Sometimes I feel I am floating a little bit outside the rest of the world. But nobody notices, so maybe it’s not true? Or maybe I never connect very well, so people can’t tell the difference.
Lately in therapy E. is optimistic. She tells me how well I’m doing. But I don’t feel I am doing well. I want her to understand, so I tell her I am internally agitated but have no energy. I tell her I feel many urges to burn myself but haven’t done it. She remains optimistic.
It’s so frustrating! Of course I want hope for my future. But I also need some validation of how I am feeling in the moment. I need her to say, it’s not a straightforward path to emotional health or I see you are struggling these days.
But perhaps I’m wallowing in the muck when I don’t need to, and she’s trying to prevent me for staying there. Maybe I am afraid of getting better or resisting?
It helps that I decided to believe the scary stories from the wounded girl. Seriously, it’s an enormous step forward. So now am I just supposed to be fine? No more anxious spiders creeping up my arms, tingling in a way that makes me want to burn them off? And if I’m not fine, am I doing something wrong?
My husband is happy that I’m home for three months. He tells me multiple times every day that he loves me. And he shows it in a million ways. He makes food for me, doesn’t press me to do more than I feel like. But he seems to think now that I have a break from work, everything is much better, or it will be better in a few more days, as I become more rested. I think about inviting him to have sex as a way to connect but I’m afraid I’ll just dissociate and feel more alone than ever.
My mother! My heart is longing for my mother, but I she’s forgotten about me. I think she has talked to me on the phone one time since April, and that was to tell me in July that my cousin’s son had committed suicide. As I wrote earlier, I told her that my depression was worse this year than in a long time. She emailed me once asking if I was taking too much Tylenol. Since then, no mention of depression in her emails. And actually, no emails for weeks. It’s like I don’t exist for her. It’s like I don’t exist.
Meanwhile, I stay home, read books, clean the house, feel disconnected but don’t want to make the effort to connect. I should probably try harder.
Maybe the Wise Woman would have something useful to say about all this, but I think she’s taking the evening off.