I thought I had posted this last week, turns out it saved as a draft. Silly Lana!
Sometimes you know your day will be hard and you have to let it happen anyway and you smile through it, knowing you were smart enough to prep for it, and at the end of it you’re glad you didn’t chicken out of existence just to avoid it. Sometimes you have no fucking idea what category of hurricane is blowing your way and you can’t fight with it or run away from it once it’s arrived so you grit your teeth and let it whip your hair around real good and just hope to god it passes fast. That was how Thursday and Friday went for me, respectively. Both were overwhelming but in completely different ways.
I woke up Thursday morning (my Saturday) feeling anxious and poorly rested and generally unwell. I knew the time to expose my insides was 3:15 pm. The countdown began when the clock struck midnight and I was still awake staring at it. I dreamt about therapy, the blurry face of the woman I was to bare all to. I thought about it all day at work on Wednesday. I lied to Roomie and said I was looking forward to it, but in reality I was just plain ol’ annoyed that I had to go to fucking therapy, again.
The smart girl who lives inside me realized there are many hours between the time I wake up (7:30-8ish usually) and 3:15 so I planned on doing all the good things beforehand. A friend and I planned a bit of a ‘girl’s day’, we’ll call her Y, so I hopped on a bus to meet her in Kits just before 11am. We got our nails done at some fancy place. When I go bananas on the mani/pedi train you can be sure I’m having a bit of a time. I believe this habit comes from my father smacking mine and Mother Dearest’s fingers out of our respective mouths. We both bit our nails extensively, to which he constantly commented on our swollen cuticles/brittle little stubs. He loves jewelry and we used to be showered with it on birthdays and holidays until the nail-biting got really noticeable. He would say quietly that he’d never buy us shiny things again as long as we continued, MD and I squawking uncomfortably like the magpies we are. What an odd little memory. Anyway, the point of that digression was that I make my fingers look spectacular to avoid biting them clean off when shit hits the fan. And all of the shit is hitting all of the fans, at least in my head.
After said pampering, we dawdled around and poked into some kitschy home decor/antique type places where I finally bought some wall hangings/posters and Y bought a super cute drop-leaf desk that even MD would approve of. I then noticed hunger pangs (which, by the way, is a huge win for me, I’m a human again!) and we stopped at the world’s tackiest 50’s diner for some pre-therapy eats. The food was shockingly good, as was the coffee, I also fondly noted that a picture of Roy Orbison hung on the wall beside our table and as I’m named after one of his songs I smiled at it. Lots of dad reminders this week. Anyway, we talked about quitting shitty habits and what it means when you take the leap into Sober Land. Y has been struggling with the idea of total abstinence for a while, she’s no stranger to addiction or the wily ways us ladies can convince ourselves ‘everything’s fine’. She is simultaneously going through a break up which means mandatory personal transformation, as we all are familiar with. I was so humbled and grateful for her honesty/willingness to share these insecurities with me. Peoples stories can be so incredible. The bravery, the heartbreak, the resilience. I resisted the urge to fold her up and put her in my pocket, I wanted to protect her and console her and be the security blanket that she is without, but I know it much more important to let her fight her way through this with support, not protection. But it is nice to feel less alone, I think, for the two of us. She and I both suffer from depression, anxiety and lack of direction and similarly tried to shut these demons up with the same poisons/solutions. We share the knack of self-sabotage. But at least we have each other to help navigate this uncharted territory!
I adore my new therapist, Jeannine. She is seemingly the perfect fit for my needs, I felt heard and understood and safe while I was talking to her. So much so that within the hour I was moved to tears… something that never happened in my last counselling experience. She said that she would be honoured to guide me through the journey of getting healthy mentally and physically. She was sympathetic to the clusterfuck of the NB situation, and I was 100% honest with her about my drinking habits/how I got sober. I’m actually looking forward to seeing her again. After our time was up, I met Y down the road and we had coffee in her beautiful backyard. We talked for hours about our lives, about our pasts, about our hopes for the future. She came back to my house afterward and we ordered pizza and watched comedy specials. Adult slumber party! It was lovely.
I woke up yesterday (Friday) with zero residual good vibes from Thursday. I felt like I’d been run over. I was spent. I cried for most of the day, god knows why. I missed NB to the point it was physically paining me to think of him, I was angry at myself for not being more productive with my weekend, frustrated with my co-workers for being lazy and unable to fix problems for themselves (especially on my day off). It was a shitty fucking day. Such contrast from how I felt on Thursday, which, in short, can only be described as hopeful. Yesterday was dismal. My work week has now begun and I no longer have the energy to fight with or over think my moods. All I can say to myself is let it be, Lana.