If I Met You For A Cup of Coffee,

This is what I’d tell you.

I’d tell you that I’ve been having a hard time writing, feeling my feelings, and being creative.  I think the problem might be the increase in my antidepressants.  I think they are making me numb.  I’m not sad, I’m not happy…most of the time.

I’d tell you that I discovered this kind of cookie called Biscoff.  They are so good.  I’m going to learn how to make them.

I’d tell you that I’m having some anniversary issues.  It was a year ago that my oldest son acted out sexually inappropriately with his brothers.  Then a week or two later I lost (they did not die) two of my closest friends.  It was three years ago that my ex therapist became extremely emotionally abusive and terminated me put of the blue.  I absolutely HATE those two extra friends and my ex therapist.  I can’t stop thinking about what these three people did to me.  I have been beating up the Wavemaster on a regular basis.  I wish I knew how to let these three people go. And, regarding my son, I’ve been extremely jumpy and antsy about where he is in the house and where his brothers are.  I love my son and I want to protect him and I don’t trust him at all.

My two friends whom I lost last year were like my sisters.  They spent lots of time in my house.  They took care of my kids with me.  We were together all the time.  Yesterday, I realized that they had me convinced I could not care for my kids without their help. My kids are very difficult children, but you know what?  I’ve taken better care of them in the past year without those 2 friends than ever before.  I don’t need assistance parenting.  Fuck those people.  

Also, if my ex therapist had not terminated me, I would never have found my present therapist.  My ex therapust told me that I would probably never heal.  My present therapist called me a warrior in the first month I saw her.  She also tells me that I am whole and I have all I need inside me to heal.  

I’d tell you that I’m addicted to Law and Order SVU.  I wish I’d known an Olivia when I was a kid.  Now, I’m learning to be my own Olivia.

I’d also tell you that I’m now smaller than I was in 7th grade.  I’m thrilled with how I look and what my body can do.  I’d tell you that my hair is now quite short and I now look like what I’ve imagined in my mind for years.  Short haired, athletic looking, feminine lesbian.  I love it.  

What would you tell me if we were drinking coffee together today?

Sometimes….

My reactions to things astound me.  I had a pretty good session.  I think I’ve started recognizing my warriorness again.  Last week, I’d been talking to my therapust about some stuff that happened to me as a teenager.  As I talked, it occurred to me that I now weigh less than when this stuff happened and I expressed to my therapist that this actually made me feel very vulnerable all of a sudden.  This was towards the end of last week’s session, so my therapust gave me an assignment to compare 15 year old me to the now 50 year old me.  I did this assignment and included some pictures.  I came up with at least 30 ways that I am different from 15 year old me.  I found out that  I’m lots stronger and more capable now than I was when I was 15.  And I recognized my warriorness again.   So, on Tuesday, my therapust and I talked about this and then talked about the flashbacks I’ve been having lately.  And then my therapist told me that she is going away for the whole week the week after next.  My head swirled and my eyes filled with tears.  I tried to tell myself that I could live for a week, but some part of me was screaming that she just came back from vacation a couple of weeks ago.  And then I realized that the week my therapust will be back from being away is my kids’ winter break and I’ve not been successful with finding a babysitter for any part of that week.  So, no therapy that week.  I protested, stating that it will be two weeks because of that and my therapust stated that she just won’t be here.  Which I get. My protests aren’t going to change anything.  I don’t get a say in this.  I am just starting to see some specks of light after a big depression and those specks are still disappearing at times.  I just saw my warriorness again.  I don’t want all of that to disappear.  My therapist and my wife reminded me that I didn’t fall apart for the two weeks my therapist was away just a few weeks ago.  I know I didn’t…I was actually grateful to have less times that I was expected to be awake and functioning.  But, now, I feel in a fragile place with this trafficking word.  And I’m afraid that I could get too deep in it and then be left alone with it for two weeks.  I left the session in tears.  I know I’ll be okay…as okay as I can be.  But, I’m not ready for another therapy break and I have no control in this.  I feel vulnerable.  Nothing I do will change my therapist’s plans.  I know that.  But, I have to look at this reaction.  I have to deal with where it comes from.  I’m so afraid of people leaving me.  I’m afraid they won’t come back.  My therapust will be back unless something beyond her control happens.  There’s my problem.  People may have the best intentions, but not every circumstance is controllable.  Some people have heinous intentions, and those circumstances were beyond my control when I was growing up.  I don’t like this out of control feeling.  

I need to set up some ways I’m going to cope with those two weeks of no therapy.  I have three sessions to look at this stuff and come up with a plan for myself.  

Even though…

I am tired, depressed, and in pain, I am a warrior.

Even though I am having a difficult time finding the words to talk about what’s going on inside me, I am still a warrior.

I am a warrior even though I am depressed and feel stuck.

I am a warrior even when I feel defeated by the memories and flashbacks.

I am a warrior every day of my life.

Even when I forget that I am a warrior, I’m still a warrior.

Even when I am wounded, I am a warrior.

Even when I lose the battle, I am still a warrior.

I will not stop being a warrior…even if my soul is weary, my heart broken, my body damaged, and my mind afflicted.

I am a warrior every day of my life.

I am a warrior every day I live.

I am a warrior.

I’m Definitely Depressed

I feel like I’m swimming through gelatinous mud all of the time.  Things feel so hard.  My brain feels all mucked up.  Like I just can’t concentrate on anything.  And, I’m finding myself choosing sleeping over eating.  Ugh.

I had therapy today and my therapist said that I seemed to have lost sight of my warriorness.  I had emailed her over the weekend and told her I was having lots of flashbacks of situations that woukd apply to that trafficking word.  When I arrived at therapy, she asked me if I was still having a hard time.  I said yes and she asked me if I should maybe talk about those flashbacks, and I said I probably should, but I didn’t want to.  Then my therapist said the I seemed to have lost sight of my warriorness.  She said that it seemed like all of a sudden I don’t trust myself.  I’ve been thinking about that.  I think I’ve been doing lots of judging of myself and my process, and that’s leading me to falter and not know if it’s okay to go to where this process is leading me.  I’m still in the grieving mode, but I have not let myself say that in a very long time.  There’s still kid stuff to talk about, but sometimes that seems to me that it might be ridiculous that I’m 50 years old and still talking about what hapoened to me 25 and 30 and 40 years ago.  When does it end?  When do those years stop playing a major role in my life?  My therapist says that I can talk about everything as much as I want and she will listen, but I start feeling stupid sometimes.  She says she’ll tell me if she ever thinks I’m wallowing, but so far, she sees no sign of that.  So, I think my judgement of myself is not helping.  My therapist always says, “it just is”, and I think I need to take that to heart.  I did tell my therapust today that it is really hard to be a warrior when I’m depressed.  We talked about what I’m doing about my depression.  She suggested I call the psychiatric nurse practitioner who prescribes my medication, so I did.  I told the NP about my surgery and my fibromyalgia flare and depression.  She said that depression is often triggered by fibro flares and increased my Cymbalta dosage.  Hopefully, that will help.  And my therapist gave me an assignment to create a collage about how I’ve been a warrior throughout my life.  I’ll give an update on how that goes when I’m done.

OMG

I forgot to mention in my last post.  I was talking about all of the abusers in my therapy session yesterday, and my therapist said that what my parents dis was human trafficking.  She and I have talked in the past about one of my parents being a drug addiction and both of them being alcoholic.  We also had more money than it seemed, based on our houses, cars, etc.  My therapist said that my parents had to have gotten something out of all of my abusers or else they would not have shared me the way they did.  When my therapist said human trafficking, my mouth hung open, but it also rang true.  It was like things finally made sense…some of my why’s have been answered.