In June, I wrote about how difficult it was for me to find the time, space, and energy for writing. I would sit and stare at the screen, typing and backspacing and typing again. Motivation was running low. My voice had all but disappeared. Plus, it triggered me to read other people’s blogs.

Three months later and not much has changed.

I got myself in a bit of a depression pit on Friday. I was talking to my dad on the phone and he mentioned how much weight he has lost since being hospitalized two weeks ago for the COVID pneumonia that nearly wrecked him. He’s still there, so we do a lot of talking by phone and when he said that on that day, I said back “wow, you probably weigh less than me.” At first, he said “well, I don’t know about that.” But because I’m a glutton for punishment, or because I’m hyperaware of just how much weight I’ve gained, I replied “No, really. I’ve put on a lot of weight.” He hesitated, but then he pretty much agreed with me in a way that shattered any bit of self-esteem I hadn’t already wiped out myself.

Truth is, I walked myself into this conversation and I don’t know why. I have put on about 40 pounds over the last year and I’m a whopping 192 now. Maybe it’s because I know others are aware of it, but don’t say anything, and that makes me anxious. Maybe I was hoping he would disagree with me. Considering I link my weight with my attractiveness and my attractiveness with my worth, I guess it would make sense that I was clinging to some false hope.

The point is, this conversation shook me. It hasn’t left my mind for more than an hour since. Even when distracted, I drift back to it: the sense memory where I can place myself in the moment. Was it small? Yes. Small, but effective. I don’t know that he meant for this to warp my brain, but regardless here we are.

In taking stock of my life, I continue to feel much like I’m out of control, hanging over the edge and constantly clawing my way back up, never to really pull myself all the way there. Sometimes I start making slow progress, but it never really lasts. Something always gets in the way and then I’m back to eating a meal that could be fit for three people instead of just one.

On top of that, my hold on my routines is tenuous at best. Depends mostly on my mood. As it’s oscillated from the extremes of determinedly hopeful to helplessly suicidal, I’ve picked up and put down even the essential self-care and hygiene acts. For example, I went a couple weeks without brushing my teeth each night because I was too tired to care.

Oh, the exhaustion. I can’t pinpoint when it began but it’s zapped away my will to do just about anything. I’ve had it medically checked out with no answers and anyway L thinks it’s from the psychological warfare I wade through each day. She says if I’m working so hard to wade through insecurities, intense emotions, and negative thoughts, plus trying to present as calm and centered, I’m going to be tired.

But anyway, because of the fatigue I’ve been sleeping a lot. I’ll typically sleep anywhere from 10-14 hours a night depending on what’s on my agenda for the day. Sometimes I think some of it stems from boredom, but I still deeply feel the need for sleep in my body as I yawn and slouch and life starts to blur around the edges. It’s just so hard to stay up.

That means I’ve spent very little time on hobbies. When was the last time I read a book or did a puzzle or crocheted something? Who knows. And as you can see, forget about writing. If the words won’t come, I’m not willing to spend precious energy searching for them.

So this is the life I’m living right now: The day starts when I roll out of bed at the last possible second. Either I’ve slept in because I’m not working or I’ve let the clock run as close as possible to the time I have to leave for work. Sometimes my lunch is packed and my outfit is picked out, but that’s not as frequent as it could be. My bed rarely gets made. The cat always gets fed, that’s the one constant before I scramble out the door, usually forgetting a water bottle or something else. Then work, plus additional hours of work if it’s not a therapy day. If I have therapy, great. It doesn’t matter, I’ll still end up laying on the couch when I get home, wishing for some interest in doing anything else but slipping into unconsciousness. Forget trying to date, there’s nothing to spare for that.

For awhile, that meant dinner was often ordered. I certainly didn’t have the energy to make something. Which meant that it was usually something terrible for you. I’d scold myself each time, promise that tomorrow I needed to do better, but lather rinse repeat and we’re back to making the same poor decisions day after day and then falling asleep early.

I’ve committed again and again to the same goals. L is behind me for each one, cheering me on, but I have to imagine she knows as well as I do that it’s not going to stick. When has it ever?

In an ideal life, I would be following simple routines daily that included exercise, meditation, reading, and focusing on wealth management and nutrition. I’d have time for the things I enjoy. I’d be reading your blogs and writing verbose responses that I felt proud of. There wouldn’t be late night cheese binges or large sums of money thrown away on Amazon purchases. I wouldn’t fret over the fact that I didn’t think of the exact perfect right thing to say. I’d be in control and I’d feel in control. I’d feel like a true adult instead of an awkward kid parading around in an adult body.

L is big on taking minute changes and adding them up to a better lifestyle. She wants me to start slow. I’m not very good at slow. I seek immediate gratification and I struggle with not seeing the results in real time. Getting started is hard, but I need to get over that. At this point, it may be Day 1 of this brand new plan, but it’s Day whatever of my overall journey towards my goals. I’ve already started, I’ve just not been making much growth.

I was working with Noom for awhile until I completely gave up on that. Dr. N thinks that I probably lost interest because I already know most of what they are trying to teach me. So I’ve downloaded Weight Watchers at her suggestion and I’m giving that a try. I’ve re-subscribed to my BeachBody account for six months. And I’m working in the Fabulous app to develop solid routines that don’t ask too much of me, but keep me moving forward.

Exercise, nutrition, therapy, and routine in addition to watching my spending. That’s a lot. Something’s got to give. Well, lots of things have to give, and I think this blog might be one of them, at least for now.

It’s not the only thing that I’m tapping out on. I’ve been away from the Calm app and meditation for a couple months and I don’t feel the need to go back to that yet. I have 17 or so different books waiting to be read and I’m not going to force myself into that. If I feel like writing, or meditating, or reading, so be it. I’ll grant myself the time. But I’m not going to beat myself up anymore for not doing all the things all the time.

As L says, I am human and I am allowed to be human.

I don’t forsee this changing very much. It’s not like I’ve been present much anyway in the last year or so. My absence isn’t a shock. But instead of wondering, if you have, whether I’m okay and what is going on, you’ll know now where the hell I’ve disappeared to. I’m off living life, begrudgingly at times and with cautious optimism at others. I’m focusing on me and aiming towards reaching the goals that I’ve been putting on the backburner.

I may still read and like posts here and there, leave a brief comment to let you know I’m thinking of you, but it’s not going to be something I prioritize, especially as reading about the trials of therapy and managing the delicate attachment to therapists is extremely triggering these days and usually ends with me texting L to reaffirm our relationship. I used to push through that pain, but now I think I’m only hurting myself and maybe there’s some use to stepping away.

So maybe a post will randomly pop up. Maybe. I still think that since this blog was one of the tools I used in my therapy with J, who used to read or be read my posts all the time, being here reminds me too much of her. Sometimes that’s connecting, but usually it’s anguishing. L and I have diverged from the blog, built our own relationship and given it an identity that often lives through our texts, not my writing.

I remain grateful for all of you and wish you the best on your own journeys. Please continue the hard work, I’m thinking of each of you.

Out with summer, in with the new school year

As I sit down on this beautiful afternoon to write for the first time in a very long time, I find that I hardly know where to begin. It’s been almost two months. That’s just about the longest stretch of time I’ve ever gone between posts.

While I was gone, I had my four year anniversary of being on WP. Never could I have imagined that I would still be writing. I didn’t do anything special to celebrate, as you could see, but it was nice to take a moment to acknowledge.

Where was I? Busy, sometimes. Other times, hiding in bed. I was good, then I wasn’t, and it wavered back and forth like that. Right now, in this moment, I’m in a pretty good place where I can take true stock of things and just bring you up to date on where my life has gone. I might actually be able to see the good.

My summer was a mix of a lot of things, mostly work related. I posted about the new family I had begun with and my very mixed feelings towards them. Well, it didn’t get much better but I was able to get through the few days that we had together and I don’t plan on going back, at least not for long stretches of time like that. My sweet little S (from my previously family), upon seeing me for the first time, asked sassily We’re still your favorite, right?

Oh girl, how little you know. Except she did know, because I wasn’t shy about telling them about the horrors of babysitting. In reality, it wasn’t so bad. We played a lot of games, watched some movies, and took a few trips. The fighting just made me want to tear my hair out though and it really got to me the final day we were together. I took them mini-golfing and the whole time all they did was argue and complain. Good gracious, I was ready to lose it. Well, I did. A few times.

But that’s all over now. I still make great efforts to keep my girls, H & S, in my life. They stayed over the night before they went back to school and it was a joy to hear all their stories, listen to their antics, and just be in their presence for a little while. We had our deep conversations and our silly moments. We almost set off the smoke detectors, you know, the usual. It really was very lovely and it’s a reminder of why I work so hard to stay relevant to them.

Others are no longer in my life. If you read about P in my last post, you can just throw that one right out the window. We became officially “together” the day after I posted that, and then it fizzled and burned out equally as fast. At first we saw each other a lot. But he then was away one weekend and I got sick the next, so put a pin in things for a bit. When we finally saw each other again, I was very preoccupied by some bad news I’d gotten (to be discussed below) and also fixated on the fact that he had put in an offer on a house out of state.

It was where he had been living prior to the pandemic, about an hour and a half away. In my mind, we were nowhere near the place that I’d be willing to make that drive just to see someone for a couple hours. He seemed oblivious to the fact that it bothered me and never once considered maybe talking about it with me. Again, maybe our relationship was too new for that. If that’s the case, we were doomed to fail.

So I started pulling away, he noticed, and he ended things before I could ever have a conversation with him about how I felt regarding the whole potential of moving. I was somewhat relieved, somewhat upset, but by now I’ve glossed the whole thing over in my mind. On to the next. Well, eventually. I haven’t quite gotten back out into the dating world yet.

Part of the reason for that is because I’m so, so deeply entrenched in my self-consciousness about my weight and overall appearance. My lack of mindful eating grows more and more prevalent by the day and I’ve struggled to take control of it. I’ve gained a significant amount of weight and every time I start to shed any, I relapse and gain more. It’s a definite work in progress, but it doesn’t help with feeling attractive towards men.

I’m working towards getting back out there, but right now moreso I’m working on not eating junk, not ordering out, and eating to fuel my body instead of just for fun. Like I said, much easier said than done. It’s frustrating to me with each setback, but what’s more frustrating are the ways I’ve been affected by my weight gain: my clothes don’t fit, I can’t walk the same distances I’m used to, my skin is worse. I need to get back in gear and quick.

I have all the tools I need, I just need to put them into action. It should be easier not to order from a restaurant considering I have zero money to spare right now (newsflash: still hard).

Why do I have no money? Well, I went on my first real vacation in quite awhile with two girls; a friend from grad school and her friend from work. We traveled to two beachy locations that get a lot of tourist traffic in the summer and it did not disappoint. We did things like watch for dolphins (and saw tons!), go on a zipline tour, go to the aquarium, visit a botanical garden and just chill at the beach. For six days, I chose not to touch my work email at all. I didn’t even check it. I focused on doing my best to be present and enjoy the trip.

There was a lot about it that was enjoyable, but it was also tough in some ways. J and I have been friends for over five years, but I barely knew E. A lot of times I felt like a third wheel because J and E would talk about their job or a previous trip they had taken together. I know that they were even texting back and forth at times when I was in the room with them. Yes, that probably makes me nosy, but I caught a glance at their phones a couple of times. It was so isolating.

I did finally bring it up about halfway into our trip. They were kind and understanding about it, plus totally shocked I felt that way. I thought it was kind of a good step towards me being assertive. But honestly, the next day it was like we had never had the conversation. The work talk started up again and I didn’t bother saying anything about it because there was clearly no point. In my friend’s defense, she was not the one facilitating as much of the leaving out, it tended to be more E, who would call J “her best friend” on repeat and make sure to let it be known how close she was to J’s family.

E also would get snippy at me over the weirdest things. One night as we were perusing the places available to eat, I mentioned I would be okay if they wanted to eat somewhere that was seafood exclusive (ICK! but they loved it) and I would just get something else from somewhere close by. She got noticeably mad at me, told me it was ridiculous, we were all on vacation together, and just overall made me feel like I was somehow being an asshole by trying to make a nice offer.

Overall, it was nice to be away, but I was super grateful to be home, sleep in my own bed, and hug my cat.

I’m glad I’m back too, because my family is falling apart over here. Not too long after I made my last post, I got the news from my parents that the doctor had told my grandfather he likely didn’t have more than six months to live. Now, I’ve known my grandfather was old and sickly, but to hear it put in those terms? That was heartbreaking.

It’s taken some processing and a lot of work on my part to stay in the moment instead of dress rehearsing what life will be like after his death. If I do that, I’ll miss the perks of having him now. Of course, it isn’t always easy because my grandfather talks about his demise more often than I’d like. He definitely doesn’t fear death and has no superstitions about talking about it.

Knowing all that, I’ve tried to find ways to make the pain more bearable. We’ve spoken a little about what his wishes are, but mostly I just like I ask him about the past and listen carefully to his answers. These are the tales of an 88-year-old man who remembers so much of his past and his family, they’re special for sure.

Our family took a hit this week though. My grandfather, unvaccinated, got COVID presumably from my also unvaccinated aunt. Her husband is also now sick with COVID and pneumonia, fighting for his life in the hospital. But the fun doesn’t stop there. My unvaccinated parents were also exposed and my dad picked up a dose of the virus for himself. If my mom has it, she’s showing no symptoms. However, she didn’t want to be left out so she slipped down the stairs and broke her foot.

Oy vey.

I’ve been on high alert with my grandfather because of all his pre-existing conditions, plus worrying about my dad and trying to help out my mom who can hardly get around. It’s been a mess, but hopefully that’s the end of the bad news for awhile. School is starting back up and I don’t need anything that’s going to get in the way of it. That’s enough stress on it’s own.

Finally, my relationship with L has had it’s ups and downs, but we remain solid as ever. I had a bad reaction about a month back to a cancelled session which was then followed by a last minute change to telehealth the following week. It didn’t sit well with me and I put L in not the greatest position.

We had a conversation about it: first through the telehealth session that I was so reluctant to have and then the following Monday in person. I didn’t want to talk about it either time and tried to avoid it, going as far as suggesting we end our telehealth session early. Yeah, that sounds like me…not at all. And L wasn’t fooled. She knew that meant there was a lot to talk about.

It wasn’t easy. I cried and squirmed and felt every emotion under the sun. Shame at my attachment, fear of abandonment, frustration with reality. You name it, I felt it. But as L pointed out, we survived the boundaries talk and the relationship talk. We hashed out how we were feeling and realigned with each other in terms of how we would handle future upsets to therapy.

Instead of me trying to test her, she wants me to share how changes or cancellations affect me. To say “I’m really frustrated by the turn this took” or “I’m unsure what to do with my feelings.” We settled in a place where she can say what she needs to say without feeling like I’m going to put pressure on her to be a certain way or do a certain thing. Now, she says it and I’m free to react, but I need to do so effectively.

I remain so grateful to her throughout all of this. She’s been a sounding board through everything with P, a source of laughter and encouragement in dealing with the babysitting gig, and just someone who is there to hold things for me. When I was on vacation, I texted her every night with an update to feel more grounded, because I was having a hard time with no therapy for a week. When everything started unfolding with my grandfather, I also texted her for support and she was there to give it.

It’s crazy to me that I’ve known L for almost three years. October 18 will be that day. That means it’s been almost two since my last real session with J, which is just unbelievable. Time is literally flying. Sometimes that’s hard because I feel J slipping further and further into the past. We still email and that is nice, but it has it’s limits.

Anyway, for anyone who is reading, how are all of you? I have some posts to go through and read but until then, hit me with the highlights!

Just some random thoughts

Some thoughts that I’ve been having throughout the last week. It’s fourth of July and I’m at my uncle’s house avoiding most of my family, so now seems as good a time as any to write.

I miss the girls that I used to babysit for. I really miss them. I think I knew at the time that they were constants in my life just how wound up I was in being their sitter. I knew that my identity was forged around the work I did for them and the person I was to them. It made me feel like somebody important, somebody who mattered. I was responsible for these girls and I made a difference in their lives.

Now, all of that is gone. They’re not gone, not entirely, but I’m certainly not present for them the same way that I was and I can feel the established nature of our connection slipping as more time goes on between each visit.

Maybe this would be easier to accept if I wasn’t also babysitting another family right now, something I said I was never going to do again but got forced into by my need for rent money. These girls are cute, but they are so obviously not the same and it’s painful to come up against that cold hard truth multiple times a day. I’m continuously and begrudgingly mystified by the way they treat each other; it’s not kind, it’s a figment of three girls that are in constant competition. With H & S, there was bickering but it was never like that. I feel more like a referee than anything else and that takes away from the enjoyment.

Maybe by the end of the summer we’ll have a more settled relationship, but I’ll only even be with them for three weeks so there’s barely time for that to happen.

The other thing associated with the babysitting that’s making me crazy is their father. I mentioned in my last post that a small interaction left me hiding in my bed from my emotions and that interaction happened to be with him.

Thursday afternoon I was with the kids from 8-9 and then again from 12-4; I had been given a list of chores to have them complete and so that was on my agenda for the day. Once I picked them up from sports we had lunch, played some games, and they got TV time while I was in a meeting. Their father came home an hour earlier than planned, right around the time I was planning to have them start the cleaning. But we hadn’t started yet because we were finishing up a game.

I felt awkward and we ended up moving into cleaning before I planned because his presence shifted things. I stood over them and prompted the cleaning, which in my mind was going absolutely fine minus a little but of foot-dragging, and we were still done by 4:00 when I would be off duty.

As I was heading out, the dad was planning on making the kids work more. He yelled at one of them for not listening. I made some type of comment like “well, aren’t kids fun?” in a joking manner. That’s when he turned it on me and accused me of giving the kids “too much lease to strangle themselves with.” He followed that up with a very artificial “but you’re doing great, you’re awesome” or something like that and actually made a heart out of his hands like teenage girls do sometimes.

My stomach immediately sank. I’m not sure what exactly he meant by that: I was being a pushover? I was letting the kids lead? Either way, his initial tone wasn’t positive and I could tell I was almost being scolded for not meeting expectations. He as much said so. I just didn’t believe that was fair. The chores weren’t done when he got home, but as I told him, I expected to have another whole hour before that. I can’t help it he came home early. Yes, we played first, but the kids were at sports camps in blazing heat all morning. They needed the break. And it’s only my first week, so why do I have to be a drill sergeant? What matters what order the activities and work happen, as long as it gets done? Which it did and still would have even if he hadn’t come home at 3 instead of 4.

The other thing that bothered me was that I had given one of the children a consequence of having to wash our lunch dishes by hand because she attempted to feed her vegetables to the dog instead of eat them herself. I told the father that, but while we were cleaning he did the dishes anyway. So now I’m extra confused: I’m not being strict enough, but you’re not going to honor the commands I do give? Maybe my chore assignments weren’t the same as they normally get but guess what? I’m not exactly them. He cut my feet out from under my by doing that.

After I left, I had to do everything to calm my anger down and not implode. That’s how I ended up in my bed, because I knew if I moved I was going to hurt myself. I had to speak with him again on Friday and he was fine, but I definitely still felt uncomfortable.

What else is on my mind? Let’s talk about P, the newest guy to enter my life. I also mentioned him in my last post as a budding romance. After a long dry spell and a couple false starts, I seem to be making some headway with a man that I met through online dating. We’ve been on five dates with one to follow tomorrow and so far we’ve just clicked.

For me, someone who has always struggled with intimacy, it was a positive sign when I didn’t want to recoil at the thought of laying on the couch with his arm around me. It sent good vibes that I wasn’t quite ready for him to leave. We’ve been moving slowly, which he asked for and I was more than happy to oblige. Some making out here, some cuddling there. Nothing I haven’t been ready for. I appreciated when he said he was trying to build a real connection.

P and I are similar in a lot of ways. On one of our dates, it came out that he had OCD almost by happenstance. I forget which one of us joked about it first (I think it was me), but then the other one stated that they had OCD too. “No, really,” I said, emphasizing my point. “Yes, really,” he replied. “Like actually diagnosed.”

Well, shit. Okay then. That was my first clue maybe we might be compatible.

Then on top of that, while we were hanging out earlier last week, I asked him what was something I should know about him that I didn’t. He blanched, got quiet, and said that he didn’t want to kill the mood, so I let it go. But then a little while later it came out. His OCD manifests as frequent suicidal thoughts.

What are the chances I would find someone with that level of understanding about the shit I go through? To bring it a step further, when I then divulged that I was in therapy to deal with my own stuff, he admitted he was too! “I think I’m addicted to therapy,” he said and I couldn’t believe my ears.

Of course, I don’t want to put undue emphasis on these things as the reason we belong together. It’s cool to feel like I’m understood and not alone with my stuff, but our if our lives are to continue converging there needs to be other similarities. L has picked up on some of them and notices that our energies are very similar and he is respectful of introvert nature my dwindling social energy. He doesn’t overstay nor does he pressure me to.

There are other small things. We both love pizza, which sounds like a very obvious thing that most people enjoy, but it’s a love that goes beyond just pizza every once in awhile. We both enjoy country music. We like to hike. Our parents are both packrats. We both want kids.

L is over the moon for me because she says she’s never heard me talk about a guy like this. She says that she knows that I like him more than I’m willing to admit. And for all the anxiety surrounding it, I’m excited too.

Which leads to a lot of hard work avoiding self-sabotage.

I’m questioning my every thought and feeling about this guy. It’s my norm to get scared and start nitpicking their personality, trying to find reasons that I don’t like them. That’s what I’m starting to do now, but I’m trying like hell to avoid it because I know it’s not healthy. Like for an example, last night we were talking about how he makes random noises every now and then. I joked he’s half-robot. Part of me is trying to divorce any idea of liking him from that, but then the other part of me reminds myself I sing to my cat like it’s my job. We all have weird ticks, and I’m not going to find someone who doesn’t.

One problem is that I’m just so wrapped up in finding the “perfect” person. OCD/BPD brain has screwed me in this way too. I start building lists of all the pros and cons and within that, I split. For every pro I discover, part of me is thinking this is it, this is your perfect guy and for every con I think what are you doing? don’t waste your time here.

This is probably the one area where I’m as hard on someone else as I am on myself. There’s no natural middle ground, I have to fight like hell for that balance to emerge and recognize that in any relationship there are going to be parts of someone I don’t like and it doesn’t mean they aren’t a worthy partner.

I’m just so convinced that this is going to fall apart, like I’m not meant to have someone special in my life. That I’m not worthy of his care or affection. That he’ll change his opinion of me over something very minor.

So that’s that. Welcome to the funhouse.

So anyway, moving on to L, my attachment issues with her have been turned way up to max. I can’t remember the last time it was this bad except for when she came back from maternity leave and I spent all my time wanting to talk to her.

That’s about where we’re at now. Because of babysitting, there’s six days between sessions for two weeks in a row because I had to cancel one of my sessions next week. You’d think this wouldn’t be such a big deal for me at this point in my therapy, but I was so affected by it. I’ve looked for little reasons each day to text her; nothing important. Somehow though, I’ve managed not to send the texts. I don’t want to bother her and I’m trying to accept the limits of our relationship. It’s not always easy.

L is just such an important figure in my life. For those of you that have close relationships with your therapists, you know the difference that one person can make. There doesn’t seem to be a single thing I’ve ever said that she’s found weird or unsightly; no matter what it is, L sees reason and the humanity of what I think and feel. J was like this too of course. She was respectful of what I had to say and genuinely wanted to help me, but I think I’ve said before that L is even more open and approachable about anything. No topic is off limits.

I want today to be Tuesday because I want to have another session. I don’t even care what we talk about, I just want to be with her. Even as brash as she can be, she’s a calming spirit and she coaxes positive feelings out of me I didn’t think existed.

Right now I’m watching my two cousins (13 & 11) fighting in the pool. Not real fighting; laughing and splashing and bantering back and forth. It really makes me wish I had siblings. Sometimes it’s super lonely being an only child. At a birthday dinner of mine a couple weeks ago, my mom mentioned that she thought there was a time when my dad might have wanted another child. Not that anything ever came of it, but it’s sad to think of how things could have been so different if there was a sibling in my life. Maybe we wouldn’t have gotten along, I don’t know, but I like to believe we would have.

Okay, well we’re going to get back to shooting off fireworks soon I guess, so maybe it’s time to wrap this up. I’ve got some reading to do later, but until then, Happy 4th of July WP friends!

What It Feels Like

Last year, I don’t remember exactly when, I was in a bad place. I mean, I was in a bad place a lot of the time thanks to COVID and the numerous changes happening in my life. But when it got particularly bad I found myself back in the throes of planning my suicide. To the point that I chose a date that if things didn’t feel like they were progressing in some form, I was going to take my life.

Today is that day. July 2, 2021.

I originally chose a date last year that I ended up pushing forward for various reasons. I wanted to go to my cousin’s wedding. I wanted to be able to say goodbye to J. There were things about the upcoming school year I felt I needed to be there for. Lots of things would occur after that initial date I set that I didn’t feel ready to miss.

Then flash forward a whole year and here we are. Again.

In reality, today is no different than any other. Well, actually, it’s my maternal grandfather’s birthday; the one who died when I was seven. It’s also the second official day of the new school year. That’s why I chose this date to begin with. I figured it was already a sad day for my family and this was the point when things were most stable with my caseload at work.

In truth, I’ve always been looking for what would burden people the least. I know that my death would be somewhat impactful; J used to make me list the people it would affect. Still, part of me has always believed that the after-effects wouldn’t be longstanding except for maybe my parents. I’m easily replaced in all other functions (school psychologist, babysitter, client, etc.) So because of that, I figured if I could just find the date that was already associated with some type of loss and would incur the least consequences on others, maybe that would be enough to override any problems it caused. It would be the most acceptable timing.

I can immediately hear every one of my providers, past and present, trying to negate that logic. And they’d be right to.

It was Dr. N in the first place who suggested that I might want to consider re-thinking my date. I had been holding onto it like a to it in a vice grip, clinging to this last resort option and unwilling to throw it away. And she knew, as we trudged closer, that it was weighing on me. All of the sudden it felt so close.

So a few months ago, she started pushing. Maybe I might like to eliminate my date altogether? Or if not, maybe I might consider pushing it back again? After some hesitation I agreed and, unable to devise a new date I felt was sufficient, I left things up in the air. I suppose that’s my way of agreeing not to kill myself anytime soon. She was pleased about that. In fact, today she thanked me for continuing to work with her and not making a permanent decision.

I’ve spent a lot of time wondering how I would feel on this day. Like I said, there isn’t really anything special about it, other then the act I earmarked it for, but still it feels like it represents a lot for me that might be worth processing.

For a long time, I have always said that suicide is something that seems inevitable to me. Maybe not now, but eventually, I would find myself in the place that taking my life would be the only veritable option. I just figured that my life would never get to a place where I didn’t feel constant agonizing shame over my every choice, grief over things lost or never to be, crippling anxiety over ever minor decision and dialogue, and chronic emptiness from what was lacking. It just didn’t feel possible.

I still deal with a lot of those things listed above, plus a lot of really heavy emotion. Just last night, two very minor comments from others left me curled in a ball in my bed, yearning desperately to hurt myself but fastidiously determined not to. I slept for over 14 hours on and off because I had no motivation or energy to face my minions. Even taking a shower felt herculean.

So those moments still exist, more frequently than I wish they did. However, I’ve also experienced enough moments of happiness, feelings of success, and fragments of hope to know that there is another side in all this.

A year ago I took stock of my life and saw so little. Now? My eyes are open to the measures of progress I’ve made.

I am learning to be more forgiving of myself for not being perfect. A year ago, the fact that I had broken my routines would be incredibly destructive. Right now though, I’m just trying to slowly build up my habits again and be accepting of the bumps in the road. I’m trying hard not to be so reliant on keeping to my streaks and instead going with what my body and mind need that day.

I am letting others into my world, even though it is super scary. A budding relationship with a new guy has taken up a lot of time and space and wow, it sure has every defensive bone in my body on guard. But what I’m trying to do is put myself out there without the pressure of needing this relationship to be everything to me. I’m just working on being me, unconditionally, and seeing what sprouts.

I am slowly growing my sense of self and beginning to trust my instincts instead of questioning them all the time. Little choices that I used to fret over are slowly becoming easier to make.

I am setting better boundaries with myself and others.

I am recognizing my intrusive thoughts for what they are and calling them out instead of letting them dictate my feelings of shame or embarrassment.

I am getting through the intense emotions with greater power. L tells me frequently that the amount of time it takes me to work through severe feelings is lessening and I believe her.

I am also starting to believe in myself at work, to shed some of that imposter syndrome that frequently paralyzes me. Even when I don’t, I’m comforted by the fact that I’m doing a lot of studying to get myself where I want to be.

Each and every day, I own my story. I’m trying to defy the possible endings that I could write, and create an entirely more attractive one. In doing that, there’s still a lot I want to work on.

I want to ease the attachment pain that centers around my relationship with L and come to a place where I’m not so significantly impacted by a break in our normal therapy routine. Right now, even something as small as therapy on a different day knocks me off-kilter.

I want to feel more self-assured about my own relationships instead of needing the reassurance from others.

I want to feel a strong sense of self-efficacy and be able to take credit for things that I do well, even if that’s just fighting off these stupid minions.

A lot of this comes back to the big one: I want to combat that core belief that tells me something is wrong with me, something unfixable, and it has made me unworthy. If I can keep chipping away at that by finding evidence to the contrary, I think a lot of things would begin to change.

I don’t know if I’ll ever completely be rid of my suicidal thoughts. L has told me that even if they don’t go away entirely, the volume will likely get turned down. And as I’ve already gotten small glimpses of that, it gives me strength and the expectation there will continue to be upward movement.

So what does it feel like to be here? Strange. Exciting. Scary. Perplexing. Overwhelming. Courageous. Vulnerable. Fragile. Curious. All of those and more. I feel grateful that I didn’t make a snap decision and do irreversible damage. I feel hopeful that good things are headed my way. I feel terrified to face them. I feel bombarded by my thoughts and feelings every second.

And while there’s maybe more to process, I think the main point is that I am still here and that is what matters. I will continue to be here, continue trying. All I’m asked to do is try, says L.

So I will.

Where I Stand

Lately, I’ve been thinking back to a time, almost four years ago now, when this blog was a brand new project. At the time, each new post excited me and felt like an opportunity to reach out and connect with someone besides myself who knew and understood the depth of where I was coming from.

Now here we are, 350 posts later, and I find myself struggling in angst to get words down. In fact, I’ve started and stopped this post a number of times, typing and erasing, and then being left with the blank screen which stares at me in derision, taunting me over all the thoughts I can’t seem to piece together.

It’s been almost two months now since I’ve posted. Maybe you’ve wondered what I’ve been up to. Maybe you haven’t noticed my absence at all. But I’ve been acutely aware of my inability to write. It’s been weighing on me.

My homework assignment from Dr. N this week was to write and not just about anything, but about the factors influencing my disappearance.

Something I’ve always loved about WP was the awesome community of people it introduced me to. I never dreamed that anyone would ever be interested in reading my ramblings, it just seemed like a new strategy I could try since journaling had become such a flop at the time. But then someone followed me. Another person commented. And so began my journey here.

I used to absolutely love reading people’s posts. Once I followed you, I gave endless time to reading your personal stories. I felt like I was in it with each one of you and that feeling of being a part of something made me feel cautiously safe. I would read and read, write and write, comment and comment. The words just flowed out of me. There were a few blogs that I drifted towards the most; I would read my own thoughts echoed in their words and feel wrapped in the security of knowing I wasn’t alone.

Slowly, it got harder. Not all the time and not in a linear fashion. When I started working full-time, that changed the frequency of my posts, but not so much the capacity I had to narrate my life. A lot still came to the surface each time I sat down at the keyboard. I still felt like I had a lot to say.

I don’t feel that way anymore. I’m struggling, greatly. Outside blog world in my life, things have been okay, but I haven’t possessed the capability to document them the way I normally would. And I haven’t been following the healing paths of my friends here either.

So, I’m asking for help. Or maybe not help so much as perspective, because I don’t know how to overcome this problem, but I want to.

I’ve quite obviously taken a huge step back from reading, writing, and commenting. I’ve morphed into a lurker. One who sometimes reads, in bits and pieces, but doesn’t make their presence known. Someone invisible.

In the last chunk of time since I posted anything, there have been times I’d go a whole week without ever even opening the website. I see it there, lingering on my favorites bar, and it almost haunts me because I know exactly how clicking onto my feed is going to go. I will open a post, get a few paragraphs in, and then immediately feel the need to click away, at which time I will retreat to instagram or TikTok to watch a funny video or look for memes.

Why? Because WP has become incredibly triggering for me.

I don’t remember it ever being as bad as it’s gotten to now. The other day, I clicked on to a post from someone who I deeply admire and respect in the blogging world. I’ve always followed their posts closely and they are one of the few people I’m still reading as regularly as I can manage. The point of me even specifying that is to show you that the feelings I’m about to describe aren’t isolated to random posts at random times, but generalized to those that I’ve grown to care the most about here.

Which is the problem.

Without going too into detail, this person was talking about therapy and the ever-evolving relationship with their therapist. They were talking about potential changes. I didn’t make it through the whole post before I felt myself internally begin to heighten. Like the fight or flight instinct was kicking in, even though there was absolutely no danger posed to me or my relationship with L.

I ended up having to text L for reassurance that she was still there and wasn’t planning on up and disappearing anytime soon. It helped, marginally, but I certainly couldn’t keep reading and then I felt like a total jerk not commenting when this person was being so honest and raw with their own feelings.

Like I said, this isn’t unique to one person. It’s all the time, every post I read. If it has to do with the therapeutic relationship, then I’m either questioning my own relationship with L or in attachment hell over the fact that she isn’t right in front of me at the moment. If it has to do with someone else’s feelings of depression and anxiety, I begin swimming in my own even when there’s no justifiable reason for them to exist. Hell, I’m not writing because aside from the fact that I literally feel stupid and inarticulate as of late, I can’t recount my own stuff without plunging deep into a pit of my own emotions.

It’s so extremely irritating.

I miss being able to keep the part of me who was struggling with my own stuff separate from everyone else’s stuff, but it seems to meld together lately to the point that I can’t distinguish what’s mine from what’s not.

It’s not clear to me when this began, but I’ve definitely noticed it more in the last couple months.

I also think part of me feels like if I continue to post, if I fight through long enough to come up with something, it’s either going to fall short or I’m going to look like some selfish person who is only in it for themselves because I’m only posting and not commenting. I’ve always felt like the give and take we have here is so important.

So here we are. Has this ever happened to anyone else before? How have you handled it? I’m so ready to make this go away.

I need something different

Dear L,

I’ve been putting off writing this for awhile, just like I’ve been putting off talking about it, because I really didn’t believe that doing so would make any bit of difference.

You’d probably think differently, or at least you’d probably want the chance to try for a better outcome than I’ve dreamed up.

I wonder: do you think differently? Have you even noticed me putting up walls and purposely holding back from making any real connection?

It’s hard to imagine you haven’t noticed, because we both know that try as I might it’s pretty challenging for me to pretend nothing is wrong when I’m feeling otherwise. But if you’ve noticed, you haven’t said anything at all.

Maybe you really haven’t noticed though, because I find it hard to believe you’d recognize a blip on the radar of our relationship and not call any attention to it. It’s not in line with the person I know you to be or the experiences I’ve had in the past.

I don’t know and there’s only one way to find out, but I’m scared.

I guess I should start by saying that I’m angry with you. Not a white hot rage kind of anger, just the kind that’s been simmering just under the surface. The kind that slowly creeps up on you and then is just suddenly there.

First, let’s talk about the things that can’t be changed. The past-focused anger. You might be expecting it, but I don’t think I ever resolved the feelings I had around you missing session because of the baby and then going away on vacation. I know it’s within your right to do those things. I know I’m supposed to just accept that you being a mom means these things are going to happen sometimes.

Maybe I haven’t even accepted the idea of you as a mom. It reminds me of something J said once right before we terminated. She called her practice her “first baby.” In a way that didn’t seem right because why would you abandon your baby as she did. Still, I got the point she was trying to make. That was the first thing she put her heart and soul into nurturing, her first calling. And so now when I think about you, I apply the same line of thinking. Your career was your first calling too, but now you have another one that takes priority.

I know you didn’t make the same choices J did, I know you “want to have it all.” You’re doing your best to manage both, and sometimes it’s like nothing has changed, but overall it’s still hard for me because I know who you’d choose if it came down to it, and I know that’s not me. I’m not saying it should be either, but the constant remembering of that is truly a gut punch each time.

God, I hate that I sometimes resent your daughter for existing. For being more important. That makes me sound like a child.

So yeah, I’m still angry about that I guess. That’s not the only reason though, and it’s taken a lot of parsing out for me to really understand where the rest of this anger is coming from.

I need you to be really careful in how you respond to all this, because as much as I may be saying it, there’s still a huge part of me that’s fighting reality. A step in the wrong direction will likely lead to me feeling rejected, even for something as simple as you jumping on board and agreeing with me. I know that doesn’t leave you with many options, but this is the whole reason I’ve been keeping me mouth shut in the first place.

The truth is, I think the lines have blurred in our relationship. Where there was once an obvious line in the sand it’s smudged now and that’s making a lot of things unclear. We’re both to blame for this. We’re obviously comfortable with each other and we both let the boundaries loosen. I visited your instagram before it was private, I bought you that sign with a quote I knew you loved for no other reason than I thought you would like it, and then I bought the baby an outfit when I couldn’t figure out any other way to use my expiring reward points. Yes, I did all of that, but you let me. If you felt unsure about it, you never voiced it.

And now, I think I’m a little bit angry that you let me go so far. I think I’m angry at the fact that it’s coloring my perceptions of our relationship, that it let me feel closer to you than is typical.

I realize that things are muddier than they were when I was texting you on the regular for reassurance. Then, there was still the obvious power imbalance at play, still a concrete sense of what was okay and what would mean going too far.

Now? It’s not so simple and for that reason I’ve stopped texting you at all, feeling like any form of contact is asking for too much after overstepping the way I have.

I’ve also stopped letting myself connect in session, because it’s too confusing not to know where things stand. Rationally, I know my role and I know yours, but we went into unfamiliar territory to the point that now I’m not sure what’s okay and what’s not.

And I’m mad, because this doesn’t feel safe.

When I think about it, one huge difference between you and J is that she always very much limited her self-disclosure. It made it hard in some ways, but in others I knew it was important for the stability of our relationship. I never questioned where I stood.

I know you like to be human and let pieces of yourself out and I’m okay with that in small increments. I am. I just don’t think I’m okay with the level of sharing that we had progressed to.

I have to say it: We’re not friends. We can’t be, not if we want to maintain the sanctity of our actual therapist-client relationship. And it sucks, because I think you would be a pretty killer friend. But both fortunately and unfortunately for me, that won’t happen. Fortunately, because I wouldn’t change the therapist-client relationship we do have. Unfortunately, because you matter to me and it’s hard to admit the truth when it stings like this.

That’s a huge piece of this too, but again it’s not the only other contributing factor. Something else that’s related to me holding back is that lately, I don’t feel like you’ve really been hearing me.

I’m not sure when this started, but I think the most clear point for me is somewhere in the period of when I came back after the session where I cried to you about wanting to die and feeling so low.

You were excited, then, as you often are, for how quickly I turned things around. But you forgot, in your excitement, that me making good choices didn’t just eliminate all the dark feelings. The suicidal thoughts. They’re still there, just as intense, and right now I feel so alone in them.

You’ve asked about them here and there and I’ve been honest, even in a that nonchalant way I’ve been trying to pull off. I act like it’s just a fact of life and you go along with it. You don’t dig any deeper. Maybe that’s my fault, because I should put emphasis on what I want to talk about. I just don’t feel like it is even helpful to do that because all you focus on is the positive.

Lately, you say to me “this is great” about a lot of things and I don’t know how to tell you that it’s not great. I know you’re trying to appreciate my progress and yes sometimes that’s absolutely what I need. I know you see growth where I see dirt. But I feel like you’re clinging to the positive above all else and missing the fact that I’m still really in a lot of pain.

That makes me wonder: am I not supposed to talk about it anymore? If you’re just going to try to turn it around and make it positive, why would I bother?

I could go on, but I think I’ve reached my full point for this letter. I’ve said as much as I can bear to say right now and I’m trying to live with the fact that this isn’t a perfect recounting of all my troubles. It’s incomplete and that has to be okay.

We’ve always worked everything out and you’ve never given me a reason to believe that wouldn’t be the case here. I guess I’m just so unsure of what I even really want from you in some ways, that it feels like this will never get better.

I get scared you’ll think we’re no longer compatible to work together because of the things I said, the way I feel. It’s silly, but is it really?

Our relationship is so significant to me, I want to work through this. I want to go back to real laughing instead of the fake giggles I do to distract you from my discomfort. I want to stop having to control my face all the time and focus so hard on making good eye contact. I want to stop pretending.

Please help me do that, please help me alleviate this anger and whatever is hiding beneath it, because I don’t know any other way forward.


I think I’m mad at L right now.

Well, I know I am. I’m just not entirely sure why. I’ve been thinking about it a lot over the last couple days, since I’ve spent two sessions actively avoiding connecting with her. We joke and laugh, I share my feelings, but I put all my effort in to pushing the urges to attach down down down.

I think she’s fooled and thinks things are okay. Usually she’d be calling me out on it if she thought otherwise. It’s been truly difficult because it’s meant holding eye contact even when it’s uncomfortable and trying like hell to control my face. But somehow I’m managing.

Truth is, I want to be mad. I’m not enjoying it, but I’m getting something out of it. Maybe it’s just the protection of not connecting; if I don’t let myself feel how I care, it won’t hurt when it’s time to leave or when things inevitably get cancelled.

There. That’s part of it. I’m still reeling from session getting cancelled unexpectedly a couple weeks ago after a dreadful attempt at session where the baby took up most of the attention. She apologized for that, and explained it was why she cancelled the following session in the first place. It stuck with me though, that this was the first of who knows how many times she’s going to cancel because of the baby.

I wish I didn’t resent a five-month-old so much. What kind of person is like that?

Dr. N wants me to talk to her, but I plan on doing no such thing. Especially since she’s going on vacation for a few days and missing session on Thursday. I’m not bringing anything up that would have to wait a week to get resolved. Plus, I just don’t feel like going there. I won’t lie, but I won’t tread in those waters and I’ll do everything I can to keep her from noticing something is wrong.

She’d probably be fine about it, or mostly fine. The last time I brought up my jealousy, she went defensive at first and told me jealousy was a useless emotion which did nothing about the fact that I am in fact quite jealous. Of her marriage. Of her child. Of her ability to go on vacation. Of having a job she feels she’s good at. Of a lot of things.

She gets so excited for me when I do something minor to get my life together. Really, she only sees the positive. While that’s nice sometimes, when I’m feeling this down and depressed, it’s not helpful. Or it wasn’t helpful this time anyway. Because as she’s sitting there going on and on about the reasons my actions were productive and helped me make progress, we’re ignoring all of the other lingering shit. We’re ignoring the fact that everything in my life is still exactly how I don’t want it to be.

That’s probably on me. I could make a bigger deal about it I guess, like I did when I was crying about wanting to die the week before. She was so excited that I’d turned it around so quickly I didn’t know how to tell her that I didn’t rid myself of the suicidal thoughts and the darkness was still looming nearby.

I think that’s another piece of it. I feel like she forgets about all that

Am I mad because she’s happy when I’m not? Like, she can say she’s excited I did something stupid like wrote some words in book but it doesn’t change my situation at all and she gets to walk out of here and go back to her perfect life. So good for her, she’s happy. I’m not. I’m tired of hearing “we’ll get you there” and still feelings lightyears away from “there” when I get like this.

Of course, that’s probably on me too. I’m the one who is supposed to be doing the work. I’m the one who is supposed to make myself happy and I’m failing. I should be doing more.

This is probably all on me honestly. I don’t feel like I have legitimate reason to be mad at her and it’s just the BPD in me acting up. She’s doing everything right and here I am searching for justification for a feeling I shouldn’t have. I just want to say horrible things about myself and my disorder but that seems too dramatic and attention-seeking. Which, undeniably, is another part of my freaking disorder. It’s a cycle.

Maybe this is just therapy now, feeling like something is off. Feeling like I want to withdraw and keep my mask on. Pretending.

I don’t know. I’m so deep into my darkness that nothing feels like it will ever be good.

I know what L would say. These feelings are temporary and will pass, but that isn’t helpful either. Great, they’ll pass. Right now, they suck. I think I’m mad at the world because I have to experience this so fucking often and others don’t.

I’ve lost motivation for writing so I’m just going to post this now.

Feeling Down

I’m not sure what is with me today, but I’m not feeling great.

Almost every week when I see Dr. N, she likes to ask me how many days in the last week I’ve felt down or depressed, for what percentage of the day, and how severe.

In the last couple weeks, it hasn’t been so bad; 1-2 days, 30-40%; 5-6 out of 10. But today has knocked that off kilter for no discernible reason.

Today I’d rate these feelings an 8.5 and they’ve been present for a good 75% percent of the day: as I tried to workout and settled for a walk instead, reading some professional literature, cleaning the house, making a dinner that I’m not going to eat because I ended up ordering out tonight. All of it, really, with some breaks in there to love on the cat and enjoy being out on my balcony which is my current safe space.

I’m not really sure where this post is going or when it will end, so if you’re along for the ride, it may be a short one or I could be here typing for an hour. There’s no telling.

It has been a hot second since I’ve been markedly suicidal and wanted to plan my death. Three months since I’ve actually done it, which is the type of data Dr. N likes to keep. Today I wanted to break that streak, but I haven’t let myself go upstairs where my letters are stashed. I’m glued to my chair outside.

The fact that I’ve managed to stay plan-free is what is keeping my score an 8.5 instead of a 9.

It’s not as bad as it’s been before. Sometimes when I’m feeling down I can feel it physically as an ache deep in my stomach. The suicidal thoughts can be tangibly painful if that makes any sense. Like they are definitely making sure I know they are there.

This time around I simply just can’t fathom why or how anyone does day to day living and actually enjoys it. What would it be like to go to work and feel excited instead of anxious? What would it be like to feel confident that the people in your life really liked you and wanted you around? What would it be like to actually enjoy the idea of being alive instead of treating it like something you do out of obligation.

Because it is an obligation right now, isn’t it? Or at least, it has a lot of obligations in it. Political nonsense. Trivial conversations. Pretending to be happy. I’m not seeing past any of them to the things that spark joy. There aren’t enough of those moments to make it feel worth enduring so much obligation.

I wish I could pinpoint where these feelings came from. Part of it is still a vulnerability hangover from the other night. Part of it is having too much time on my hands and too much space to think. Spring break was welcomed, but when you’re spending 90% of that time alone, it doesn’t bear the healthiest fruit.

Yet as I sit here and ponder going back to work next week, I don’t imagine I’ll feel any better. I’ll be stressed and overwhelmed. Right now I’m lonely but at least things are calm.

I think I keep coming back to this truth that I’ve made so many mistakes in my life that have led me to where I am now socially and I don’t know how to undo all of that. Every damn time I try, I’m blasted in the face with the icy fears I’m prone to from my mental illness or my introverted nature or who knows what else.

What if they don’t like me? What if I’m annoying them? What if I say the wrong thing? What if I can’t think of anything to say at all? What if I mess everything up? What if they’re just being nice to be polite? Who would actually want to spend time with me?

And so for each moment I think “I’ll just fix my life, there’s still time” I keep running up against and taking cover from these thoughts that come my way like darts.

I’ve been thinking a lot about death recently. No transition into that one, just going with my brain tonight. Death just seems to be everywhere. I watch a lot of crime and medical shows where some big characters have been killed off or murder is the central theme of the plot. I read about it in the news all the freaking time as of late because we in America can’t seem to get ourselves under control.

I don’t so much think about the after. The being dead part. I think about the right before. I think of how unexpected death is and how in those last days or hours or minutes, the person often doesn’t realize that they’re about to not be here. They’ll just be doing some laundry or taking a walk or having dinner with the expectation that there will be a tomorrow or next week or next month. And then there isn’t.

That’s what I think about though. I think it especially gets me with all the shootings that are happening. Anything violence-related. To think of a person who just wanted to go to the nail salon or the grocery store, who was busy planning for what comes next, and then they never get there.

And for someone who thinks about wanting to be dead – or at least not wanting to be here – it’s crazy how scared I am of the concept. Maybe it’s because I don’t so much not want to be here as I don’t always believe I deserve to be here. I don’t believe someone with such faults, who is so noticeably less of a person, can be deserving of other people’s care, love, and time.

I don’t know. I just want to go to sleep. It’s early, but it would probably be the best thing to start shutting myself down. The longer I still to mill through the day, the more these thoughts are going to get at me.

It’s just…a lot.

The L Word

For the first time in a long time yesterday, I cried in session about missing J.

When I say cried, I mean full on crocodile tears, runny nose, and bright red eyes. I was fully in my emotion and it was taking charge of me.

It started off actually talking about some of the difficulty I’d had with seeing L’s baby during my session last week. I was reluctant to bring this topic to the table, but L encouraged me to try. Somewhere along the line, we got from feeling like my time with L was interrupted to how much I really miss J.

I think it went like this: Having L cancel our session on Thursday, despite the justifiable reason, threw me for a bit of a loop. When I thought about her canceling because of the baby, it made me wonder if she’d be cancelling often for this reason. That made me think about J, who cancelled everything indefinitely to be a mom to her kid(s). So there I sat thinking: What if L finds figuring out this whole process to be a pain? What if she decides she’s done trying to fit in work?

It’s not the most rational thought, because I’ve been assured otherwise multiple times, but it’s one that nagged me nonetheless. I even ended up texting L on Friday night asking just that: “Are you leaving me?” Not even an hour later, she replied with a “No ma’am!” I wish that had helped more.

Anyway, I guess one situation triggered awful memories of the other. Being without L in that uncomfortable way brought up the reminder of J’s absence and how painful it was to sit with and then to discover she wasn’t coming back. And that just reminded me that I miss her.

My thoughts don’t go to J as much as they used to, but I’m still drawn that way more often than I’d care to admit. Most often, I’ll think about her while I’m out walking, when my mind is given free reign to run around like a child at recess. These walks are where I relive all my worst moments too, so J is a comforting thought I can use to push the bad memories away. Mostly, I think of pivotal moments in our relationship, I think of what she might say to me now, I think of what it might be like to be in her presence again if even for five minutes.

Like true grief and loss, the longer time elapses between last July and now, the more I begin to forget the little things she would say or certain mannerisms. It’s so hard, because it’s not like she’s really gone. She’s out there, living a life, and it’s not one that includes me.

Thankfully, I’m not 100% cut out of that life, and emails are still allowed. Still, the invisible but obvious boundaries surrounding that (not emailing too often, not sharing too much, not asking too many questions) keep it from measuring up sometimes. For example, I really wanted to email her yesterday after session but it hasn’t even been two months yet. I usually aim for three or four in between emails; anything more seems like it would be bothersome.

I can’t believe it’s been almost a year now since our final session. I remember back before she was ever pregnant, when there was no immediate leave on the horizon, but I used to agonize over the idea of being without her all the same. I used to think that some day there would come a time where she wasn’t in my life and I wouldn’t be able to picture it. I’d have to shut down because wondering how I would approach that situation brought on too much distress. It was that foreign and that painful of an idea for me.

And then it happened. I had no choice and here we are. L spent so much time right in the first months after trying to convince me of my resiliency. She pointed out how me living and thriving even within my pain was a sign of what I could handle. If this really was my worst fear coming true, then I was surviving it.

So I survived it. I continue to survive it. I even told L last week that sometimes I’m grateful things worked out the way that they did, that I think there was a reason J exited my life when she did, to make room for L. There was a time I’d never have been able to say that, let alone believe it. But it’s true; I do think sometimes of J’s shortcomings. It’s amazing I can admit she had them with the way I revere her now, but I haven’t totally forgotten some of the pain of feeling not quite understood, like there was a hole that she couldn’t seem to fill. I remember that frustration and how it sometimes escalated into intense anger.

I’ve told L this many times before, and probably posted it here, but I’ve never once been angry with her to the same degree that I was with J. If you were reading back when L first entered my life, to help me deal with my J drama in the first place, you know I was deeply entrenched in what felt like an unwinnable war with her. My anger skyrocketed a little more each session as I felt our relationship fray further and further at the edges. I was highly considering giving up on my relationship with J when I sought out L.

She was the person who helped me see reason. She was the reason I stayed in the fight that ultimately brought J and I closer than we’d been previously. And maybe for that reason, or for the fact that she confronted the attachment stuff with such understanding, my anger never got there with her. Sure, I’ve been angry, but never the slam-the-door-scream-in-my-car kind of anger that would leave me equal parts wanting to see J and also never see her again.

L has provided her own reasons why she thinks the situation is different. I can’t remember all of them, but I know one musing of hers was that I went through some of the most significant changes with J. Going from no therapy to therapy is stark contrast and that’s an intense experience. J did lay all the groundwork for a lot of my initial insights about my patterns of thinking and behavior. Maybe L’s right, but I happen to believe some of what I’ve gone through and am going through with L has been even more transformative. Yet, no scathing anger. Just trust, connection, and the occasional frustration that is always talked out within the next session.

I certainly don’t believe it’s because I cared more for one than the other. I definitely used to put J on that pedestal, to say that no person could ever compare. Even now, as I’ve told J through email, there is something that makes our relationship not able to be duplicated or replaced. However, as L and I have built a strong relationship, she’s risen to quite the same level.

Once, D asked me what I would do if I had to make a choice between then. It had been something I’d struggled with before I knew J wasn’t coming back: how did I go back to J when things with L were so solid? I remember consistently trying to convince L it would be a good idea to see both of them, because I wasn’t ready to let her go. When D asked, I told her that I’d probably go back to J, but now I’m not so sure. She could definitely provide me with a lot and there’s so much comfort in just talking to her, but the value of L’s expertise is also unmatched.

If I ever have to confront that problem, it’s likely years (and years) down the road, so I shouldn’t worry about it at all. I mostly don’t, until J comes to the forefront of my mind again and I start imagining what it would be like to be back with her. When I say these things in email (about what it might have been like if she had returned), she doesn’t acknowledge it, which can be hard. But I think maybe sometimes, as happy as I imagine she is, maybe she thinks about it too.

The point is: L did what I didn’t think anyone could do. She taught me that I could form a solid relationship with someone else that really mattered. Of course, now there’s literally no other person I’m interested in doing that with that isn’t her. So that backfired a little bit.

Before L came back from leave, we talked (or rather she gave me absolution) via email about me not going back to her and instead sticking with D. As I told L when she did come back, there was never a snowball’s chance in hell that I’d pick anyone else but her. It wasn’t like the J vs. L dilemma; this one wasn’t even close.

And so all this crying about J yesterday and missing her ended with me telling L something I’d been wanting to say for weeks. Something I didn’t dare utter aloud because I didn’t want her to think I was weird or creepy or stupid, but a feeling that had been growing each week she matched all of my feelings with her gentle, yet oh so direct, compassion.

It began with J, which felt much safer to say since she wasn’t in the room. I loved her, I cried, looking L right in the eye.

I know, she said. It makes a lot of sense. Then a little bit more about how our relationship naturally grew to love and how the therapeutic relationship wouldn’t be quite as powerful without that. Always normalizing for me.

I didn’t say what I really wanted to say in that moment and we talked a little bit more. Then I must have done something with my face: closed my eyes, or sighed, or shook my head or maybe all of those things. But L looked at me pointedly and asked what I had just shut myself down from saying. Even though I’m pretty sure she knew exactly where we were headed.

I paused, looked away, was quiet a few more moments but I finally said it. I love you too.

I never ever dared to say that in person to J, although . I remember once, earlier in our relationship, I said I hate you jokingly in response to something she’d done or said. Then I of course took it back, told her I was kidding. I said something like It’s the opposite. I mean I don’t love you, but I like you a lot.

Yeah, J agreed then, it would be weird if you said loved me.

Reflecting on that, no wonder if I was so scared to say it to L. I’d been set up to believe I’d been labeled as creepy client years ago, even though I’m sure J’s intention wasn’t to shame me.

There, L said immediately, not deterred or grossed out, you said it. It’s out.

She didn’t say it back, and I think part of what took me so long to admit it was preparing for that exact response, but her eyes said a lot. Her words didn’t have be explicit for me to know that she cares deeply, and maybe even loves me too. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

I don’t know how a post that was initially meant to be about J morphed into one about L, but isn’t that just symbolic of my entire existence with them?

Today I have a vulnerability hangover. It started last night with another text to L: Are we okay? I feel like I ruined everything. Her response: We are safe! You didn’t ruin a dang thing.

As I sit here, wanting to curl up in shame for all the feelings that I’ve had about my therapists, the intense desire to be with them and talk to them and receive their care, I try to hold on to that. But mostly I’m just wondering if L is lying for my benefit and it would have been better to have left things unsaid.

Relationship Woes

Somehow, it is April already, I’m not exactly sure how that happened. But here we are, all the same. Spring is here (sort of) and I’m still plugging along, trying to but never quite finding the time to write. It takes so much mental energy these days.

Last week though, I accepted an assignment from Dr. N to begin writing after I saw my family, even for only if for ten minutes. We’d talked about how sometimes when I was around my parents I felt a little suffocated. It’s like there’s no fresh air to breathe, all of it is stale and lingering as quietly as the conversation is going. Because really, when my mom comes over, we have so little to talk about these days.

We just had dinner last night, myself and my parents. This post was started then but finished the following morning. Anyway, I invited myself over for pizza and spent an hour there. And it was fine, it was. There were no blowouts or anything, and there haven’t been for awhile. This is all because of how calculated I am, picking and choosing what I say trying to avoid a negative reaction. It’s exhausting to feel constantly like you are walking on eggshells around your own parents, but some days I feel exactly that. They just feel so strongly about things, especially my mom, that are so different from the values I have. And I feel strongly when any type of conflict arises.

Years ago now I wrote about how I incorrectly associated disagreeing with conflict. I know now that people can have different opinions about things and it doesn’t mean they are in battle over it. So in theory me being such a far cry from my parents in terms of well…everything, shouldn’t be such a big problem. But that’s what it has become in my eyes: a gateway to conflict. I worry that they’ll feel like I’m disagreeing with out of spite, just because I can. It will morph into a personal attack and become heated. I’m reminded of a time my mom asked me “why do you always assume I’m wrong?” when we were disagreeing about something COVID-19 related, before she stormed out of my house. I just don’t want that kind of relationship with my parents.

So we talk about the cat and TV shows and other things. I’m always on edge though, wondering if what I say will somehow start us down a path that I don’t want to travel. For example, if we talk about my job, I’m careful with what details I allow because I know they have strong opinions about the kids being in school. I’ve gotten better at asserting how I feel in a non-threatening way but it’s still quite a challenge.

Even tonight we were watching a TV promo for this upcoming show where an actress is playing a boy. My dad was seriously confused by it and asked multiple times for confirmation that the actress is a woman. And I just held my breath hoping that it wouldn’t progress into more that than, some kind of ignorant diatribe. It didn’t, he was just curious, and I kept my cool.

I guess I need to learn to steel myself a little better to their remarks. I know full well that just because they think one way intensely doesn’t necessarily mean they are right. I know it’s not a personal attack against me, but sometimes their opinions make me uncomfortable. It’s that whole them being so right-wing conservative (so Trump brain-washed) that eats away at me because the views they espouse are like night and day from how I feel. And sometimes I sit there wondering how could they really think that?

Really, I try not to judge. I try not to judge anyone for their beliefs. I like to believe they have a good reason for feeling why they feel. Yet when those opinions come with such hate and anger towards so many people, that’s when even tiptoeing into that area makes me want to duck and cover.

Sometimes I wonder how they feel. I know my mom holds back from me too; she doesn’t talk about the political stuff anymore (thank god) because she knows how much 1. I don’t agree and 2. I hate politics. Is it so uncomfortable too? Does she think less of me or judge me for my personal beliefs?

I miss when everything wasn’t cause for this division that exists now. Even with the vaccine it rears its head and now it’s going beyond my parents and extending to my relationship with my grandfather.

I initially succumbed to pressure from my mother not to get the vaccine and I knew it was out of real concern on her end. But eventually, for multiple reasons, I did end up getting vaccinated (halfway so far anyway). I told my mom I’d be doing it and she begrudgingly told me “it’s my choice,” which was code for “I don’t agree with what you’re doing,” before we quickly shifted gears.

My parents aren’t the only ones who don’t trust the vaccine. My aunt on my father’s side has some crazy conspiracy theories about it (I don’t listen long enough to be able to tell you what they are). So when I got the appointment I figured I wouldn’t say anything to my family unless directly asked. I didn’t want to hear it.

Low and behold, last week my grandfather asked me if I’d gotten the vaccine. I’m not a liar, so I told him yes. Not twenty minutes later, my aunt calls and while they’re talking, decides to tell her right out of the blue how “I went and got the shot.”

I was so angry. Probably the angriest I’ve been with my grandfather in awhile. There was no reason to bring that up at all, it wasn’t relevant and it wasn’t her business. Thankfully, probably because I did blow up and she could hear it, my aunt didn’t push the issue. But grandpa and I had a talk about boundaries after that, where I told him I’m not a point of gossip in the family.

Unfortunately, my grandfather couldn’t see my perspective, because of course it was different than his own belief that one person’s business seems to be everyone’s business. He asked why I was being so uptight about it and implied that it was the same thing as “telling people I got my toenails cut.” Only when I reminded him how controversial this vaccine is did he let up a little, but of course still didn’t apologize.

Usually grandpa and I can disagree, even loudly, and I still feel like things are okay. I’m somewhat accustomed to his outdated views, but this made me really resent him. I haven’t wanted to talk to him much since, which makes me feel bad. And I can’t even complain to my mom about it because that would mean bringing up the vaccine, which would likely just make her go all quiet.

I never got a chance to write about this encounter last week because I went and took my anger out on my wallet. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. In the last month I’ve spent countless dollars on things I don’t need, namely clothes and pins, which I collect. In fact last week after a whole mess of back and forth with L about our session, which wasn’t happening and then did half-happen, I went and dropped $300 at a clip trying to soothe myself.

Now that it’s April I’ve got myself back on a “no spending” policy and I’m hopeful I’ll stick to it.

If you’re wondering about the session with L, she got exposed to COVID and had to cancel session to get tested. I was upset by the situation and trying like hell not to be because I’d love to be at a point in my therapy where a missed session doesn’t throw everything off-kilter. No such luck though.

She cancelled on Sunday and then texted me Monday to change her mind because she got a negative result. But at that point, she had no childcare, so my only option was telehealth. I work five minutes from her office, but I live 25 minutes from my job. When you get out at 2:45, there’s no making it home for a 3:00 session. That left me doing session in my office at school.

It was hard, because two things were true as we often say. I was very grateful that she cared enough to make the time for me even if it meant juggling home and work, but I was also put off by seeing her home life. It came to the point that during session she was bouncing the baby on her leg.

A few things would happen. I would feel a sting of jealousy at the little bundle she was lucky enough to have. I would also feel a little hurt, wondering how she could possibly be hearing me when her attention was split between us. It felt a little like the baby and I were competing to see who could pull her attention more.

Of course I want this little being to have her mother. She didn’t do anything wrong. But I yearn for my therapist just as badly and I only get two hours with her a week. That kid gets the majority of L. So to have her interrupting my time was frustrating.

L didn’t miss a beat the whole time we were in session, and she admitted that she felt horrible things worked out the way that they did. So I didn’t say anything. The reminder was clear though: You don’t come first. And now you’ve slipped even further down the totem pole.

I feel like a child writing this. I know I don’t need her, but at the same time, yes I do. So when she cancelled on Thursday, it really hit me like a ton of bricks. I could tell she felt bad because she offered to let me email her, but it didn’t really matter. My fear that her having a child would mean cancelled sessions was coming true, just like when Dr. N had to shorten our sessions for three weeks because they didn’t have childcare.

I don’t know how I’d ever bring this up to her. She’d be so good about it, I know she would. She reassured me Monday that I was allowed to be upset with her, that she wanted me to have all my feelings and stop suppressing them. Plus, as much as I’m getting on her case about the baby interfering, I do ask to see her and ask how she’s doing. It feels like the polite thing to do, and part of me does really care, even when doing so hurts me.

It’s not just the baby. It’s COVID. First we had to get through me being exposed to someone positive and waiting five days (!) for a negative result. Then barely after that it’s her. This is the one place I can’t bear to have things be interrupted.

Because I didn’t have therapy on Thursday, I didn’t get a chance to muse further on my relationship/non-relationship with a new guy.

D and I met on a dating website, which is where I meet all of my potential relationship partners. I was iffy about even seeing him the first time, but L encouraged me to go and feel it out. The first couple dates that we had went pretty well. We have a lot in common and the conversation was pretty easy. I liked him enough to keep exploring, so that’s what we did. We had pancakes. We went bowling.

As things began to get more intimate, I increasingly wanted to sabotage and run. I may want a relationship badly, but I rarely feel emotionally ready for it. I admitted to him on our third date that I take awhile to warm up with the physical contact, and he said he’d “picked up on that.”

Then on our fourth date, things took a weird turn. First we went out to dinner and that was fine, there was some playful banter. He talked about wanting to kiss me later and I didn’t mind that. Then we moved on to this hole in the wall brewery owned by his friend. That’s where I started to feel uncomfortable. First off, my inner-introvert was screaming “that’s enough! go home!” because I was just tapped out. I tried to push through, but all of the sudden he wanted to sext simultaneously while talking to me and his friend.

So, a couple things here. It really felt like he was moving kind of quickly, especially after being told that I’m a slow to warm kind of person. Even at dinner, he’d admitted that a lot of his last dates had turned into sexual conquests. To which I told him that he shouldn’t expect the same from me. He acts like he’s all good with that, but then he starts with this. I tried to play along but I wasn’t super into it.

Second, the topic of sex is really shameful for me. I don’t know why, I don’t have a history of abuse, but I’ve always been very easily bristled by talk about sex. It makes me want to be swallowed up by the ground kind of shame. I’m not comfortable with my sexuality and never have been.

We ended up in the back of his car making out like teenagers. I didn’t so much mind that, although it didn’t do much for me. Again, I need to be more emotionally intimate before the physical ever gets brought to the table. Part of me wants to hold that boundary and part of me knows it might be a deal-breaker for some people. (But so what, right? Aren’t I supposed to do what’s right for me?) Either way, the kissing and groping was fine, but then he started to go further.

With M last year, I let myself get sucked into having sex pretty quickly and our relationship kind of devolved from there. I told myself I’d give it more time with the next person. While I didn’t feel taken advantage of, I did feel like I let myself go further than planned and I didn’t know how I felt about that. At one point, he asked me if I trusted him and I said yes, even though my insides were screaming “No!! How could I trust you after only knowing you for barely a month?”

Oh, and at one point he tried to choke me. I guess that’s a thing some people like, but it was very off-putting. I immediately put that to an end, and he listened, but I still felt the discomfort of how quickly things had escalated. He was being kind of pushy and not being sensitive enough to my needs I felt.

I don’t know, I could tell he was trying, and I must be different from everyone else he has ever been with. Maybe other girls have said one thing and meant another, but I certainly haven’t.

I really feel like something is wrong with me that I can’t just let go and be romantically into someone. I’m always in my own head, always uncomfortable, and it ruins the whole experience for me. Plus, it certainly doesn’t make me want to go down that road any sooner.

We were supposed to meet up again last week, but he cancelled at the last minute. I pointed out that I wished he had told me sooner so I didn’t spend the morning getting ready for nothing. By the time he texted me, he was already at this other engagement. There was time to let me know sooner.

Anyway, this week was his spring break and while I knew he was away, I heard absolutely nothing from him. I suppose I could have texted, but I felt like the ball was in his court after cancelling the last date. So yesterday when he finally texted me almost a week later, I didn’t know how to feel.

I want to call him out on it, but I don’t want to seem clingy (which in reality, I know I’m not, because it didn’t bother me to go a couple days and not hear from him, just to go like 6 days and hear nothing). I’m not sure how he’d respond, although I guess that would be a worthwhile test wouldn’t it? Not that I should be testing him, but I think it’s important to see how he handles potential dissent like that. Still, I’m not sure what to do.

I have an appointment with Dr. N in a half hour, so I guess I’ll ask her advice then, because I haven’t responded to him yet.

There’s more I could say, but this post already ended up way longer than I intended it to be, so I think I’ll stop here and update more soon. But that’s where things stand as far as my life right now. How is yours going?