I have been really hurting lately. My therapy session this week I didn’t consider being my last, but that’s what I allowed to happen. I felt so embarrassed by the end that bothering him anymore with my pointlessness and tears made me just say I wouldn’t be coming back. And it’s not how I wanted to say goodbye either, but it’s been more difficult to move on than I can handle. I continue to wonder when I will stop feeling like I’ve been thrown away, even while I know it makes no sense. His retiring doesn’t equal me being thrown away, but it feels that way. Rejection. Deserved and no way to be undone.
So as this shows I should continue treatment, I’ve been dragging my feet about calling for appointments with other providers. Asking myself what’s the use when I could just be at the end, going in circles, still as goal less as I was five years ago…As if I indeed should be thrown away by now.
I’ll think on it. Find some time to paint this weekend and maybe remember what it is I’m waiting for.
I had a very good session with my doctor this week. No matter how fragile a thread I’m hanging on, I’m doing so in whatever ways I can. It is not easy having to accept that many difficult things about myself may never change. This acceptance often feels like intolerable terms of a life I’d rather turn in early. But along with the acceptance is patience it will not do for me to go on without. Waiting is all we’re here to do. Until that time is up as all things come to an end.
Nothing lasts forever, and I can find a certain joy to experience simply in that if nothing else. Enough to hang on.
This painting is small and was all for the moment. I felt a sense of betrayal over something that happened and needed very much to see red. Luckily it was paint and not my own blood this time around.
I’ve written out all the thoughts that came up during my two full days of breakdown following the news of my therapist’s retirement. The problem with my job is the time I’m left to ruminate. I can bring myself so easily to tears, and those particular days were brutal. Not 30 minutes passed without weepy eyes and a feeling inside as if something had crawled into a hole and died. Genuine grief I didn’t think I was capable of feeling anymore.
I have some questions for him next week, along with some apologies to make. Since I’ve never terminated with a therapist before like this, I’m sure more tears are in store and hopefully I can express all I need to and fix a way somehow to move forward without him to turn to any longer.
And for a little song…The beginning of a poem I wrote years back, put to a melody to pass the free time some weeks ago.
It was never best that I cover up
But I fear letting you know
And the life after if I ever let it show
That I’ve never been together
Still, your eyes come to see
And I whisper to you ‘Don’t look down.’
Approach no further – walk back out
Just one more moment and I’ll reset
I’ll be all better soon
Finally some new music to share. This is a poem I modified for the simple melody I was working with one day. There is one note I sing that makes me cringe a little when I listen, but over all I think it gets across the pain underlying something personal I’m talking about.
I’m sorry you didn’t know
I buried my wings long ago.
Your unexpected, over blessed
You should have let me die.
I’m not getting this thing right.
Now pieces of a painful break…
I’m sorry when you hug me
I am numb from skin to soul.
All these years have never been.
And I’ve nothing to show.
There is a break for a few weeks from choir activities which I have to be thankful for. Other than that, I’d much rather get out of occupying my life for a while. Get out of this skin and not have to be here worrying about how to maintain. If there were only a switch to flip…I think I’d be okay long term then. But the only thing I know is how usual it is for the best options to be totally out of my reach.
I drew these, one each day during a week many months ago.
What a difference I feel from just last week. The choir I think is too much for me right now, but when I think of taking leave, there is nothing else. I’m accepting I will not get another job better than what I have. I’m accepting having no close relationships and being stuck in all the ways I am. And when hope that better change would eventually come along dies the way it has, I don’t want to go on.
My birthday is a month away. 25 on the 25th, and I thought for sure I’d be dead before I saw the day. I guess it would make sense though, to never develop more to my life — I was probably never meant to be here long enough to see that. I should have gotten rid of myself years ago before there was a chance to fool myself into believing this life could be recovered.
I feel repulsive. The self-punishment is never all it should be. Sometimes -I’d say most times- when you’ve fallen far enough behind, it’s best to stop the waste of energy on trying and let go. And in that case it seems silly to even consider what a “goodbye” would do or mean to anyone else.
I stopped truly knowing what I wanted for my time here long ago.
Filed under Art, depression
There is always more to go wrong. This morning a back tooth chipped right off after I put some gum in my mouth. So unlike saving my latest paycheck as I’d planned, I’ll have to spend it on a filling or crown. I haven’t been to the dentist in over three years, btw. I don’t have dental insurance and never had the extra money to spend on those routine exams.
I intended to call my therapist to schedule something for next week, too. But I got around to it late and will have to wait. By then I expect to have given in to what I know won’t solve a thing, but will make me feel better in the moments as I wait. The pressure has been overwhelming and with no one to talk to for even just distraction has left me barely able to contain the emotion when it matters most: while at work and confronting others day to day. It’s either allow myself to shed the tears that well up at any moment they choose, or distract my self with pain of some sort.
What trouble would it be to anyone if I just weren’t here anymore? Others are all wrapped up in the lives of those who matter more to them, for which I have never been included. And I am indeed tired of thinking these thoughts. I am tired of fighting them.
This is a semi-hard pastel drawing on a burlap panel piece I bought on clearance weeks ago. I glued in shredded sheet music here and there. My own version of a flower I’ve seen including that.
I am still working full time. I’ve had two interviews– the one last week was a bust, but the other (of which I had to leave early today to complete) was more promising.
Apart from these decent happenings, I nearly broke down in front of my mother mid-week as I prepared for another long day at work and the last interview. I blatantly told her I felt very lonely and so tired of starting over. Sure, it’s nothing she or anyone else can solve, but up to that point I always felt too pathetic to admit how much loneliness has affected me. Even to my therapist, whom I’ve gone another month without speaking to. Apart from the letter I sent with my apology to him for the last session, I feel shameful and not yet ready/willing to open up again with discussion. A small set back I’m trying to pull through I guess.
I have my audition to look forward to, and the bus trip to NYC I’m taking in September with my mother I’m still excited to reach. Just keeping in mind that I do indeed have to stay alive to meet those moments. I just need to show up.