I have trouble on therapy days. She pushes me. With good reason. I pay her to push me. To pull all of the crazy thoughts out of my head. So we can discuss them. If I keep talking about them, they tend to get a bit easier to deal with. That’s the theory at least.
The thoughts go round and round in my head. It’s nice to pull them out. Try and makes sense of some of them. Then after 55 minutes, she shoves them all back in my head until the next week. I see how helpful this is. I really do. Tomorrow or the next day, I will feel better about some things. Each week I do see improvement. If I didn’t, I’d find someone else.
But therapy days suck. I’ve gotten past just sitting there bawling through 90% of it. Which is nice. Although when I did that, I needed that. Talking and talking and re-looking at things from a different perspective is hard. Talking about things that I’m not really wanting to talk about is hard. It wipes me out. It makes me emotional. It makes me very long windy. (Which is why I’ve changed my tagline for this blog. Did you see it?)
This divorce thing? Hasn’t gotten easier. Somehow I though by six months in, that I’d feel better about it. I don’t. The day to day living has gotten easier. I guess it’s true, you can get used to just about anything. I’ve gotten used to being alone more. I don’t freak out every time my kids aren’t with me. I also don’t know how to be without them quite yet, but I’m working on it. I’ve made improvements. It’s not easy though.
Therapy days make me all crazy in the head. Or something. I am more likely to have a panic attack on therapy days. I am more likely to drive my best friends absolutely insane with my complete spazzy behavior on therapy days. I am more likely to cry at nothing, to get my feelings hurt at nothing and to say things I don’t mean and wish I could take back on therapy days.
I’m trying not to be like that. It’s hard. Holy shit people, it’s so hard. It’s hard to turn it off, once you dig that deep. Which is why you all get the most depressing, non-sensical posts from me on Tuesdays. Shrug.
There are moments where breathing in and out seems like a lot of work. I hyperventilate sometimes until I remember that I do know how to breath deeply. In an out, in and out. Two, three, four times before I feel like I will make it.
I have to be constantly reminded that I am doing okay. That I’ve come far in two weeks. That I’ve continued to move forward. That baby steps are better than no steps at all. I sometimes have to be reminded to breath.
This weekend was good. Fun even. Family time, spent in the mountains. Time spent watching silly movies and playing Wii championship games of bowling.
I can’t seem to hang onto it. I can’t seem to stay positive.
This is an improvement, I know. After two solid weeks of barely making it each day. Of crying more than one should cry, of falling more than I thought I could fall. I know two days of peace and fun, was good. An improvement. For two days straight I didn’t think about the things in my face. Two days of eating entire meals, of not throwing away 98% of it; is good. Three solid nights of sleep is good. Thank you Ambien.
But I can’t hold onto it.
Am I doing better than I was last week? Yes. Last week was….the only words I can come up with are soul crushing. Not sure that is right. But that’s how it felt then.
I know I am doing better. I feel a little better than I did. I will continue going to therapy twice a week, until I don’t have to be reminded to breath. To eat. To sleep.
However, it doesn’t feel like enough. I should feel better. I know that is silly, but it’s how I feel. I feel like an over dramatic spaz. I know I’m not. I know what I’m going through, even the feeling like I should get over it, is completely normal.
Problem is, my brain knows it; my heart just isn’t so sure.
I feel broken. I feel unfixable. I feel battered. This feels too big. Too hard. Too much for me to deal with.
I’m scared.
I should have known better. We should have known better. How many times does one couple need to learn this lesson? Wasn’t once enough?
We’ll file this post under: Full Disclosure.
Last night…I can’t believe I’m doing this again. Last night we got caught doing the nasty knocking boots getting a bit frisky by Bailey. Some of you may remember the “wrestling” post, back when Morgan was about four and a half? Either way. We got caught again.
We were um…playing on the couch, when we heard this little voice.
Mama, my heart hurts.**
Logan, my very lovely husband, is a quick thinker. He says, honey go in the bathroom and find your inhaler and Mama will be in there in one second.
So I get up, put some clothes back on and go in the bathroom to help my child breath better. She uses her inhaler as she leans against me. We wait for a few minutes and she does it again. Then she says, Mommy, what were you and Daddy doing?
I think to myself for a second and say the first thing that comes to mind, oh we were playing doctor. Oh she says, ok then. Who was the doctor? Oh, um, well, my um….Daddy was. Ok, mama, my heart is better, goodnight. My heart at this point; about to explode. She patters down the hall, up the stairs and goes back to bed.
Needless to say, we moved our game of doctor upstairs. Behind locked doors.
I was not looking forward to this morning. I was hoping she’d not remember. It would be better that way. Maybe we should tell her she was sleepwalking, Logan had said. Took awhile before she brought it up. I was driving up to the school and she said to Morgan, Mommy and Daddy play doctor after we go to bed. Morgan, god love her, just laughed and laughed, but didn’t say a word. We walked Bailey to preschool and as we walked to her class room, she leans into me and whispers, Mommy, you were having S.E.X., (she spelled it, all loud and crap, like I couldn’t hear her) right?
I said the only thing I could, baby, do you really want to know? Ew, no she says. I never want to know that. Then don’t ask. But please, keep it to yourself okay? Sure, but ewwwww mommy. Then she runs off, laughing to herself.
My cheeks are red just typing this. But you know, this is a full disclosure blog. Aren’t you glad you stopped by this morning?
Once for each kid, that’s not horrible right? We can try better for the boy, to not scar him for life or send him to therapy before he’s five. But you know, sometimes you temporarily forget there are children in the house. At least until you hear that little voice say, mama or daddy. Kill joy.
We can’t be the only ones, can we?
**Bailey is an asthmatic. When her asthma is acting up, she says her heart hurts. It’s just how she explains it.
I have a bit of an obsessive personality. I knew that already, but my therapist told me that this morning. I was telling her about blogging again and how much I’ve missed it and about my new love for Twitter. Because, my lovely friends, I am in love with twitter. I checked it all day yesterday. I’ve resisted getting updates sent to my phone (at least for right now), just because I’m afraid I may over do it and everyone will un-follow me. I have even sent tweets to some people who don’t follow me. I hope I’m not breaking some kind of unwritten Twitter rule or something.
The truth is, I get all into something when it’s new. When iTunes first came out, I had to download everything in sight. I was on it all the time. When IM’ing first came out, I was in love with it and I wanted to chat on it all day. Then it was texting on my Crackberry and the wii….oh I love the wii. I’m still addicted to the wii. When I first gave it to Logan for Christmas, we spent hours the first night playing wii bowling and making the fugly-ist mii’s possible. The next day I couldn’t move my right arm at all.
Now it’s Twitter. I’m willing to admit, I’m in love with Twitter. Hi, my name is Issa and I’m addicted to Twitter. What will happen is in a few weeks, I’ll still love it, but I’ll get over the addiction part. Then I won’t feel the need to check it all day.
Or at least that’s what I told my therapist. She wasn’t all that impressed with my explanation. Truth is, I’ve always been like this. Do any of you remember when I professed my love for orange chicken from Panda Express? Well I got over it. I love something until I don’t and then I just like it. It’s a part of who I am. It’s a part of me that I’m not overly bothered by in the least. Everyone who knows me, knows that I’m like this. Doesn’t seem to be a problem for them. Everyone has their quirks, right?
For my therapist, it’s a sign of something greater. But I guess in a way, that’s her job to tell me how crazy I am. I tell you this, for this reason alone…if I start to bug you too much on Twitter, just know it’s a sign that I super-dup like you. That and I’m freaking bored. But if I get too overbearing, just let me know.
Truly, this was the best therapy session I’ve ever been too. I spent the whole time explaining my quirks and talking about all of you. Even though she things I’m nuttier than I was before, at least it was fun for me. There was no sobbing involved and that’s a great thing in my world. So rock on Twitter!!
Grab My Button!
I’m a joiner
