When you DIDN’T mess up in therapy!

I’m just here to say that tonight, I definitely didn’t fuck up therapy. And I am, in fact, proud of myself for it. I didn’t shut down, and I tried to stay present and …focused?

Okay, well, I did spend quite a while procrastinating with stories about random events from the past few days…and then some very serious tangents about spelling and grammar….but, come on. Those are super serious topics! How can I pretend to be a writer in any sort of context if grammar and spelling doesn’t come up in the most serious of therapy sessions?!

But really, it did go well, and it ended well. And it was exactly everything that I so desperately needed it to be.

Last night ended rather….umm…horribly. I lost a battle I’d been fighting for a while, and my body paid the price.

It was sort of a…. fire meets skin… sort of situation. The nights turning into mornings have been horrific this past week. I’ve been drinking too much, hating myself, hating having to exist..all of it. Then I fucking broke in the self harm department…something that is SO hard to pull together after that first delve back into it… and the self hatred just intensified after that.

I didn’t actually get into that at all tonight in therapy. But maybe that’s okay?

I don’t know. Last night was very, VERY easily one of those nights where I damn well could have, maybe even should have, died. Alcohol was the wrongful, yet easy, answer to my pain.

My sister…aka the devil…got here today. I’ve yet to see her, I ran out the door for therapy minutes before she got here, and I’ve avoided her since I got home.

My husband informed me that it isn’t going well, that she’s bitching and yelling already.

But this is a positive post. Things are fucking HARD right now. But I’m okay. I’m here. I’m alive. And I’m told that that’s a good thing.

I left therapy feeling….umm…something along the lines of…I don’t know. Maybe just less alone. Maybe more heard, or maybe more hopeful. I don’t know.

I’ve never been great at identifying the positive emotions.

But she did accuse me of liking her. To which I respectfully disagreed, because clearly, I don’t like anyone. And admitting to such neutral-positive feelings is not a world in which I readily belong to. 🙃

No, but really. I do care. Even if I hate myself for it.

Caring is horrifying, and scary, and brutal. None of which comes easily to me. Vulnerability is not my strength. Shit, it’s not even in my vocabulary. Yet, she’s incessantly trying to teach it to me…how to be vulnerable.

She’s right, I do care. And I do like her, but I’d never admit it. (Gross, I’m not trying to be vulnerable here. Weird. Ew.)

But…just for a bit of context…I have a few favorite people in my life. My husband and my best friend are included in that group. My best friend has been an active and insanely important part of my life for the past….21 years? Something like that?

And I’m still working on true vulnerability when it comes to her. So…none of this is easy for me..by any means.

But I’m trying, and I’m grateful.

And I’ll keep doing the very best that I can, until I just can’t anymore.

But tonight, it feels like I can. Even if for just a few hours.

A minute at a time, an hour at a time, a day at a time.

Last night, I made it to today.

And today, I will make it to tomorrow.

I consider that a good day in my books.

Thanks for making me feel like you care, JP. Killin it once again. You got this. 👍 (no, that is NOT sarcasm you’re picking up here. Obviously.)