therapy, raisins, what have you.

A Tuesday view, to set the mood.

 So yesterday evening I got home and melted into the couch, feeling like the energy had been completely drained from my body. Like my insides had crumpled in on themselves, and my outsides had shriveled like saran wrap around my bones. I was a raisin. Not even a plump, juicy artisan raisin, the dried out kind of raisin in the red Sunmaid snack boxes.

So there I was, a raisin immobile, trying to process a lot of things. A LOT.  Yesterday,  through some trick of scheduling,  I made two therapy appointments with two separate people. (Never again! Too much emoting!)

 I was already coming off of a not great Tuesday, and I began my Wednesday feeling like mush. (So the physical progression here is from mush to raisin, if you're following closely.)  When I say mush, I mean my body felt heavy and weighted, and like clouds had make their way into the nooks and crannies of my brain so nothing was processing quite right.

An example: I am excellent at direction. I get gold stars for direction. I can almost always orient myself so I know in which direction I'm headed... which is great because sometimes Kevin still has to ask me if he should turn left of right when we're A BLOCK AWAY from our apartment.

But yesterday, I got off the bus to go to therapy appointment #1, and I started walking west. About a block in, some of those brain clouds must have parted for a millisecond, because I realized that I was headed in the wrong direction. I turned back, eastward bound. After a few blocks, I saw a large redbrick condominium midrise surrounded by a black iron gate. That's what my therapy place looks like.

So I stood staring at this iron gate for at least a minute, because it was solid gate. No door. The door that had been there last week was gone.  In my head I was all oh my God, how do I get in? Should I call her? What happened? 

And then finally there was another parting of the clouds as I looked up toward the street sign. Not Beacon Street. Not the building. Not where I was going.

So that's just a bit of background on where my head was at at that point. I also started feeling like I was going to throw up in the middle of the street and/or start crying, so tack that fun fact onto the undoubtedly glamorous picture you have of me in your head.

In the end, I got where I needed to be. And here is what I have to say about therapy.  There is a part of me that is like WTF SCIENCE, I've been doing all the therapy and all the meds for TEN YEARS, and this is what I am? The kind of mush-mind who stands on the wrong street corner, maybe about to throw up?

But this is what I realized (with the help of my therapist): all of that therapy was treading-water-therapy. It kept me afloat in the moment, so that I could go on and get higher degrees and get jobs and get up in the morning. That therapy kept me functioning, and indeed, I remember my sessions with various people along the way being about how I was going to get through break-ups, or how I was going to survive another week at school or work. It was truly designed to get me through, and I'm endlessly appreciative to all those people through the years who helped me get to where I am now.

Now that I've quit work, which was all-consuming for  me, and I have Kevin, which is the most stable relationship ever, I don't have to get through anymore. I finally have the time and space for this. I have to get over.

Over and onwards. And that process? It SUCKS. It's the nitty gritty, it's the kicking up of emotional dirt and that you're then forced to swallow and digest. It is not fun. Well, it's like the can't fall asleep until 4 AM because your body is so braced and activated and you can't stop watching documentaries about murder kind of fun. (Note: decidedly not fun.)

But I am going to get over this.

I... am going.... TO GET OVER THIS!!! (Because shouting it makes it true. Evidence below.)

I am going to be able to move forward, and get a taste of what life is like without the cacophony in my head. Not a taste. A feast. A never-ending life feast. And when I get there, I'm going to boil over with gratitude and joy because I know what the alternative way of living is like.

I'm going to borrow a line from one of my favorite Heather Armstrong posts that I mentioned earlier, because after all of my raisin-processing last night, I am confident it is possible for all sorts of things-- including getting over:

I never thought I would find that. If you haven't already, you will too.