To My Wonderful New Followers, as well as People Who've Favourited or Re-Tweeted me in the past three weeks-
First I want to say thank you all for joining me, liking what I had to say, and even decided to stay. It means so much, and I don't know if I can explain why, so I'll just say that it does.
Unfortunately, most of you are across the pond, and I don't know if I will ever meet some of you, although I know some of you I DEFINITELY will meet, and we've already begun to talk about the hows and where's and whens. I honestly can't wait until that day happens.
So, that all said, there are some things you probably should know about me.
First, I'm a girl. My first name is ' Anne.
I live in Upstate NY, in a little city called Poughkeepsie. Not my favourite place at all. But, it's where I am right now. Definitely not Where I Should Be. But I digress. I'm single. Some of you already know my age, so that's unnecessary. But should you truly want to know, I may tell you if you ask nicely.
We've all made each others' acquaintance because four weeks ago, my dear friend Amanda took me to see Paul Weller for the first time in my life. As most of you know, I've loved Paul on and off, but mostly on, for the the last 30 years. The only other things I've loved that long are books and my parents. It was one of the best nights of my life. I will never stop thanking you for this, Amanda, so get used to it. I'm already trying to figure out how I can see him live again.
Living across the pond, it's kinda difficult to strike up a conversation about Paul. I'm mostly met with blank stares unless I mention The Jam, and then I get "Oh, 'A Town Called Malice". And yes, I've managed somehow to stay out of jail. So you have to understand how wonderful it is to talk to people about something I love so ,much.
It honestly means the world to me.
Now the boring stuff, about me.
I've been an Anglophile since I was 9, when my 4th grade English Teacher played a recording of Sir Michael Redgrave in Hamlet. (Yes, he played it on a turntable, so that gives you an idea of how old I am). I was intrigued and in love. I went home and took my grandfather's collected works of Shakespeare from the bookshelf and read it. And understood much of it. (Most of my classmates were reading Babysitters Club and Nancy Drew). I was.....an odd child. And to be honest, I think my fascination with All Things English began when I watched 'My Fair Lady' and fell in love with Rex Harrison. I was seven. The accent, I suppose. I still have the same problem today. Someone with a plummy voice could say 'doorknob' and I'd swoon. It's an issue.
I'm planning to visit in the next three years. If there's any way I can make it happen, I may wind up moving there. We'll see.
Other things about me.
I love food and cooking, books, reading and writing. I am always writing something. I didn't choose it, it chose me.
I am in love with music and some musicians, the ones who write amazing lyrics are the ones I love most. Hence, well, you know..
I am an introvert to the extreme. It's not social phobia, it's the fact I can't relate to people well. So the internet is safe for me. I have met absolutely wonderful people here. Amanda, my dearest friend, the one whom I"ll refer to as my kid, on here, is invaluable to me. I don't know what I"d do without her.
I do make strong friendships here, and I tend to make my attachments quickly. It's just the way I've always been. I am a good, loyal friend to have, I think.
-I am way too honest. To the point of being blunt sometimes. If anything I say ever hurts you let me know. It's more than likely I didn't mean it.
I'm a recovering pessimist inching towards cautious optimism.
I'm not looking for a romantic relationship here. I have enough of those impossible situations in my RL, thank you very much.
I live with major depression. I occasionally vent about it here. The short summation of that is some days, "My Ever-Changing Moods" is my theme song. Capiche?
Moving on. Actually,. I think that's it.
Yes, I like Every Song On Saturn's Pattern. I am a CD homer. If you don't, that's fine. If you want to tell me why I shouldn't, have a nice day.
I am quite fond of Andy Crofts' band The Moons.
I like all the members of Paul's current band.
Steve Pilgrim is a great drummer.
I think that's everything.
It's great to meet you all, and I hope we'll be talking for a long time, or at least until The Guv hangs up his Ricky.
Tweet at you all soon,
Until then,
I remain
As ever,
Anne
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Different Is Beautiful
This entry is devoted to a write up of one of my favorite places to eat in New York City. In a world where most places are interested in coming up with new gimmicks or trends or keeping up with existing ones, there are a few that go their own way and succeed because of it. This is one of them.
A few weeks ago, Jehangir Mehta's East Village restaurant, Graffiti, was given a twenty-eight(out of thirty) rating for its food. This is a particularly fantastic occurance, because in all of NYC, only 11 restaurants received such high marks. I can't say I was surprised by this at all. I discovered Graffiti two years ago, and have returned many times since. I can say, quite honestly, I've never been disappointed. Yes, it's that good, and one of the reasons that's true is because of how different it is. And it's not different in a gimmicky popular sort of way. Let me try to explain.
The first thing you need to know about Graffiti is that getting there is part of it's charm, especially if you're walking . East Tenth Street is filled with beautiful brownstones and interesting shops. You'll need to watch the building numbers though, or you might walk past Graffiti the first time, like I did.
Once you've stepped inside, however, you know you've arrived somewhere special.
Sure, it's small. Okay, it's really small. However, it is an excellent illustration of how good things come in small packages.
From the subdued lighting coming from the hanging chandelier-like lanterns and the soft background music to the lovely pictures and colorful hangings that adorn the walls, you feel as though you've entered a different world. Chef Mehta himself designed the space himself, and it's evident that everything was selected with great care.
And then, there's the food, which is truly something that has to be experienced. All the appetizers and entrees come on small plates, so they're designed for sharing, but if you go alone, like I often do, two or three of them, along with a dessert are enough for a satisfying meal. The menu is varied, with something for everyone. Most of the items are constant but there are a few dishes that change seasonally. There's also a vegetarian menu along with some gluten free offerings. If you or your party have any special requirements, they will do their best to accomodate you.
I'm including a link to the menu, which describes the offerings far better than I ever could.
http://www.graffitinyc.com/menu/
Some of my favorites are the scallops, and the Graffiti burger. I have to admit though, I'm pretty obsessed with the desserts. Last time I was there, I had something that had just been added to the menu, a pear, poached with spices, and served with home-made marmalade ice cream. Yes, you read right. MARMALADE ICE CREAM. I still think about it.
Finally, I want to talk about what I think is the best thing about Graffiti, and that's the attentiveness of the hosts and the waitstaff. You are greeted warmly the minute you walk in, and they see to it that your experience there is enjoyable. They'll answer any questions you may have, and I appreciate the way they explain each dish you are served. And, if you are lucky to be there when Chef Mehta is in the restaurant, don't be suprised if he actually takes your order, or even brings it out to you. That's just the kind of person he is.
So, if you have a chance, try to dine at Graffiti at least once before you die. It's an experience you will long remember. Maybe I'll see you there .
The first thing you need to know about Graffiti is that getting there is part of it's charm, especially if you're walking . East Tenth Street is filled with beautiful brownstones and interesting shops. You'll need to watch the building numbers though, or you might walk past Graffiti the first time, like I did.
Once you've stepped inside, however, you know you've arrived somewhere special.
Sure, it's small. Okay, it's really small. However, it is an excellent illustration of how good things come in small packages.
From the subdued lighting coming from the hanging chandelier-like lanterns and the soft background music to the lovely pictures and colorful hangings that adorn the walls, you feel as though you've entered a different world. Chef Mehta himself designed the space himself, and it's evident that everything was selected with great care.
And then, there's the food, which is truly something that has to be experienced. All the appetizers and entrees come on small plates, so they're designed for sharing, but if you go alone, like I often do, two or three of them, along with a dessert are enough for a satisfying meal. The menu is varied, with something for everyone. Most of the items are constant but there are a few dishes that change seasonally. There's also a vegetarian menu along with some gluten free offerings. If you or your party have any special requirements, they will do their best to accomodate you.
I'm including a link to the menu, which describes the offerings far better than I ever could.
http://www.graffitinyc.com/menu/
Some of my favorites are the scallops, and the Graffiti burger. I have to admit though, I'm pretty obsessed with the desserts. Last time I was there, I had something that had just been added to the menu, a pear, poached with spices, and served with home-made marmalade ice cream. Yes, you read right. MARMALADE ICE CREAM. I still think about it.
Finally, I want to talk about what I think is the best thing about Graffiti, and that's the attentiveness of the hosts and the waitstaff. You are greeted warmly the minute you walk in, and they see to it that your experience there is enjoyable. They'll answer any questions you may have, and I appreciate the way they explain each dish you are served. And, if you are lucky to be there when Chef Mehta is in the restaurant, don't be suprised if he actually takes your order, or even brings it out to you. That's just the kind of person he is.
So, if you have a chance, try to dine at Graffiti at least once before you die. It's an experience you will long remember. Maybe I'll see you there .
Sunday, November 2, 2014
This is What Depression Is, This is What Depression Does
Last August, when Robin Williams decided(for whatever reason, and truthfully we'll never know because he didn't leave a note to tell us why---at least not one that the press could glom over) to end his life there was a resurgence of articles, news stories, and all over posts by people on their blogs, and on their Facebook, Twitter, and all other social media speaking of their sadness and confusion over this tragedy. As the story developed and it was made known that he struggled for years with clinical depression as well as alcohol, there were many people who said, or made promises to 'be there for anyone who was hurting' to be more understanding, to always be willing to listen.
It's November now. The weather is colder, the new school year is close to a third over.. Football and hockey season are in full swing, and dear god, it is a mere 52 days until Christmas.
And, as I predicted, the attention about the devastating effects of clinical depression have, for the most part faded away. I do understand why-sort of. It's not easy to talk about. Not many people want to talk about it. And, there is a lack of understanding about what depression actually is.
Unfortunately, 'depression' is a word that's bandied about easily. It's become a catch-all word for so many things that clinical depression is not.
Still, as a person who's lived with Major Depression-Recurrent for the past thirty-six years, it's troubling. Major, or clinical depression is different than---see, here's the tricky part---it's hard to explain without sounding like you're being condescending. It's a little more though than waking up on the wrong side of the bed, feeling blah, having the blues, having a bad day. It's a legitimate, physical problem. Your brain either doesn't make enough of certain mood elevating chemicals, or your neuro-receptors(and yeah, I know I've spelled that wrong) don't pick them up, or absorb them. I'll admit I'm not EXACTLY sure on all the technical reasons why I have what I have.
All I know is how it affects me. All I know is that over the past two months it's been a struggle to do anything.
-Get out of bed
-Eat
-Have interest in most of the things I love
-Be pleasant
People say, "But you were laughing the other day." Yeah. Every now and then something's funny. Rarely. Most days I can't find much to laugh at, except maybe myself. Which, believe me, I do.
And when I do force myself to get up, get out of my head and go out, I look decent. My hair's combed, I'm clean. Truly, if you didn't know me well, or I hadn't told you, there's a good chance you wouldn't know.
But I'm tired of feeling like I have to hide it.
When I do talk about it, most people avoid me like the plague. And I wonder, is it me, or is it who I am? Which of course is a question that does wonders for my self esteem.
Chris Martin whines his depressing lyrics and everyone wets their pants at his 'brilliance'.
Sylvia Plath wrote some of the most self indulgent self-pitying doggerel ever, and she's revered.
And there's Dylan Thomas, and Poe, and well Kurt Cobain--and Hemmingway. Oh, wait. They all offed themselves, didn't they. Yeah. ANYWAY.
*Sigh* I had a point when I started writing this.
The truth is over the past year my clinical depression has gotten worse. I've been on eight different meds, and none have worked. I have to wait until Dec 2nd, to see the shrink because the hospital where I go just went through a major reorganization.
And I'm lonely. I've lost friends because of this disease, and yeah, that is my fault.
And basically I'm just scared.
I know I'm better than this, and honestly, I just want myself back.
It's November now. The weather is colder, the new school year is close to a third over.. Football and hockey season are in full swing, and dear god, it is a mere 52 days until Christmas.
And, as I predicted, the attention about the devastating effects of clinical depression have, for the most part faded away. I do understand why-sort of. It's not easy to talk about. Not many people want to talk about it. And, there is a lack of understanding about what depression actually is.
Unfortunately, 'depression' is a word that's bandied about easily. It's become a catch-all word for so many things that clinical depression is not.
Still, as a person who's lived with Major Depression-Recurrent for the past thirty-six years, it's troubling. Major, or clinical depression is different than---see, here's the tricky part---it's hard to explain without sounding like you're being condescending. It's a little more though than waking up on the wrong side of the bed, feeling blah, having the blues, having a bad day. It's a legitimate, physical problem. Your brain either doesn't make enough of certain mood elevating chemicals, or your neuro-receptors(and yeah, I know I've spelled that wrong) don't pick them up, or absorb them. I'll admit I'm not EXACTLY sure on all the technical reasons why I have what I have.
All I know is how it affects me. All I know is that over the past two months it's been a struggle to do anything.
-Get out of bed
-Eat
-Have interest in most of the things I love
-Be pleasant
People say, "But you were laughing the other day." Yeah. Every now and then something's funny. Rarely. Most days I can't find much to laugh at, except maybe myself. Which, believe me, I do.
And when I do force myself to get up, get out of my head and go out, I look decent. My hair's combed, I'm clean. Truly, if you didn't know me well, or I hadn't told you, there's a good chance you wouldn't know.
But I'm tired of feeling like I have to hide it.
When I do talk about it, most people avoid me like the plague. And I wonder, is it me, or is it who I am? Which of course is a question that does wonders for my self esteem.
Chris Martin whines his depressing lyrics and everyone wets their pants at his 'brilliance'.
Sylvia Plath wrote some of the most self indulgent self-pitying doggerel ever, and she's revered.
And there's Dylan Thomas, and Poe, and well Kurt Cobain--and Hemmingway. Oh, wait. They all offed themselves, didn't they. Yeah. ANYWAY.
*Sigh* I had a point when I started writing this.
The truth is over the past year my clinical depression has gotten worse. I've been on eight different meds, and none have worked. I have to wait until Dec 2nd, to see the shrink because the hospital where I go just went through a major reorganization.
And I'm lonely. I've lost friends because of this disease, and yeah, that is my fault.
And basically I'm just scared.
I know I'm better than this, and honestly, I just want myself back.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Yet Another Open Letter
Dear-
I debated writing this for a long time, but then figured I might as well, as I had to get it
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The First Few Days, An Apology, and The Ugly Truth
Alright. Many of you have asked me NOT to refer to Partial as "Summer Camp for Feebs and Losers" I think it's a perfectly acceptable name, but apparently it offends some people who continue to insist that I am not a loser, despite the fact that I am
-jobless
-friendless(at least locally)
-disowned by most of my family
-childless
-husbandless
I don't understand where the non-loser component is in all that, I truly don't.
Let's be frank. I spend WAY to much time on Facebook and Twitter. Too much time when I should be doing other, more profitable things.
However, in my time there, I can tell you this much.
If you tweet or status update that you are
-getting divorced
-have lost a family member
-are sick(even if it's just a bad cold)
-injured yourself physically
-or are trying to lose weight, quit smoking, drinking, drugs, what have you
The likelihood is that you'll get a million supportive responses.
However, tweet or status report that you are depressed, hating yourself, feeling hopeless, and if you're lucky, you'll get one or two.
Because the truth is, if you're like me, if you have what I have, it's almost inevitable you've pissed off or alienated your friends to the extent, they don't know what to do, or they are afraid to say anything to you, for fear it is the wrong thing. And I'm sorry for all the times I've done that.
That said, I've got to be honest. I can't guarantee that I won't do it again in the next few weeks. I need a lot of support, and a lot of patience, as I continue to work on myself and, more importantly, take care of myself. I'd like to say that means I'm going on vacation from social media, but I'm not that strong, or disciplined. What it will mean, is I'll be more sensitive, more needy, and more likely to get irritated. Rest assured, I don't like this any more than you do, or will. I'm doing my best to get better, to talk myself off the ledge for the eleventy-sixth time.
I've agreed to try yet another med, Prozac this time, to see if it will help with my depression. This is the 7th drug I've tried. It brings up a myriad of feelings. I'm worried, I'm sad, I feel like a failure.
But, I suppose, for all the times I've said I give up, something tells me you never know.
So, here we go again. That's really all I have to say right now.
To all of you who are still reading, still here, and love me for some strange reason, TYESM.
I love you back.
As the little girl on the Tide commercial says,
You are free to go. :)
To be continued...
-jobless
-friendless(at least locally)
-disowned by most of my family
-childless
-husbandless
I don't understand where the non-loser component is in all that, I truly don't.
Let's be frank. I spend WAY to much time on Facebook and Twitter. Too much time when I should be doing other, more profitable things.
However, in my time there, I can tell you this much.
If you tweet or status update that you are
-getting divorced
-have lost a family member
-are sick(even if it's just a bad cold)
-injured yourself physically
-or are trying to lose weight, quit smoking, drinking, drugs, what have you
The likelihood is that you'll get a million supportive responses.
However, tweet or status report that you are depressed, hating yourself, feeling hopeless, and if you're lucky, you'll get one or two.
Because the truth is, if you're like me, if you have what I have, it's almost inevitable you've pissed off or alienated your friends to the extent, they don't know what to do, or they are afraid to say anything to you, for fear it is the wrong thing. And I'm sorry for all the times I've done that.
That said, I've got to be honest. I can't guarantee that I won't do it again in the next few weeks. I need a lot of support, and a lot of patience, as I continue to work on myself and, more importantly, take care of myself. I'd like to say that means I'm going on vacation from social media, but I'm not that strong, or disciplined. What it will mean, is I'll be more sensitive, more needy, and more likely to get irritated. Rest assured, I don't like this any more than you do, or will. I'm doing my best to get better, to talk myself off the ledge for the eleventy-sixth time.
I've agreed to try yet another med, Prozac this time, to see if it will help with my depression. This is the 7th drug I've tried. It brings up a myriad of feelings. I'm worried, I'm sad, I feel like a failure.
But, I suppose, for all the times I've said I give up, something tells me you never know.
So, here we go again. That's really all I have to say right now.
To all of you who are still reading, still here, and love me for some strange reason, TYESM.
I love you back.
As the little girl on the Tide commercial says,
You are free to go. :)
To be continued...
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Notes from the Front
So Wednesday, my therapist and I filled out and submitted the paperwork for me to go back to Rehab. I am full of so many feelings at this point, I don't know if I can even write them out, but I'm going to try. \
This year has been, in a word, horrendous. It started out with a bang, two days before New Years Day with an epic fight between me, my brother and my sister-in-law, over something she wasn't even supposed to hear and both of them refuse to forgive, even though I've apologized for it a zillion times.
A few months ago, my dad's youngest sister died, her last words to me being "I don't hate you, but I can never talk or be with you anymore."
Combine that with being diagnosed with diabetes, that the doctors are still trying to manage(although they do tell me that I'm on the right track with meds, food, and excercise), a possible wonky thyroid, and the fact that several people have stopped speaking to me for whatever reason, and I am, basically, a basket case.
So, when Scott,the aforementioned therapist, who looks remarkably like John Scheneider does now, and whom has half the clinic in love with him(not me, we've known each other 15 years, and we're way too comfortable. as well as I'm too smart to indulge in any of that transference crap)says to me,
"So, what do you hope to get from Rehab this time?", I think of the question on three levels.
1. Okay, I'm going to be honest. I shouldn't call it Rehab, really, cause it's not Rehab in the traditional sense for one. It's not for drugs, or alchohol. The real name for it is Partial, which is short for Partial Hospitalization Services, which loosely translated, means, it's a last stop program before you decide to commit yourself to the locked ward on the fourth or fifth floor of the real hospital, or someone does it for you. BTW, that was part of the New Year's Day fight, my brother and SIL wanted to commit me.
Yeah. Obviously, that didn't happen.
SO ANYWAY.
2. I haven't been in the REAL hospital since 2004. This past April makes it nine years that I've stayed out. I suppose that says something about me, what, I'm not so sure, because the past nine years have been such a mix of things, good and bad. I've been on six different drugs, all with differing degress of side effects, the result being that none of them have really done what I wanted them to do, that is, make me feel better, have more energy, and most importantly, stop crying at least five times a day. Still, despite that, I'm still here, I get up every day and attempt to do at least one productive thing between the crying jags and bouts of self-loathing. Speaking of, an acquaintence made a comment to me earlier this week about a mutual acquaintence that he was at genius level, and most geniuses he knew all had a dose of healthy self loathing. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I'm smart, I've been told my IQ is up there somewhere. To be honest, if that is indeed, true, I'd rather be dim, and incredibly practical an well adjusted, not consumed with anxiety, worry, and sadness most of the time.
And that's the other thing about Partial. Unlike other mental health programs where the employee turnover is once a month, if not every other day, some of the staff has been there since the first time I was there, in 1990. They know me by name. They'll let me take the lead in some discussions, they tell me I have been a great help to some of the other inmates, erm, patients.
This will be my 4th time there.
3. So, in answer to Scott's question. "What do I hope to get this time.."
Resolution-To accept things as they are. To know that people won't change, no matter how much I may want them to. No matter how much what they've done has hurt me. They are who they are. I need to be able to accept that, and if necessary, cut those people out of my life. It doesn't make me a bad person. And it's no longer my business or concern to worry about what kinds of people they are. I want the resolve to not think about them every day, and not have them affect my life anymore. After all, I don't matter to them, why waste my life having them matter to me as much as they have.
Closure-On all of the above. To put it all away, in some mental warehouse twenty boxes, deep, like the one at the end of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark', never to be seen, heard, or thought about again. I need to do that. Once and for all, I think it's time.
Finally,
Peace. I want to feel at peace about everything, but most importantly about myself. I want to accept who I am, and like who I am, and stop apologizing every five minutes for something I've said or done. I want to stop being sorry for not working, for loving whom I love, for being expressive, and sarcastic and emotional and far from perfect. I want to accept myself whether I have people who accept me or not. And, most importantly, I want to accept the fact that there are some people I know, who do accept me for who I am. Whether I understand that or not. They love me, and I want to finally feel like I deserve it.
That's what I hope to get.
My intake appointment is Wednesday.
Wish me luck.
This year has been, in a word, horrendous. It started out with a bang, two days before New Years Day with an epic fight between me, my brother and my sister-in-law, over something she wasn't even supposed to hear and both of them refuse to forgive, even though I've apologized for it a zillion times.
A few months ago, my dad's youngest sister died, her last words to me being "I don't hate you, but I can never talk or be with you anymore."
Combine that with being diagnosed with diabetes, that the doctors are still trying to manage(although they do tell me that I'm on the right track with meds, food, and excercise), a possible wonky thyroid, and the fact that several people have stopped speaking to me for whatever reason, and I am, basically, a basket case.
So, when Scott,the aforementioned therapist, who looks remarkably like John Scheneider does now, and whom has half the clinic in love with him(not me, we've known each other 15 years, and we're way too comfortable. as well as I'm too smart to indulge in any of that transference crap)says to me,
"So, what do you hope to get from Rehab this time?", I think of the question on three levels.
1. Okay, I'm going to be honest. I shouldn't call it Rehab, really, cause it's not Rehab in the traditional sense for one. It's not for drugs, or alchohol. The real name for it is Partial, which is short for Partial Hospitalization Services, which loosely translated, means, it's a last stop program before you decide to commit yourself to the locked ward on the fourth or fifth floor of the real hospital, or someone does it for you. BTW, that was part of the New Year's Day fight, my brother and SIL wanted to commit me.
Yeah. Obviously, that didn't happen.
SO ANYWAY.
2. I haven't been in the REAL hospital since 2004. This past April makes it nine years that I've stayed out. I suppose that says something about me, what, I'm not so sure, because the past nine years have been such a mix of things, good and bad. I've been on six different drugs, all with differing degress of side effects, the result being that none of them have really done what I wanted them to do, that is, make me feel better, have more energy, and most importantly, stop crying at least five times a day. Still, despite that, I'm still here, I get up every day and attempt to do at least one productive thing between the crying jags and bouts of self-loathing. Speaking of, an acquaintence made a comment to me earlier this week about a mutual acquaintence that he was at genius level, and most geniuses he knew all had a dose of healthy self loathing. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I'm smart, I've been told my IQ is up there somewhere. To be honest, if that is indeed, true, I'd rather be dim, and incredibly practical an well adjusted, not consumed with anxiety, worry, and sadness most of the time.
And that's the other thing about Partial. Unlike other mental health programs where the employee turnover is once a month, if not every other day, some of the staff has been there since the first time I was there, in 1990. They know me by name. They'll let me take the lead in some discussions, they tell me I have been a great help to some of the other inmates, erm, patients.
This will be my 4th time there.
3. So, in answer to Scott's question. "What do I hope to get this time.."
Resolution-To accept things as they are. To know that people won't change, no matter how much I may want them to. No matter how much what they've done has hurt me. They are who they are. I need to be able to accept that, and if necessary, cut those people out of my life. It doesn't make me a bad person. And it's no longer my business or concern to worry about what kinds of people they are. I want the resolve to not think about them every day, and not have them affect my life anymore. After all, I don't matter to them, why waste my life having them matter to me as much as they have.
Closure-On all of the above. To put it all away, in some mental warehouse twenty boxes, deep, like the one at the end of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark', never to be seen, heard, or thought about again. I need to do that. Once and for all, I think it's time.
Finally,
Peace. I want to feel at peace about everything, but most importantly about myself. I want to accept who I am, and like who I am, and stop apologizing every five minutes for something I've said or done. I want to stop being sorry for not working, for loving whom I love, for being expressive, and sarcastic and emotional and far from perfect. I want to accept myself whether I have people who accept me or not. And, most importantly, I want to accept the fact that there are some people I know, who do accept me for who I am. Whether I understand that or not. They love me, and I want to finally feel like I deserve it.
That's what I hope to get.
My intake appointment is Wednesday.
Wish me luck.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Stuff My Therapist Says-Or, What it's Like to Be Me
So, my therapist is going to be gone for a month. God knows he's entitled to a vacation after listening to me, and who knows who else, bitch, moan and whine about their problems. I hope he gets some much needed and deserved rest, and I hope I manage alright while he's gone.
He did tell me if I really needed to, I could talk to someone else, but the thought of explaining my story from the beginning to a complete stranger, um....no. So until July 15th, I'm alone with all my wonderful jumble of emotions, left to my own devices.
Apparently he knew that fact might leave me a little, for lack of a better word, apprehensive, so, during our last session he kept telling me about all the changes I've made in the past year.
According to him, I am
-more peaceful, less morose. Of course, I tell him it's because I'm resigned to my situation. And alright, maybe it's a little more than that. But I've just had a really difficult week, and that's kind of hard to see right now. Although sometimes, I am able to laugh, and get myself out of the hole for a little while.
-less reactive, which, according to him, means I don't lash out at people the way I used to. He says it's a good thing, and I suppose I agree with him for the most part. Not getting angry at people and saying things that I'll ultimately have to apologize for, and keeping my mouth shut so I don't make a bad situation worse makes things easier for sure. However, it does make me feel like I can't express myself the way I would like sometimes, and more than a few times I've had to leave those feelings unexpressed, and that means I've stuffed them and dealt with all the wonderful things that leads to, such as being up half thew night feeling like the alien baby is about to burst out of my stomach, or intestinal distress or just crying over....stuff.
Ugh.
So, after careful thought, I realize that I'm most probably going back to rehab, yet again. That's if my insurance will cover it. I need a break from constantly being alone, feeling so lonely my chest hurts, and dwellng on stuff that really doesn't help to dwell on, as there's nothing I can do about it.
Again, ugh.
If I'm honest, I feel like a loser going back. If I'm honest, I wish I could, most days, just go to sleep and not wake up. Still something tells me to keep trying, and will. As much as I wish I could just give up.
If I'm honest, I wish I could see why some people think this is so brave of me, when I just don't.
I wish I could believe what was said about me.
Maybe some day.
He did tell me if I really needed to, I could talk to someone else, but the thought of explaining my story from the beginning to a complete stranger, um....no. So until July 15th, I'm alone with all my wonderful jumble of emotions, left to my own devices.
Apparently he knew that fact might leave me a little, for lack of a better word, apprehensive, so, during our last session he kept telling me about all the changes I've made in the past year.
According to him, I am
-more peaceful, less morose. Of course, I tell him it's because I'm resigned to my situation. And alright, maybe it's a little more than that. But I've just had a really difficult week, and that's kind of hard to see right now. Although sometimes, I am able to laugh, and get myself out of the hole for a little while.
-less reactive, which, according to him, means I don't lash out at people the way I used to. He says it's a good thing, and I suppose I agree with him for the most part. Not getting angry at people and saying things that I'll ultimately have to apologize for, and keeping my mouth shut so I don't make a bad situation worse makes things easier for sure. However, it does make me feel like I can't express myself the way I would like sometimes, and more than a few times I've had to leave those feelings unexpressed, and that means I've stuffed them and dealt with all the wonderful things that leads to, such as being up half thew night feeling like the alien baby is about to burst out of my stomach, or intestinal distress or just crying over....stuff.
Ugh.
So, after careful thought, I realize that I'm most probably going back to rehab, yet again. That's if my insurance will cover it. I need a break from constantly being alone, feeling so lonely my chest hurts, and dwellng on stuff that really doesn't help to dwell on, as there's nothing I can do about it.
Again, ugh.
If I'm honest, I feel like a loser going back. If I'm honest, I wish I could, most days, just go to sleep and not wake up. Still something tells me to keep trying, and will. As much as I wish I could just give up.
If I'm honest, I wish I could see why some people think this is so brave of me, when I just don't.
I wish I could believe what was said about me.
Maybe some day.
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