It’ll be okay. I’m going to be fine.
I’m not fine right now, but it’s just a phase. It won’t last forever. Things change, including my mood, which feels outside of my control at the moment.I am not sure what to do for myself. I’d like to just watch movies and try to sleep until it’s over, but I’m supposed to be getting work done. It’s very hard to concentrate but I’m trying.
I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying. Really, I am.
I keep telling myself that because at another level, I don’t believe I am trying hard enough. If you really wanted to be well, that voice says, you would do what you know is good for you. You’d go exercise, you’d take the dogs out–it’s not even cold today!–you would clean the house, you’d get moving. You would do your meditation. But instead you walk in circles around the house, throw yourself into bed for an hour, eat tortilla chips, and check your damn phone. None of this is helping you. You know what to do. So do it. Or are you perhaps choosing this instead?
I didn’t have my appointment with E today. That’s because I cancelled it a few days ago. When I texted her to cancel, I felt I was making a choice to be more active in my own therapy, to take some control over where it was going, instead of throwing myself down in her office and leaving it to her to figure out how to fix me. I would use the time to think it all over and make a plan, I told myself. Now, however, I feel that what I was actually doing was punishing myself: No more supportive therapist for you, Q, not ’til you learn to do what you are supposed to do.
(Yikes, when I write that out, it sounds like my mom when she used to get mad: No going to Susan’s birthday party for you today, young lady, not ’til you’ve learned that chores come first!)
I want my therapist’s care and concern, but I don’t want to ask for it. It’s that same old magical thinking, that there is some good fairy / perfect mother / beloved caretaker out there who wants to soothe and comfort me after I’ve been hurt. But in truth, there isn’t. It needs to be me taking care of myself. And I’m chronically tired and pathologically confused and dizzingly unfocused, so I can’t really do it right now.
It’s going to be okay. This is just me with an unfocused, frustrated brain. It’s partly my depression, which comes and goes in waves. It’s worsened by on-going problems with medication. It’s going to be okay though. It won’t last forever. I’m going to be fine.