This week I have done several rather difficult things and I think my brain might be ready to crap out on me at any minute…so of course I choose to blog.
On Monday, I worked myself to the bone until a meltdown happened and only gave myself permission to myself to stop both working and melting down after both Shaun and Wes had to tell me to stop folding laundry. There is little more pitiful looking than a scraggly haired girl in a tie dye dress weeping helplessly as she attempts to fold a pair of jeans. I curled up on the couch for a while and switched back and forth between staring at the ceiling and staring at the dog, who was staring at me and raising her hilarious ears as opportune times.
Indeed, I have been looking the part of the non-functioning depressive lately, putting off showers until late in the day and arriving places with wild hair, a skinny look to my face and a distinct inability to laugh at most things.
Except I can always laugh at the dog’s ears. They’re amazing.
Yes, she is dressed as turtle.
Yesterday, I fired my therapist before we had even begun because she was completely irresponsible, unprofessional, and patronizing. Sure, sure, maybe my standards are too high, but you know? Sometimes you just have to take a gamble and hope there’s something better. Please tell me there’s something better, because seriously I’ve about had it with the profession at this point.
Today I wrote a letter that I have needed to write for years but was too unhealthy and afraid to write it, let alone put it in an envelope and then take a special trip to the post office to physically put it in a mail box before I had a chance to back out. Family is hard, especially when you have spent 20-25 years not saying how you feel, what you want or what you need. I feel a bit like a hollow shell of a woman at the moment, but I know that this just means that I can fill it back up with the right things. I don’t know how the message will be received and I don’t know what will come of it, but at the end of the day I did something incredibly terrifying that needed to be done quite desperately.
And I’m proud of myself because I haven’t gotten any actual successful talk therapy, with the exception of my very competent friends and I have gotten myself to do these things. This is mostly because I am finally allowing myself to not be alone. Our problems do not exist in a vacuum. We must accept support when it is given from an honest, loving place and I have that in spades. How lucky am I?
As I made the final decision to push the letter into the mail slot, all I could think was:
And that might be true, but I think I am prepared now. I have plenty of water (especially in hot tub form), delicious food, supportive people, and of course an entire case and a half of homemade red wine.
Ok, yes, I know that’s a terrible philosophy.
But, sometimes it’s pretty fucking true.
Stop judging me.
Oh, you’re not judging me. You just want me to pour you a glass. Well, sure!
I mean…GET YOUR OWN.
Alright, I admit it. This entire post was just an excuse to look for funny illustrative pictures on the internet. I mean, that’s what the internet is for so I guess I’m approaching normalcy? Sure? Yes. I’ll take it.
Tomorrow is Thursday and I am hoping beyond all hope that I will have a mind that is functional beyond handling incredibly difficult and cathartic emotional activities. I’d say I can’t take much more, but that’s not true. I can take a lot more, but it would be nice to have a break, you know?
Then it’s Friday.
So, I’ll end with an obligatory Rebecca Black reference.
You’re welcome. OK. I think I’m done now. Can I go home yet?