Relief

I'm going to preface this entry by saying that if you're tired of hearing me gripe, groan, moan, and basically sitting in my shit, go read something else as I'm trying to work through my life here so ...

I went to see the therapist chick last Wednesday. She was nice, professional. Unfortunately she lacked the magic wand I was looking for. I'm going back Tuesday and to the disappointment of anybody who knows my last few attempts with therapy, it seems unlikely I will stick with this chick either. The thing is, or maybe the excuse is that, I'm looking for something not available on a therapeutic couch....relief. Relief from my obsessive baby thoughts, my feelings of despair, feeling overwhelmed, but most of all feeling like just giving fucking up. Just throwing caution to the fucking wind, getting lap band surgery, going back to smoking, paying off my debt, quitting my job and joining the circus where I can drink like a fish and not have any real responsibility except to become intoxicated to the point of oblivion from this pain in my heart that I can't seem to quell at all;  A feeling of utter hopelessness from ever feeling truly happy in this life. I told the therapist chick this...not in so many words as I made sure she didn't feel the need to call in the white jackets and the gist of what she said to me, other than the typical rephrasing of all my shit, was that it appears that I know what I want and it has all been well thought out and it appears that my biggest obstacle was the actual drive into the city (this was at the end of the session where they try to round up what was discussed) and I just needed to make the call and wrap my head around the drive there. Really? Really lady. I said, "it's more than the drive. It's much more than the drive. It's the whole thing, the drive is just a part of it"...as I walked out the door and realized that the most important part of that session had ended for her...the check was handed over and she felt like a genius. Therapy, in my opinion, is so much harder to get through when you've been trained to be a therapist. You know the cheap shit...rephrase...and the ending..the summation of the topics discussed...so when someone throws this amateur night at the Apollo shit at you...it's just hard to take them seriously. I just want someone to throw technique out the window and just really talk to me. Anyhow, I'm going back for the same reason I always go back, because I have to make sure I'm not throwing something valuable out the window...I'm double checking myself. How my last therapist, who I really loved, made the cut, I'm not sure. I think it was that she just listened. Really listened and didn't give me some cheap solution. She actually saved my ass as, if you think I'm in the funky dunk now, you ain't seen nothing. Truth be told last time it wasn't so much that I was in a funk, it was more that I had suffered a trauma and was literally, as I've described before in earlier posts, scared of my own shadow...would actually jump if I saw the slightest move out of the corner of my eye and she 'restored me back to sanity' as they say in the big book. Put humpty dumpty back together again, though really, I have never been the same again but at least I'm functioning, without pills and without shaking so hard I could barely contain myself. That's how bad I was last time; I would literally shake. So that's how it went with therapy, and though I can tell you more about past bad "therapeutic" experiences I won't but I will say this, when I was in school a professor used to always say, that we weren't looking to help people and that's not why we wanted to do therapy, we were there trying to resolve issues in our own lives. They recommended we all do therapy to resolve issues before we practiced and from experience, the professor was correct; craziest most maladjusted people I've ever met was working on my degree... but whateva...  Anyhow, I always tell people when they're looking for a shrink to be wary if they seem too crazy as they'll make you crazier and this my friends is partly why I'm squeamish of therapists...I'm crazy already and don't need your crazy or you making me more crazy..well, I suppose that's really just a part of it.

I digress as usual. So today I actually slept in and woke up at 10... I find that the longer I sleep the less thinking I have to do. I woke up made a complex tuna salad that was horrendous and ended up eating PB & J instead and have stayed quiet except for the fits of crying or telling Tess to hush it as I can't deal with her demands right now...guilt guilt guilt.. And just wondering where I go, what do I do to make myself feel better?  I don't know. It's the quiet that's killing me really...that sadness that makes you want to just curl inside yourself and become mute. That's where I'm at. And I keep looking for some relief and it's nothing that a cigarette, a cookie, or a glass of wine can seem to even begin to touch. I want to run, run, run and actually played with the idea of going to visit Ollie in Fla. but he's in the middle of a new relationship and really it's not what I need. I just feel like I need someone to help me but I can't seem to find that person. I'm looking something to assuage all these feelings and just give me some inner peace...some feeling of hope...a feeling that things will really get better, will become tolerable, will be worth living. Relief, relief, relief..that doesn't seem to come.