Tomorrow I am going to lunch with Judy, and Happy Hour with a Meetup called “Women in Their 30’s.” My mom is tentatively coming to visit on Sunday if she can work out the plane situation. Excited for this burst of activity; something to look forward to in a world that’s been a little bit grey… at my own insistence, but still. Grief is lifting because I’ve been able to exorcise so many demons here and put them away. Let others think about them besides me so I can rest. Sitting in my silence has been self-induced and necessary. I haven’t been able to eat for days, because I’ve been so anxious about the Argo/Dana situation. I don’t want to let go, and I must. That fact eats away at me all day, every day. Not having a job is terrifying, because I have too much time on my hands to be sad. I don’t have compartmentalization from it. The only relief is my time with Pri Diddy.
She’s one of those people with whom I feel safe. I can open up to her in a way that touches my very soul, because when I offer up broken, she offers comfort. She helps me to be a better version of myself, one step at a time. I cannot thank her enough for her love and patience as she walks beside me.
I am getting to know her wife, Elena, and she is so great. I can envision a future in which we’re The Three Musketeers. Hanging out with both of them is solid. When I am with them, I am thinking only about them and not me. Thinking about not me is amazing. I don’t know what I would do without either one of them.
The only thing I hate about DC is that my skin is breaking out hardcore because of the humidity and being out in it all day. My skin was like that in Houston, too, but in Portland, it was clearer than it had ever been, and I’m not sure why. I do know that the air had a lot to do with it, though. I think I need another round of Accutane, because I’ve been through everything else and basically for me, they all say “does not work” right on the bottle. Accutane is torture while you’re on it, but the protocol is short and I’m not about to get pregnant, so the birth defect side effects don’t apply to me. I just need to be conscious about always carrying lip balm, lotion, and Ibuprofen, because ironically enough, Accutane causes my back to hurt…. A lot.
Psych appt. on the 28th is coming up quick. Still apprehensive about it, because I want to like my doctor and I hope he’s as knowledgeable as I need him to be. I suppose it could be a she, but to me the classic image of a psychiatrist is a male New York Jew. It’s a long story. You just had to be there.
Anyway, if I think the doctor is stupid, I will rebel hardcore. Doctors generally aren’t, but at the same time, the guy that graduates last in medical school still gets a license, capice? I don’t want to switch meds, I don’t want him to talk down to me, and I for damn sure don’t want him to think that he knows more about my mind than I do. I spend every day with it.
I will never say that I know more than a doctor. That’s not what I mean. I have been a psych patient since I was in early college, when I first discovered that I was depressed and I could not pull myself out of it. I have had what seems like a hundred different protocols because every SSRI I’ve ever tried has stopped working after a few months. Things did not improve dramatically until I saw a different psychiatrist in 2006 who said I’d been misdiagnosed with unipolar and started bipolar treatment on me. It worked within two weeks, and for the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to live without depression. I have been on that same protocol, with the exception of adding the gabapentin, since then. I have occasionally used Xanax in the past as needed for panic attacks, but I’ve only had two or three of those… and not one since starting the gabapentin.
The worst was after my fistfight with Dana. She went to her priest and told her what happened, and her priest walked her through a Rite for grievous sins as a way to let go. She came home and showed it to me in the Book of Common Prayer, and it was then that I collapsed on the floor, hyperventilating as if there were no tomorrow. I could only think of my own grievous sins. I did not want the divorce except in a fit of anger, and I said as much in my Facebook post. Dana took the title that Facebook put on it, “End of Relationship,” and said that since I’d ended it, there was no turning back. She did not take into account the long exposition where I said that our paths could ultimately lead back to each other.
She lost faith in me, she lost the ability to be romantic with me, she lost my friendship when she said I’d never amount to anything.
In time, I contacted her and said that I’d changed my mind on friendship, but only if she was open to it. That was weeks ago, and I haven’t heard back, so I’m thinking I should just get on with my life and leave her behind. I couldn’t stand for her coming back into my life if all she was going to do was tear me down, anyway.
The same goes for Argo. I want her in my life at whatever level she’d like to participate, but not if she still sees me as any kind of threat or wants to unleash her anger. Actually, I take that back. I need to hear how much I’ve hurt her. I need to hear what a mess I made in her life so that she knows I care about her feelings. I also want to experience the feel of her hugs and the simple joy of sitting across the table from her.
But if that is not to be, then again, I just need to get on with my life.
Lunch with Judy and meeting new people will help. I am reaching out. I am reaching up.
God to head, head to feet, feet to floor.
Amen.
Stories That Are All True 