. No, it's a "home plumbing" job done by someone who used to live here, and who apparently didn't know gravity was a thing. I don't have the $$ to have it replaced, so for now I just avoid using the garbage disposal, and hope for the best. Apparently, someone else in the house (my daughter) forgot about the no-disposal rule :P
      Sorry about your aching brain, dude. I hope you feel better soon!

  2. Meh, you know migraines...they come and go as they please, kinda like cats. I've been trying to check back in on you for a while, but life got in the way. Do you need anything? a girl's day? A friendly ear? Let me know, I'm available if you need a friend.