I don’t know why it is but sometimes, out of nowhere, a sudden dark cloud descends upon me. I’ll just be going about my normal every day routine and something hits me like a ton of bricks and I’ll start to tear up. I mentioned it to my therapist and I guess it’s something we’ll delve into more in the future. It’s a pretty strange thing about my seeing someone in that capacity. I feel like I need to be there more often than I am. I think that if the insurance would pay for it, I’d try to see her at least one more time a week. I don’t know what it is but I can do a complete blowout there and not feel uncomfortable doing it. I’m pretty much an open book about who I am and what I’m about but she finds the things I’m still keeping under wraps and it doesn’t bother me in the least when she asks about them. It’s really comfortable there.
I’m not gonna lie, my staying in Michigan, in large part, was because of how I felt while talking to her. I had just started seeing her and was on the verge of moving and began feeling that there was too much unfinished business with her. I’ve been to more therapists than you can imagine and this is the first one who’s simple diagnosis isn’t “Well, you shouldn’t feel that way”. She puts a great deal of emphasis on my writing as therapy and feels it’s the real catalyst to my feeling better. We talk a lot about this new life I’ve become a part of and she seems to get why it’s so hard for me to deal with. I think her biggest task is to help me understand what it is about myself that I find so hard to like.
I am absolutely convinced that if I were someone else, and met me, I wouldn’t want to be friends with me. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about that. I know, most people have things about them they would like to change or simply wish wasn’t a part of their makeup. I, on the other hand, am constantly looking for that one thing I wouldn’t change. I’m mostly talking about my mental makeup. I can’t explain it but it’s obviously why I’m having such a hard time dealing with this influx of friends I’ve attained over the last number of months. It’s also why I have such a problem when folks talk to me about my writing.
I spend a great deal of time talking about this with my, for lack of a better word, shrink. The only answer I can give her when she asks why it’s so hard to believe someone would be interested in listening to what I have to say or want to be around me is the simple belief that, to put it bluntly, I’m a dick. I find myself, for instance, reading something I’ve written and wonder if any of it is real. I mean can anybody be such a downer? Do I just imagine these thoughts and write them down? Worst of all, I sometimes wonder if it’s all just to get some attention.
I was writing back and forth with one of these new friends and told her what makes it seem so strange to me. Why would I open myself up so much to the world and invite them all in to this insane thought process of mine, when the moment they attempt to get close enough to see inside I close the doors and windows and bring as many walls between them and I that I possibly could. Again, something my once a week friend and I are talking about.
I think that dark cloud has spent enough time with me this evening. It’s time to take an Ambien and try to sleep it off. I’m really tired.
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