To my therapist,
Sometimes all I want to do it to write a blog. You know, just write. For me. I put my heart into it. All of me. My whole being. What I write is the epitome of me, my existence, who I am. Writing defines me. It helps me express my feelings and organize my thoughts. It solidifies the experiences that I have had. It gives me space to reflect. What would I do without writing as a part of my life? I don’t know. Writing has always been a part of my life. I know I kept a journal as a kid but I have no idea where that journal ended up. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is the process of writing. I don’t always go back to read what I have written. I don’t always want to. The act of writing in and of itself helps. I cannot bring myself to throw away the old journals which contain accounts of the horrors I have lived through, because they are a part of me. I know that if I were to read them, as I have done to myself in the past, it would have a negative effect on me. It might not retraumatize me, but it would certainly bring back the nightmares and a flood of tears.
Writing to my therapist by email daily is a part of my therapy. I need to connect with him daily. I need him, someone, to know how I am doing and to be a witness to my experience and of my innermost thoughts. I need him to know when I am not doing well, how that is for me, and I need him to know about the beautiful moments in life which make my life worth living. I want him to know it all. The act of writing it down is therapeutic.
I just had my morning weekend coffee. It’s past 1:00 pm (aka 13,00 hours) and I am sitting on my patio with new and old plants in pots, enjoying the song of birds and indirect sunlight. This is good for me. In less than two hours I have a Skype date with my aunt in Australia which I have been looking forward to for more than a week. We had to reschedule but I am okay with that. My afternoon is her morning and so it will be her Monday morning.
Three and four years ago, I had a garden of my own. I lived in a one bedroom apartment on the second floor and my balcony was filled with beautiful ceramic pots and soil and plants which I had grown from scratch. I didn’t even buy starter plants; I planted my plants from seed. I kept that garden. It was a part of my self-therapy. In tending to those plants, I was nurturing myself. In watching those plants grow, I was watching the act of life itself happen. It was helping to keep me alive. My life the way it is now? I could have never imagined such a life. Because the life I live now is not filled with nightmares and dark spaces and suicidal thoughts. The life I live now is just full of… life.
When I had to move away from that home I had spent two years building, because my alimony was ending and I couldn’t afford it any longer, I was devastated. Absolutely devastated. I got rid of all of my pots, along with other things, and life as I knew it was over. I stopped doing everything creative and sunk into an even deeper depression. I stopped painting with acrylic on canvas. I stopped making homemade paper and candying orange peels to eat. I stopped preparing fresh foods for myself. No salads, only frozen foods. I stopped writing poetry and playing the piano. It was the end of my gardening days as I knew it. I no longer sewed and knitted. I got rid of all of my extra, unused rolls of yarn to Goodwill. I stopped seeing people. The priest I had been friends with had moved away to another state on the other side of the country. I survived the entirety of 2015 by sleeping. On weekends I would stay in bed 22 hours a day. It was a miserable year and although I was not often in the mindset of wanting to end my life, the depression was absolutely crippling. It is a wonder that I was able to hold a job and start my career in finance again starting that August. But I did it because I am fucking amazing and because I am a warrior woman.
In December last year when my Mum came to visit, I had her buy me some plants from a nursery. Keeping those plants alive, albeit barely, brought me to this point. It is now well into Spring and my life is full of life. I still sleep a long time on weekends, sometimes 12 hours as I did last night, but I do things that people who don’t have depression do. I am living my life as best as I can, and I would say I am doing a pretty darn good job at it.
Friday night was revolutionary for me. Why, you ask? Because I was inspired! I was inspired to start my garden! I went on Offer Up, a site that I had just found out the day before from my friend at work. I’ve never bought anything via that site before. And I found a lady, Lily, who has a home business selling pottery. I made sure she was a woman, by asking her, because it was Friday night and dark outside and I didn’t feel comfortable having to deal with a man at that hour, under those circumstances. I drove the 25 minutes to her home. She had me park in her driveway and she was waiting outside for me. As she led me through the wooden gate to her large backyard, I noticed and pointed out how beautiful it was, with well-kempt bushes and flowers and lush grass. There was some lighting coming from the trellis which covered a part of her patio and she used the flashlight feature on her phone to show me the beautiful ceramic planter pots she had in her inventory. There must have easily been 100 pots to choose from, all different styles and sizes, but most in pairs and matching.
I chose three bright blue matching pots and a pot on a pedestal which was beige-coloured with the image of a sun with a face on it painted orange on the sides. I am phenomenally pleased with my selections and they are so much nicer than any pot I could have gotten at a hardware store such as Lowe’s or The Home Depot. I had to go to a pottery store, or in this case, a pottery home-based business. Lily explained to me how she had fallen ill at the end of last year and had to be bed-bound for three months, so she was just now starting up her pottery-selling business over again. She gave me her business card and I am keeping it for the future.
I have a few lettuce seeds planted in one pot. I planted green onions in another. In the third matching blue pot I planted cilantro and Italian parsley. I tried to only plant things that I would actually eat. I used to grow my own zucchini but I have decided for now that I don’t like zucchini. Probably because I am not very big on cooking still these days. Homegrown zucchini is really wonderful though, I must say. I wanted to plant mint but I couldn’t find the seeds for it and I don’t want to buy a starter plant, but I might just do exactly that. In the pedestal pot I planted morning glories. I find them to be really beautiful. I had forgotten that you have to nick the seeds with a knife and leave them to soak in water before planting them. I did that and I was so pleased to see the seedlings already bulging with life the next morning. The miracle of water and life. Water is life.
I have another large pot that I had stored at a friend’s house for the past two years. I finally picked it up last weekend. I bought sunflower seeds. These seeds are actually for growing gigantic sunflowers which will supposedly be a foot in diameter when the bloom is blooming! I wanted to maximize my space, and so I planted most of my seeds, well, all of them, too close together. Closer than was recommended. We’ll have to see how that works out. My little seedlings are already an inch tall and they are just a week old! I had planted them last weekend. They are pushing their way through the surface of the soil and spreading their first little leaves. Unfortunately, I have roly polies. Apparently another name for this bug is a “pill bug” but I have always known it as a “roly poly”. That’s because when it is under threat (I had to look this up) it rolls its little crustacean body up into a ball. My pot, which spent two years in an untended location, is full of these little bugs. I didn’t think anything of it, but when my seedlings were beginning to sprout I noticed the bugs congregating around the baby plants. Apparently they are harmless in gardens because they decompose old plant matter and eat their own poop. But when there is no decomposed matter to eat, they will eat sprouting plants. They won’t eat established plants. Now, several of my baby plants have half-eaten leaves and whenever I see a new roly poly that was previously hidden, I toss it out of the pot onto the grass beyond my patio.
Food is amazing. It nourishes us and keeps us alive just like water does to plants. Plus, water is life too. Water is even more necessary for living creatures than food. We can only go three days without water, but longer without food. I just ate a peanut butter protein bar. It was delicious. Of course, it has a certain amount of sugar in it. It’s like eating peanut butter fudge, as my roommate put it. The bar is called a Perfect Bar and they are sold everywhere but they are cheaper at Costco. Costco was having a sale on them a while back and I bought six twelve-packs of bars which come in three different flavours. There are easily ten or fifteen different flavours of the Perfect Bar but Costco has a limited selection in their twelve-pack: peanut butter, peanut butter cranberry, and almond with sesame seeds on the outside. They are all really good. I discovered them when my former roommate bought them back in September and I have been eating them daily for breakfast for the last six months and I don’t intend to stop any time soon. The bars are packed with superfoods and nutrients and are really good for you.
I have been spending a lot of money. I spend much more than I make every month and if I hadn’t been fortunate enough to get a settlement of a last bit of alimony last year then I would be completely broke with only a thousand dollars left in the bank, which is nothing. Scary little. But I’m doing okay even though I haven’t been saving money. I have been spending it. About a thousand has gone toward travel last year and then another eight hundred to new tires in December. Read: tyres, for those British-spellers. This year I have spent about a thousand on new clothes and shoes over the months. I am working on a new and better wardrobe for work, and looking toward my wardrobe as a therapist in my future career. It’s expensive to build a nice wardrobe. I have also gotten rid of small clothes which no longer fit me, which is a big deal. Now they aren’t taking up space in my closet. It feels really good to have clothes which actually fit me.
I also recently spent five hundred dollars on a laser hair removal package of treatment series. In 2009 I started a series of treatments and it significantly reduced the amount of hair I have on various parts of my body but it isn’t completely gone. It has been on my mind in the last several months to finish those series. I finally got up the courage to do some research on it, and I didn’t look very far. I actually went with the first place I found on Google. They were having a sale and it was meant to be! I have to wait several months before my first appointment because they don’t do Saturdays and the weekday evening spots are the most popular and always taken. I’m good. I can wait. This would have never been possible without the alimony I got last year. I am visiting my Mum for mother’s day weekend and there is no way I could have been able to afford the cheap plane tickets without the extra alimony I got. Money makes so many things possible and opens up opportunities. I feel fortunate to have just enough. Not a lot, but enough to be able to have luxuries in my life. There are many people who don’t have the nice things in their lives that I have and I am truly grateful.
I have been writing now for over an hour and my Skype date with my aunt is imminently around the corner. We always talk for an hour but I want to not be limited by time and I hope to get to have a couple hours with her, so I have to go microwave that sweet potato that I baked the other night so that I can have food in my stomach so that I can remain calm and centered during my conversation with my aunt. All this stuff takes planning. I learned about “HALT” while listening to Dan Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson’s books. It stands for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. Those are risk factors for being unable to cope emotionally. In the books it applies to parenting, but I can parent myself and pay attention to those risk factors too. I have to make sure that all of those aspects are taken care of so that I can remain calm and centered. So, I am going to eat something right now. Cheers!
It’s the dawn of a new day… no, no, no. It isn’t actually. It’s an hour before sunset and it is my privilege to be sitting outside under a blue sky on campus. I just got out of work and I have a half hour before class, so I figure I can make use of this time and have the luxury of writing a blog entry. I was elegantly dressed at work and I brought my bright pink duffel bag with gym clothes and flip flops to change into. It always feels great to not be in work clothes since I spend over 40 hours a week in them anyway. I wonder if in grad school I’ll feel compelled to dress formally as at work or casual as I am now. I suppose it will depend on what others do in my cohort. But this is undergrad and I totally fit in in gym clothes. I still don’t get the whole torn jeans thing. You buy jeans and other clothing items that look totally mutilated. I don’t get it. Not for me. Not of my generation or stylistic comprehension. But I will reserve judgement.
It’s just cool enough, 71 degrees and in the shade, to be wearing a nice, baggy sweater. I love covering myself up but letting my feet roam free in the air. I don’t like tight clothing unless it is black because then you can’t really see the shape as well. Even if I were super skinny… no, no, no. Yet again, no. I don’t want to be thin. I want to be healthy. I want to be as I am now.
I am so lucky to have been able to afford a new and lightweight computer. I look at myself out on this slab of a concrete bench with a laptop in my lap, typing away, and I think, wow, I am so modern. I have modern technology and my computer is portable. I can use it anywhere. I can connect to WiFi anywhere on campus. It just wasn’t like that when I went to college. I don’t even use a physical notepad any longer because I take all of my notes on a Word document. What ever happened to the buy-it-once computer technology. It’s because Microsoft can make more money off of an annual subscription fee. Plus the software gets updated automatically.
This morning was amazing. This weekend was amazing. It’s all because I have not been feeling depressed. I woke up before my alarm clock. Can you believe it? Me, of all people. Me, the person who used to have three alarms set on my phone with three snooze options per alarm. That’s an alarm ringing every 5 to 10 minutes for 45 minutes long. My first alarm would ring at 7:00 and my last snooze would be at 7:50 in order to make the short drive to start work by 8:30.
I woke up before my alarm because of a nightmare. But in that bad dream I was saying “no” to my abuser. I tried closing my eyes to think of something pleasant, such as imagining sitting in my therapist’s calming waiting room, but the visualization didn’t work. So I got up. I actually got up. I put my feet on the ground and slowly stood up. That’s all it took to get up. I am so amazed. Why does it feel insurmountably difficult to drag myself out of bed every single day, but today, for whatever reason, it was easy? I want more of these days!
I had coffee. I only make myself coffee on weekends when I sleep in and I have nowhere to be in the mornings. I purposefully don’t schedule my weekend mornings because I know just how difficult it is for me to get out of bed. But today, on a weekday, on a Monday, I made myself espresso in my stovetop moka. I even sat outside to drink it. I felt the cool air rushing over my skin while I was still in pajamas.
My patio is filled with a bag of potting soil, a new plant, and new pots. I have big plans for my patio. Two years ago, in 2013 and 2014 when I had my one bedroom apartment which I could afford only at the time, I had a potted garden on my balcony. I had the most beautiful ceramic pots of blue and other colours. I grew sunflowers and morning glories and basil and zucchini and mint and succulents and I still had my sentimental tree that I had grown since it was a baby tree for about eight years. I have since given that tree to my brother and his girlfriend and I’m fine with them having it. I can grow a new tree. Wouldn’t it be cool to grow an avocado tree? It takes years to finally bear fruit. I have only ever gotten a seed to grow two feet tall, but that in itself was an accomplishment. I used to take pictures of my flowers and send them to friends. All of this, I am going to do again. I am going to return to the person I was, the person who had hobbies and who did creative things, and filled her life with joy. It has taken a long time to come back to this place. But I did it. I am doing it.
I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. I always do a lot of thinking. Yet processing the events of yesterday have required a concerted effort on my part. The events occurred over a period of just over an hour. To be exact, we started at just around 2:00 and when I walked out it was 3:13. The number 13 has been significant in my life for a long time. I think in general, it is an unusual and unique number. It is a prime number and an odd number.
“Everything happens for a reason.” Alejandra kept repeating this phrase during the beginning of our session. I had an appointment scheduled to see my psychotherapist at 2:00 on Saturday. When my friend, who is also my assistant at work, told me about her experience about her “reading” I was really intrigued. I’m really not into this sort of thing. It has interested me but not to the extent to where I have really done anything other than a cursory Internet search on the topic. I have never looked into it before. My upstairs neighbour got some tarot cards a while ago and said he wanted to start learning how to read the cards. He had downloaded an app on his phone to help him. There are so many cards in a pack, and all of them and their meanings have to be committed to memory.
“God said to me, I gave you a gift and you need to use it.” Alejandra was talking about the time when she was homeless and living out of her car on H Street in her neighbourhood, which isn’t in the best area of town. “How did you get food?” I asked. “I went to 7-Eleven on the corner of the street,” she replied.
Thirteen years ago her father had died on a Monday. That same week, her mother died the following Saturday. She was relating to me in that she was in a deep depression. She had gone to a psychiatrist and he prescribed pills to her. Antidepressants, presumably. She said to him, “That’s it?” “Yes, that’s it,” he replied. She walked out with the prescription. No talk therapy. That’s all that was offered to her. She took a pill on the first day and by the time the second day came around, she took one look at the bottle and poured the contents down the toilet and flushed. “I am not going to take pills when have the power to heal myself,” she said to me. “What if there is a chemical imbalance, like I have?” I asked. I had already told her that I take three different kinds of medication daily for depression and that I really, really need them to stay balanced and okay. She told me that I can do it. That slowly, very slowly, I can come off of the medications. It’s called titration but I didn’t tell her that. I knew what she meant. She was very kind to me especially while relaying this information to me.
While she was homeless she was giving readings with her tarot cards to her friends. She didn’t charge them. If they asked her if she wanted payment she sort of just shrugged her shoulders. They would give her five dollars, here and there. “Nobody helped me out when I was homeless,” she told me. No one gave her money. She was down on her knees and praying and that’s when God told her she needed to use her gift. He told her that she needed to always be honest, because the day that she isn’t honest in using her gift, he will take that gift away from her.
She doesn’t do this for the money. I know she is telling the truth. She only charges $50 for a reading, whereas others around town charge $100 or more. My roommate cleansed our home a few weeks ago by burning sage and we both said prayers throughout our home. We cleansed the entrances and our rooms of nightmares and bad dreams, and any bad energies that might have been there. She suggested I do a cleansing with a healer, i.e. a psychic medium. From a quick Google search she sent me a few links and each cleansing was advertised at $150. No way am I going to spend that kind of money when I can spend that on seeing my psychotherapist instead.
So when my assistant started talking to me about her reading, even before knowing the cost, I was very intrigued. Alejandra had told her to not wear black on Fridays because it is bad luck. She didn’t tell me that. She also told my friend that the man she is with is not for her, and that she sees her doing something in the medical field. Funny you mention that, said my friend to this lady, I just signed up for nursing school. There is no way that Alejandra could have known that previously. She told my friend to stay single for a while and to focus on herself. It sounded like such a positive experience that I wanted to have the same thing done to me. I wanted to get my reading done.
When I first arrived at Alejandra’s home, I was very nervous. She lives in a very modest one-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a gated community in a decent but not the best of neighbourhoods. The main room smelled delicious and the air was filled with a type of incense. There was a curio cabinet full of interesting items that were all similar. There were several shelves of what looked like glass bells, with all sorts of designs on them. I asked to use the restroom. She directed me to her bathroom, to which I walked through the bedroom to get to. Her bedroom is modest and small. There was a hair pin under the stopper in the sink and I was tempted to take it out because it looked out of place, until I realized that the pin was keeping the stopper up, so that water could run through it underneath. It had a purpose. There was a digital scale under a cabinet which I tried to briefly use but I couldn’t figure out how to get it to work and I didn’t want too much time to pass, else she might wonder what I was doing in her bathroom. She has a lot of perfumes on display.
There is a small, brown leather couch with three seats in it in the living room. I believe there was a carpet but now I’m not so sure. There was a fold-out card table just barely big enough to put cards on, and a foldout chair on the other side of the card table opposite the couch. I placed my purse and an extra bag I had brought on the floor and sat on the couch immediately. She then asked me to sit in the small chair. My back was to the front door and to my right up against the wall was her altar, which consisted of about five large porcelain glass figurines of different angels. There was a smaller box, very small, with what looked like a dollar bill stuffed into it. I surmise, as an offering to the angels. There were a couple other smaller items on the altar, which was a flat surface on top of a small wooden cabinet, which looked like it also served as a space heater because there was a knob or dial to turn on heat and an electronic furnace on the bottom of it.
She was about to sit down to start our session when she said, “now I have to use the restroom.” Several minutes later she came out of her bedroom very animated and said, “my phone fell in the toilet, I hope it still works.” She got out some Lysol sanitizing wipes and started wiping down her phone. She kept repeating, “I hope it works” and then, “It’s not working, it’s not working.” She used a kitchen towel to wipe down the sanitizing moisture and continued to swipe her phone. The screen was on, and nothing was working. Suddenly she asked me, “you must be very nervous?” I said, “yes.” That’s when she said, “that’s why. Everything happens for a reason.” I was tempted to ask her to clarify what she meant, in that I understood it was because I was nervous that her phone fell into the toilet. I held back and didn’t ask her because I had already understood that. I was also tempted to apologize and say, “I’m sorry” but I held back because I knew it wasn’t my “fault.” It was just something that had happened. She came back to the couch while continuing to make comments about her phone and trying to get it to work.
“Do you mind if I move this?” she asked, referring to my purse. Before I could answer verbally, having already nodded my head in consent, she moved my purse to the couch. “It is bad luck to put your purse on the floor.” Taking that information in, I noted how I literally always have my purse on the floor. When I sleep at night my purse is on my bedroom floor. At work, my purse is on the floor. Now I am going to start placing my purse on my hope chest in my bedroom and locking my purse in a drawer during the daytime at work. I never knew this.
First, she said she needed to cleanse the energy of the previous person off of the cards. She took the incense burner which was to her side and placed it on the card table. Fanning about five to seven cards at a time she waved them over the smoke of the incense until she got through the whole pack. Then she asked me to shuffle the stack in any way, three times. After that I was to separate the stack of cards in three ways, the first pile laying face down horizontally, then the next vertically, then the next horizontally, simply indicating the break in the pile which I had chosen. I didn’t pay much attention to how she dealt out the cards and ordered them; it happened too quickly for me to catch on. While dealing out the cards and looking at them, she read them out loud to me. “You have been hurt very badly in the past,” she said. I didn’t have to tell her that it had been in a relationship; she already knew that. She said that his energy is still with me and that I need to forgive him and to forgive myself. She said the first time he hurt me, it was his fault. The second time… I stopped her. I knew what she was going to say and I told her that. “You’re going to tell me that it was my responsibility.” “Yes, you could have said no,” she said. “I did say no. I said no so many times. He wore me down.” I, of course, didn’t want to take responsibility. But in a kind way, she said that I need to forgive myself, and pray for God to enter his life. “Yes, he said that he was Jesus sometimes,” I told her. “He does not have God in his life.” She said I need to imagine him visually before me and to pray for him and to forgive him.
Later in the session she told me he is not going to live long. That had been after I asked her if my mom will live a long life, which she affirmed with a “yes.” I was allowed to ask her absolutely anything, but by the end of the session she had told me so much about myself and my future, I could barely think of anything else to ask. She told me that I need to forgive the person in my past relationship before he passes away. I told her that he likes to do dangerous things like flying airplanes. He is a pilot. He also likes to drive at extremely fast speeds on any roads, even if they say 15 miles per hour. She repeated that he is not going to live long and that I need to forgive him. I told her that he had gotten remarried last year and that he is probably doing the same thing to the new woman he is with. “That is not your problem now,” she told me.
She told me that I need to get closer to my family. Without me having to tell her, she knew that I am in this city alone and that my family is not around me, for whatever reason. I did not fill in the blank but said, “my friends are my family here.” She told me that me and my brother are my mother’s entire life, that my mom lives for us. She said that my mom loves me and that I mean much more to her than my brother means to her. She told me that I need to go visit her as soon as possible. “What if my mom comes to me? I could buy her a ticket and she can come visit.” “That is fine,” said Alejandra, “as long as you see her soon.” I told her that my mom is moving and that she will be even further away from me. “Just visit her as soon as possible.” “Okay,” I said.
“I see you sitting at your desk all day long. What do you do for work?” she asked. She was right. I am glued to my desk. I explained to her that I work for financial advisors in the field of finance and that I schedule appointments for them, and that I am on the phone all day long with my headset on. She nodded in understanding. Before that she had told me that I am looking to get a better job. She was also right. I told her I am looking to change my career. Before I had even told her that I am going to school, she said that I am fine financially right now, but that I will struggle a bit in the future. She was right, because when I start school, I am planning to take out loans. When she had learned that I am in school, she said, “you are studying something like psychology.” There is no way, no prior indication, which would have let her know that information. “Yes,” I said, “and I am applying to grad school to become a marriage and family therapist.”
She was looking at five cards spread out with one in the middle and four at each corner. She told me that my dreams will come true and that I will be successful in my career. “You want to have children,” she told me. “Yes,” I replied enthusiastically.” She told me that I will have two children. I told her how I am thinking of freezing my eggs this year because after 35 I will be considered advanced maternal age, and that the risk of birth defects including down syndrome increases significantly. I told her that freezing my eggs is expensive. “You can afford it?” she asked me. “Yes, right now I can. Should I do it?” She didn’t answer me but took out her other phone, her personal phone which had not fallen into the toilet, and showed me a photograph of a woman who, at two years older than Alejandra, is 49, and was surrounded in the photograph by three people. Two of those children were older girls, one looked like she is a teenager, the other in her middle to late childhood. There was a third child. This child was a boy and looked about five years old. “He is healthy,” she told me. Meaning that her friend had had him in her early to mid-40s and he turned out fine. “There is nothing wrong with him. He is perfect,” she said. “Your children will be fine.” “So I don’t need to freeze my eggs?” I asked. “It’s up to you,” she replied.
I am the maker of my destiny. Those are powerful words. It means that I am in charge of my life now. It is assuming responsibility for the actions that I take within my life. There’s no more acting from the perspective of fear or hurt. Sound decisions based upon a balanced soul and rational mind control my life. Some things don’t always go as planned and there are setbacks. But those are part of the normal ebb and flow of ups and downs which comprise the human consciousness.
I have not been accepted into the two graduate programs I applied to. I had high hopes for both and both times I was disappointed to the point of being temporarily devastated. But I have recovered. Had I written about those incidents at the time those musings would have been infused with strong emotions. I am now in the process of applying to more graduate programs whose deadlines have been extended and others who simply have later deadlines for a Fall start.
I discovered the LPCC Masters of Science program in Early Childhood Mental Health. I hadn’t looked into it before, but the university which did not accept me for the MFT program said they could transfer my application to that department. I accepted. Ironically, my therapist teaches in that program as part of the faculty. If I get accepted into the program I will not be able to see him for therapy because dual relationships are not allowed. And if I go to see him for office hours as my professor our conversation must be limited to class material. I’m not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, I do not like the idea of not seeing him for therapy. My idea is that I will always see him, for the rest of my life.
On the other hand, the idea of him becoming my professional mentor is quite appealing. When I am in need of supervision during my practicum and internship, he might be available to guide me. Maybe it is time to graduate from his service as my psychotherapist. I would want to continue psychotherapy, and he does know colleagues to whom he would recommend me. However, the new therapist would know nothing about my past. I might not be able to be fully myself and fully open with her (yes, I am assuming it will be a female whom I would choose). I am often childlike in my expressions of joy, anger, and disappointment, and I might force myself to act in a more reserved and mature fashion. It doesn’t mean that I have to be less emotionally expressive.
Either way, I think my therapist is proud of me and will continue to be proud of me no matter what I choose to do. I can imagine my therapist teaching me about reflective practice, and guiding me to follow the beliefs and method and theory of psychotherapy toward which he leans. If I had to put my finger on a theoretical orientation which I might ascribe to him, it would have to be eclectic and nonspecific. Attachment work is a large part of our therapy together. He incorporates therapeutic techniques and interventions which he has refined and developed over the last 20 plus years. Whatever he does, it has worked. He always seems to know the right way to respond to me, and say the right thing. I always feel better after seeing him. I want to give this gift of calming peace and safety to other people.
It has been a while since I last posted because I have been focused on other things, such as studying for school and working on my new creative art project which involves my three passions: photography, poetry, and painting. Of course, those are endeavours that are outside of the 40 hours a week that I work. My life is so much richer and fuller now. It wasn’t always like this, and not so long ago, as recent as last October, one of my biggest complaints was still that I was unable to get out of bed on the weekends. I would often spend 18 hours or more in bed, yet I managed to get up for work on the weekdays. I didn’t look forward to weekends. My therapist often reminded me that I was making a choice: that I was choosing to stay in bed for almost 24 hours at a time. I was feeling consistently very depressed and it did not feel like a choice.
It’s true: I did spend the last 14 hours in bed and only got up at noon. But right now I am not bothered by it because it did feel like a choice. I went to bed very early at 9:30 and woke up at 7:30 feeling refreshed. But I didn’t want to get up, not really, so I chose to go back to sleep. It was a choice, and had nothing to do with depression.
I am still seeing my therapist two times a week, down from the recent three times a week before he started teaching at the university when the Spring semester began. He teaches in the Education department and works with students who will be spending their careers working with young children. He knows a lot about human development, and how the growing mind works, and what is appropriate for different developmental stages.
I am going to be starting a ten-week group therapy course this week for survivors of sexual assault. It will be at a community center which provides housing for women and their children who have escaped domestic violence situations. I needed to find a group that was not for survivors of childhood sexual abuse, because that is not applicable to me, and most groups that I looked up on the internet were for that subject matter. I wonder if there will be members of the group who experienced ongoing sexual abuse for a number of years, like I did, not just one time.
My therapist told me that because it is a new group, a new cohort of women who have not met before, there are others who are probably also afraid of starting this group. I am feeling scared and I admitted to my therapist yesterday that I don’t feel like I am ready for this. He reminded me, basically, that I am in control and that if I need to step out of the group because it becomes too overwhelming, I can. No one is forcing me to go to this group and if I decide it’s too much I can even drop the group and stop attending.
I have no idea what this group is going to bring up in terms of feelings for me. My hope is that it will be healing, listening to others who have been through what I have been through, reminding me that I am not alone. I know there may be a lot of tears. I realize that painful memories might emerge. I am actually taking time off of work so that I can attend this group, because it starts in the late afternoon before I get off of work.
Currently I am not dating anyone. I have been on multiple dates with four different women, and after some time, I have realized that the special connection which is required for love to form, is not there. Or perhaps it is that I am not attracted enough physically and emotionally to the person, and that there might not be enough intellectual stimulation and room for growth. This one woman who I saw four times over a period of three months, I really liked her. I wanted to hold hands with her and to kiss her. That never happened and the frequency of our meetings was not enough for me. I wanted to see her more often but her schedule did not permit that.
For now I am focusing on my education, my new creative art project which will take place over the next year, my friendships, and therapy. Psychotherapy is the most important component to my life. It provides emotional stability and feeling connected to someone is so vital for me to continue to heal. I love my therapist deeply. There has never been any physical contact between us. I may have shook his hand the first time we met over eight years ago. I often feel like I want to hug him but I know about boundaries in the therapeutic relationship and instead of hugging him I simply tell him when I feel like doing it. Telling him is enough and I know he can appreciate the gesture and my expression of the feelings I have for him.
For a long time I thought of him as a father figure. I know that is counter transference. But I needed it at the time. I needed a protector, someone to take care of me. Since I started paying him a year ago, no longer pro bono as a client, it has helped to establish the boundary and I know that he is not a friend, but my therapist. He is not my father; he is my therapist. The therapeutic bond between a therapist and their patient is, once again, vital to the healing process.
I am preparing for the life that is ahead of me. I feel happiness more often than not, and peacefulness in my heart and in my mind. Occasionally, lately, I feel lonely, but that feeling only stays for a short amount of time, and then it goes. There is nothing that is really missing in my life right now. I have a full life and it will only start to become fuller as time goes on.
I had an episode a few weeks ago whence I got triggered and felt extremely suicidal. It was an emergency. I called the suicide hotline and then took the rest of the day off of work and was able to see my therapist within a period of two hours. I’m sure there was a lot to write about to help me process the event, but I chose to deal with it in other ways. I suffered for a short amount of time, two days, but it was intense. I had a plan to commit suicide and I had the intent to carry through with that plan. I was convinced that it was the right thing to do. The pain that had emerged suddenly was too much to bear and I needed to end my life. Seeing my therapist for an hour that day made me agree to not kill myself, and slowly over the next days that suicidal feeling dissipated until it was gone. It had been about six months since I had last felt suicidal, and those six months were quite the record. Although I had been very depressed, I had not been suicidal. Before that, suicidal thoughts and feelings came up about once a month for me. It was very difficult getting through those times.
I am ready for my future to begin. This is my new life and no one can take it away from me. I am in control of my life. I am an independent woman and I know that I am strong. I provide for myself financially and I am going to put myself through graduate school by taking out loans and then paying them back. I pay my own rent, I buy whatever groceries I choose to buy, I choose what to wear and I choose to be abstinent. I am choosing to attend group therapy starting this week and I choose to continue my healing process. I am in control and I get to be genuinely me now. And I am allowed to love myself, finally. I have waited a long time for this.
To my therapist,
Today is Christmas Eve and it is still light outside. I have Christmas music playing. I am in very comfy clothes with my legs crossed on a couch with my laptop in my lap. Emotions come and go, but I still remain. I must often remind myself of this imperative phrase. My therapist taught it to me.
Last night I cried. For good reason, I think. I want my Mum to see a therapist. I want her to be able to live her life fully and for her to heal the hurts of the past as I have done and am doing. But therapy isn’t for everyone, and the person has to want it themselves. So, I won’t go into it. But it still makes me feel sad.
Two of my friends from Switzerland sent me Christmas greetings in the physical mail. I only got around to sending out cards to people locally in the U.S. I will have to write them nice emails some time. Luckily they speak English as I have forgotten much of my German.
I am trying my best to keep my mood afloat today. I want to feel happy, calm and content, and that means focusing on positive thoughts. I was reading some emails I had sent to my therapist earlier in the year and it is apparent that my mental health has improved a great deal. I used to cry a lot more, I used to choose to not get out of bed or eat or shower on weekends. I was much more depressed. Life was a lot more difficult to live.
The main part of my diet in the last three days at my Mum’s house has consisted of bread and brie cheese. It has been lovely. Since I drove here I was able to bring whatever I wanted, like my decent-sized and really soft teddy bear, which is actually an elephant, and I have been holding on to it to comfort myself, as I do every night. Mum took me for our favourite walk around a lake today and we held hands together and smiled and talked. I think she did most of the talking, and it was nice to connect. I know she actually doesn’t have a lot of people to talk to. Every time we walk around this lake, which is seldom, she tells me about my late father and about how when they were dating they used to take walks there, have picnics, and watch the sunset. Those are very sentimental and special memories and stories for me to hear.
I have nothing special to say. I have nothing else to share. I am simply writing to fill my life with meaning, my day with joy, and the world with words. Words can make a difference and they are worth writing down and sharing if it touches just one person. Thank you for reading my continued story, and Happy Christmas.
There are so many things I could be doing right now. I still have two more essays to write for my grad school applications. I could be writing in my personal journal. I could be writing my thank you cards to people at work who gave me holiday gifts. I am on vacation now. Staying with my Mum. It took nine hours to get here. The Christmas tree is lit and there is holiday spirit.
I have joy in my life yet my heart also lays heavy because I love my Mum so much. Basically I want her to move in with me and I want to take care of her financially so she doesn’t have to worry any longer. She works so hard and doesn’t earn enough and does a job that is far below her level of a Ph.D. just to have an income. Her husband has been unemployed for a year. He doesn’t contribute. He doesn’t do any chores. He doesn’t buy groceries or write checks for paying the bills and he doesn’t cook. She has to do everything for him. I know it would be a huge life-changing decision to make. She has been with him for 15 years. Not all of that time has been pleasant. Actually, I don’t believe most of it has been pleasant and plenty has been far less than pleasant.
I sent out some Christmas cards this year. I sent one to the victim advocate at the district attorney’s office and got a lovely email reply. She is so supportive. She calls me strong and inspiring. We are going to keep in touch. I sent a card to my psychiatrist and my former DBT therapist at the hospital. Occasionally I leave her voicemail messages every few months to give her an update of how I am doing. I remember telling her once that I am going to come back and take her job one day. She said she would love to give her job to me and she sounded sincere. She has a very important role at the hospital and if I were able to reach her level of accomplishment that would be a huge achievement. She wants the best for me.
I saw my psychiatrist last week right before I had gotten triggered of something from the past. I won’t go into it, but it’s basically a bill from the city saying that I owe them monies that I don’t think I should have to pay from three years ago and this bill was not a part of my bankruptcy. It brought up memories from the past and strong emotions. It was completely overwhelming. I felt very angry. In the past when I used to get angry, my mind would just straight to suicide as a solution. I went back to that old coping. I told my psychiatrist that I would rather be dead and that I wish I had died when I tried years ago. He asked me if I had any plans to go forward with a suicide. I said no. He asked me if I will stay safe. I wouldn’t answer him. I was so angry and I didn’t want to be safe. To be honest, it was shocking and scary that my mind jumped straight to suicide, but as my psychotherapist pointed out the next day, this happens with much less frequency than it used to. The last time I felt suicidal I believe was in the summer time. That is a long time ago. After talking with my therapist I decided to leave my psychiatrist a voicemail message letting him know that I will stay safe. We are seeing each other again in less than three weeks. I think he wanted to check in with me sooner because he was concerned, and with good reason. A professional in the business knows to not take it lightly when a patient says that they feel suicidal. Even though I occasionally feel suicidal I don’t think I’ll ever attempt suicide again. I think I have healed enough to the point where I am past having to go that far.
Because I am doing so much better in my life I have been able to do more things on the weekend… by choice! I haven’t had time to stay in bed with my eyes closed and sleeping for 22 hours a day on the weekend. I am doing so much better. Earlier this month I took a roadtrip with a friend to watch my second youngest cousin’s dance performance at her university. She is majoring in dance and minoring in English. I want to be friends with her and we have never really connected as adults. I remember when she was still wearing diapers. Now she’s going to be 21 years old. She wants to be a professional dancer in a dance company but her parents are not so supportive. I was glad to be able to visit with her today. We talked about her school and her plans. She was willing to listen for a while during which I gave her a lesson on investing and starting to save for retirement. I suggested she invest in a cd (certificate of deposit) at her credit union where she banks. I don’t know if she will do it but at least I planted the seed of thought and hopefully it can germinate. And I will certainly remind her. I feel like a big sister to her even though she does have two older siblings, a sister and a brother. I wanted to tell her all about my life and my plans for grad school. But just as a big sister does, just as a therapist does to her patient, I didn’t talk much about myself. We talked mostly about her for two hours and I was glad to do it. Even though I will be in school and studying will be intensive, I am going to try to go to some more of her dance performances next year and the year after that, while she lives within driving distance of me. Because the dance companies that she wants to work with professionally are on the other side of the country and I wouldn’t be able to just go for a short weekend trip.
Now that I am doing better, now that I am no longer in and out of the hospital for suicidal ideations, now that I have been able to hold a steady job for a year and a half after not having worked for five years, I am able to add positivity to other people’s lives. My mum no longer has to worry about me surviving and not killing myself. She knows I am doing well and we have been able to connect with each other and strengthen and repair and heal our relationship this year for the first time in my adult life. It took a long time to get here. She knows that moving in with me is an option, although it would be a huge life change. I don’t want her to have to work. I just want her to live a free life and have space to heal her wounds, her sorrows, her heart aches and her anxieties. She took care of me for the first 18 years of my life and I want and need to give that back to her. She hasn’t been able to save for retirement. I told her not to worry because I will take care of her when she is no longer working. I will take care of her when she is no longer able to take care of herself. Along with becoming a therapist and becoming a mother one day, my calling is to take care of my mum. It is the least I can do for her, and will never make up for the bad years of her life but if she can live a free life in the moment without having to look too much into the past or the future, then maybe, maybe she can experience true happiness. I want her to have peace.
My life is really good right now. It’s balanced. I am happy. I actually feel happiness these days. Yes, it’s true! It has been a good stretch of consistent happiness too, for the past two months, despite some upsets here and there. But overall, I am content.
I am throwing myself a party tomorrow! The last time I threw myself a party was for my birthday in 2013. I had several friends over to my place and my mom came to town to visit. She’s coming again tomorrow and I’ll be picking her up from the airport. It’s just a two-day trip but it’s enough, and it’s important to me. I want her to meet my friends, the people that I talk to every week. There will be 15 of us in my small apartment. I’ve already done the shopping. It’s an afternoon event, so just snacks will be provided. I have tortilla chips and hummus and brie and goat cheese and crackers and fig jam for the goat cheese, carrots, cherry tomatoes, snap peas, grapes, banana bread. I have too much food and I think it will be lovely. My roommate said it all sounds healthy, but that’s the food that I would normally eat myself anyway. She is going to be making the guacamole from scratch – delicious!
I met someone who speaks Italian online today. He lives in the same city but we haven’t talked about getting together yet. We are just getting to know each other. I have big plans for the future! I may be planning a trip to Italy for next year! I just asked my boss today if I can take three weeks off and she gave the okay. I might want to stay longer but that would not be possible if I want to keep my job. I am very excited about this prospect.
I signed up for two undergraduate classes next year. The first is psychology 101 and it’s during the intersession, meaning a semester’s worth of work is crammed into four weeks. The next is child development 101 in an eight-week course. I want to get those classes out of the way before I travel to Italy, and I figure I should take them since I am going to be studying psychology in grad school. My first application is due next week and all I have left is to edit my personal statement which is a three-page essay.
I will be traveling to see my family for Christmas. I’m doing the eight hour drive to go see them. Hopefully I will stay at my brother’s house depending on his plans. My mom still is thinking of moving soon, but it hasn’t happened yet. Instead of a one-hour plane ride she will be a three-hour plane ride away. Still, it’s pretty close. I just don’t know how often I will see her.