My Valentine's Day was lousy. And today hasn't been stellar either. After getting some great writing done, something went awry and while I have hope I can find it on a cyber clipboard, the loss knocked me into angst and tail spinning.
My last therapist sort of vanished on me two years ago after I came back from my Wisconsin weekend. She had helped me get up the gumption to actually go, because I was 12 hours away from not making the flight. I don't know if she thought since I did go, it was a happy ending and I was 'cured' or what. She never called me to find out how I was, and I never called her.
The point of that story was: I've since frowned on traditional therapy as a source of guidance, but she did make one observation that is spot on, and unfortunately is becoming a problem. She offered up that, given my 14 year relationship had ended, bound with the subsequent loss via death or relocation of key family members, pets, my boss, my priests, etc in less than a year, my ability to cope had been seriously damaged.
It's been wiped out entirely I think, and like 4 hours ago, when I couldn't retrieve my work, I went numb. Thus, nothing has been accomplished that needed to. No grocery shopping, no job hunting, no eBay auction postings.
Back to Valentine's Day. The morning started with dueling texts from Wisconsin. Then, we talked on the phone. At the end of the call, I got a formal apology and a wish for a happy V day. I hung up the phone and went into hysterics. I guess I'd rather he hadn't formally apologized. Oh yeah, he has a local guy he's apparently very interested in. I don't mind long distance romance, I'm not that crazy.
We talked a couple of days later and I, yes I asked how his Valentines Day was. Of course it sounded lovely. And I'm glad it was. I'm not mean in that way. And I could very well go out the door right now and have a steak dinner myself. I should go out, because I haven't eaten very much today. This is not good for me physically and mentally. And even though this is Los Angeles, a major city, restaurants close early on Sunday. And it's late.
So, out the door I will go after finishing up a few things. I hope.
My last therapist sort of vanished on me two years ago after I came back from my Wisconsin weekend. She had helped me get up the gumption to actually go, because I was 12 hours away from not making the flight. I don't know if she thought since I did go, it was a happy ending and I was 'cured' or what. She never called me to find out how I was, and I never called her.
The point of that story was: I've since frowned on traditional therapy as a source of guidance, but she did make one observation that is spot on, and unfortunately is becoming a problem. She offered up that, given my 14 year relationship had ended, bound with the subsequent loss via death or relocation of key family members, pets, my boss, my priests, etc in less than a year, my ability to cope had been seriously damaged.
It's been wiped out entirely I think, and like 4 hours ago, when I couldn't retrieve my work, I went numb. Thus, nothing has been accomplished that needed to. No grocery shopping, no job hunting, no eBay auction postings.
Back to Valentine's Day. The morning started with dueling texts from Wisconsin. Then, we talked on the phone. At the end of the call, I got a formal apology and a wish for a happy V day. I hung up the phone and went into hysterics. I guess I'd rather he hadn't formally apologized. Oh yeah, he has a local guy he's apparently very interested in. I don't mind long distance romance, I'm not that crazy.
We talked a couple of days later and I, yes I asked how his Valentines Day was. Of course it sounded lovely. And I'm glad it was. I'm not mean in that way. And I could very well go out the door right now and have a steak dinner myself. I should go out, because I haven't eaten very much today. This is not good for me physically and mentally. And even though this is Los Angeles, a major city, restaurants close early on Sunday. And it's late.
So, out the door I will go after finishing up a few things. I hope.
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