Status update
Tomorrow morning I have an appointment with my therapist. As is my habit, I find myself reflecting on my life and where I'm at - because she'll ask, right?
Dad died on November 13. I tried to cry. I tried to really feel it, you know, but I couldn't. I felt strangely indifferent. Now, I can't get it off of my mind.
Confession #1: I'm writing while sitting at the coffee shop - my home away from home. I spend so much time here. I'm guessing because it's not the house. It's my hideaway.
I'm angry. To an outside observer, I imagine that might be a surprise. I've learned to do such a good job keeping my emotions in check, that even I am surprised by the amount of anger I have festering deep inside me. I want to punch and hit and bite and scream myself hoarse. I want to breakdown and cry with the sucking heaves. I'm not sure why, because I'm not exactly sure what I'm angry at. Fate? Life? Rebecca? I'm also not sure why I can't let myself go...
Confession #2: Can I be completely honest with my therapist (and does it matter one way or the other)? At this point I'm planning on showing this to her. Will I follow through? In the extremes of my loneliness, coupled with my inability to reach out to others can I make her understand my frustration at the limits of our relationship? It also begs the question: What's the purpose of therapy in my life right now?
Oh God, my loneliness threatens to consume me.
Meanwhile, Emma and Grace need a fully functioning parent and I just feel like I'm slipping away...
