I am exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. My sleep has been even more sporadic than usual, and I even when I get sleep, it doesn’t make me feel refreshed. I know it’s because as my therapist said, I’m doing some fucking heavy psychological work here. No, she didn’t say fucking, but she implied it, I could tell.
When I walked into my session, I was heavy with grief. I have written about it before, but it’s lingering. I have never had someone close to me die. I have never felt this kind of grief before. I am not sure what to do about it. My body is heavy, physically. I am having a hard time keeping my eyes open, even when I’ve had relatively enough sleep. I have been crying on and off and at the silliest things. My emotions are battered, and my spirit is frayed.
As I was recounting my feelings to my therapist, my voice was low and a bit deadened. I have numbed out somewhat in order to take the edge off the pain. She asked me where the grief was and what form did it take. I said it was raw, pulsing, and almost a sentient being, and it was residing here. I tapped myself on my chest where my heart is. And, I immediately teared up.
In the days when I was depressed, I prided myself on not crying. I hated to be seen crying in public, and I tried not to cry even when I was in private. Now, I can’t seem to stop myself from crying–and I am deeply ashamed every time I do it in the presence of someone else. It doesn’t matter if it’s a trusted friend; it still feels shameful to me.
I see it as a weakness. I hate being weak. Correction: I hate looking weak. And, many of the things I excoriate myself over fall into that category.
In the session, I was saying how I know that I could not keep living the way I had been (using the term living very loosely) and that the changes I have made were not conscious choices–I just could not do the same old shit any more. I know that the changes in my family are a good thing, but it’s so fucking hard. She pointed out that I am dismantling the whole fabric of my family’s dysfunction. When I refuse to do the same old, same old, I am demanding that my family change with me.