Therapy...

To everyone who helped me keep my head up when I wanted to drag it on the floor, thanks and I luv yall to death. You truly don't know how much in your debt I am right now :)

Therapy...

This wasn’t planned, so it may sound poorly written and thought out. I made up my mind I wouldn’t write anything, until I had something new to say. And I don’t. I have absolutely nothing of note to put here. My situation hasn’t changed much. I’m just tired of wallowing in depression and negative feelings. So this is my outlet. I’m trying to purge myself. Writing always came easy to me. It felt natural, like breathing, or swimming (I learned to swim at such a young age, that I don’t even actually remember learning), or speaking. Except that now, it feels even more natural than speaking. Concepts, ideas and emotions that I struggle to articulate, just flow when I’m putting them down on paper. I don’t have to go back and repeat myself, or struggle to explain what I really mean or feel. It just flows. I’ve re-read all my posts countless times. It’s amazing to watch your writing develop, when you did not even realize that it was ever changing.

With that being said, I now realize that writing is therapeutic for me. I don’t clam up. I don’t freeze. Maybe it’s because I’m focused on avoiding spelling and grammatical errors. Maybe it’s because when I write, I lose myself in what I’m writing about. I don’t know what it is. But I know that starting this blog has done more for me, than the four $400 sessions at that therapist ever did. Every time I bare my soul in this space, and then hit that “post blog” button, I feel lighter and freer than I did before. So with that in mind, this is my therapy session for this week. I hope to remove the negativity from my soul and replace with something else.

I won’t re-hash my blogs of this week in length. The world has seen me writhe in agony and sink to some depths that I hoped I would never see again. I finally cried too. It wasn’t an ideal place or time to cry. I could have killed myself at the point in time. (N.B. breaking down into tears while you’re driving on a busy highway does not come recommended by the Minister of Health. Especially when you’re well renowned for speeding). But I couldn’t help it at the point in time. I reached that place. The exhaustion, the pain, the guilt, the regret, the longing, the wanting, the desperation, had all reached their peak. I was talking to her on the phone (earpiece enabled for all you safety-conscious folk), and I started apologizing for everything I had done in the past. And it snuck up on me.

I didn’t bawl. But they came slowly, and then steadily. And I couldn’t stop them. I was struggling. My voice hitched. I stammered. But I didn’t stop. I pushed through. At the end of it all, I did not get the responses I wanted. But I felt a little bit better (stress on little). I got into work tidied up a little and proceeded to sulk out the day. I sent out questionable e-mails. I had people look at me and ask which family member died. I was low. Then I left work, hit my favourite watering hole, and went on what I intended to be the mother of all benders, breathalyzer be damned. But a funny thing happened in the midst of all the drowning of my sorrows. I went to the bathroom to take a leak, and on the way out, I looked in the mirror. I was appalled by what I saw. To use my favourite saying, I looked like warmed over death. I looked pitiful. That wasn’t me looking back in that mirror. It couldn’t be. So I made up my mind. Past midnight, Friday night, I was not mourning anymore. I would turn my hurt into something positive. And I have been working at that since then.

I am still hurting, a lot. My change in attitude hasn’t changed that fact. I am going to try my best to show her that I am worthy of one more chance. That hasn’t changed. I don’t know what my odds are, but I am going to give my all. There are still things that I haven’t shared with her, but I have resolved to be open and share them. These are the things that I have scared to share with anyone. Even this blog. Will it help? I don’t know. Do I have a plan? No, I don’t. But I need to look forward and stay positive. Even if I don’t succeed. Because, to go back to how I used to be, would mean that all of the lessons that I claimed to learn from all of the pain I have suffered, would have truly been lost. This just became about more than just proving to her that I am worthy. It also became about proving to me that I am worthy of her, whether I end up back by her side or not. I think, no, I believe that I am. Now the time has come to back up those words, with ways.