I’m just going to throw this out there to be evocative. Do not take literally, repeat, do not take literally. Everybody just go ahead and agree not to panic or call the men in white jackets quite yet, okay?
Somebody told me a day or two ago that I’ve yet to hit rock bottom. I know that’s true, and told this person so, but I said I was trying to keep the last little bit for controlled dives in my therapist’s office.
So much for THAT.
A couple of things smacked me yesterday, from first thing in the morning all the way up until midnight, and as of this morning I have to confess that, fuck, I’ve STILL got a long way to go. There is a shitpot full of misery and anger and despair and depression and maybe still a little more anger that I think I am still not even allowing myself to take in my hands and hold, much less let go.
One day, one hour, one minute at a time I hold my shit together and do the things I’ve got to do to get through the day. Some of those days/hours/minutes I can hold it together more tightly than others. But, goddamn, after a few decades of feeling like shit, it strikes me this morning as fucking frustrating to blink your eyes and realize that, gee, this has not yet begun to suck.
My therapist thinks I’m doing a fantastic job. She marvels at the progress I’ve made each time I see her. Well, this is going to be one of those times where I take a giant step backward in order to move forward. And it sucks that I’ll have to wait to talk to her about it.
If rock bottom is where I need to start my climb, then fuck it. Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and take the dive. No matter where on the cliff you are.
Damn. Life is a hormonal bitch, and on some days, she forgets her coffee.