Is There Anybody Out There? III (Seeing The Therapist)

"I feel imprisoned in a ring of sharp swords"

I've started seeing a therapist. I've been desperate to get help. I feel like I'm seeking an oncologist at stage IV. The bad days, when they are looming I can feel it in my chest. I start to lose my ability to concentrate. The light seems to change, and I'm standing on the outside of everything in some different reality. It's like I don't exist anymore, I'm not even solid, I have nothing to offer. Everything hurts. Unbearable exhaustion is in my bones, muscle, sinew. I'm terrified. Getting out of bed is perverse and cruel. Seeing the girls off to school, signing their work and making lunch is next to impossible. Pretending to be a normal, regular happy mommy is my goal. I do it counting the minutes till I can crawl back into my bed, feeling guilty the whole time for not really being present. It's then I feel I suck as a mom. I dread the time when they will return from school, asking for help with homework, talking about problems with friends, asking for advice or needing something to eat. when days like this come I'll sit by the window and wait for the girls to return. Staring outside, unwashed, undressed, unable to understand the cacophony of voices in my head. I feel imprisoned in a ring of sharp swords. If I move I will get cut, If I stay put I will have no life. I'll risk injury to live again.

Today I muster up the energy to shower and dress. I'm going to see the therapist. I've been seeing her for a couple of months. She is nice and kind, deep and thoughtful-she can prescribe. I like her. I have spent my first few appointments crying and answering all of her questions. I've been to therapy before and have worked my way through a few things when I was younger. I beg her not to have to go through the entire recap of my messed up childhood. I become angry and resist blaming my past for not being able to live fully. I adamantly refuse to buy into the belief that it is all the fault of my parents. Such a cliche man. She gently explains that I have expressed a fear paralyzing me at this point of my life. If something is locked inside of me, the longer I repress it the worse it will become. I tell her I would rather use my strength, endurance and willpower along with her help to create a serious life makeover. Strength and willpower aside I've agreed to try some medication. We've also begun the messed up childhood recap. Hey she's the professional, I'll try it her way.

I was fine for so many years. I had it tough when I was a kid for sure. I escaped that mess when I turned eighteen and began to make a decent life for myself. My first brush with anxiety hit me hard when I was twenty five. I had no idea what was happening. I was scared and thought I was really losing my mind. I tried to hide my fear. It only got worse. I began to miss work, hide out at home and wonder if I should check myself into a hospital. I trusted an old friend and told her what was happening. She understood exactly what I was going through because she had experienced something similar. She recommended a therapist. I got better and considered that chapter of my life closed. Apparently not, Things are worse. My brain is scrambled. I can't concentrate. Writing is an almost insurmountable task, but I keep trying. I am examining my life this way and hoping the therapist can help my miserable, complaining ass.


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