Therapy.

I finally made an appointment to see a therapist. I don’t know how I’m going to do this because apparently insurance still thinks mental health and mental illness is a crock so won’t cover it, and it’s like, $90 a session. I have too much crazy for a single 50-minute session!

But anyways, I make the appointment, and apparently everything is done through technology nowadays. I don’t like that. I don’t like making appointments online because I am worried it will be missed or won’t go through. I would so much rather be talking to an actual person that is like, “yes, you have made your appointment.”

So there’s all this questionnaire stuff that I have to answer and some of the questions are really weird to me. I was asked to describe my relationship with food. I get it, some people have an unhealthy relationship with food. I don’t eat everything, I don’t have a weird relationship with food. I have a slightly over-appreciative relationship with it but I just enjoy eating good food. And then I was asked if I experienced anxiety. Yes, I experience anxiety. Please describe. …Um… I get anxious? I answered the question, I described what seems to cause it, but I felt like I needed a little more of a question. I was also asked what I will be doing differently in my life when therapy is successful. What kind of question is that? I don’t fucking know. Be happy?

So the appointment is next Monday and I don’t even know where I’m going to start. I know where everything stems from. I know how my past affects my day-to-day life. But I also have more recent shit that I want to deal with now. I learned how to deal with my daddy issues, I’m not happy and I can’t continue the way I am, but I know how to cope with it. What I haven’t learned how to cope with is the new shit. I want to start in the now. I need to know what to do about what’s happening to me now. However, I feel like the reaction the therapist will have is to deal with the root of the issue, which I agree with in theory, I really do. I’ve trained enough horses to get it. But I want a band-aid first!

I’m really nervous. I’m excited but I’m nervous. And anxious, of course. It’s been a long time since I went to therapy. I was an angsty teenager in 10th grade. Although it’s not like I’m new to spilling my guts to random strangers, this is a public blog. But I don’t know. I don’t want to hear something I don’t want to hear. I don’t know what I want to hear though… I guess I want to feel validated. Isn’t that what everyone wants?

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The One That Gets Away

I don’t write enough. That needs to change.

I’ve thought a lot about “The One” and “Mr. Right” and “The One That Got Away” over the last few years. I wonder how true it is. I wonder if my thoughts on the matter will change as I grow older. Surely it will, it’s not like I’m knocking on heaven’s door. Right?

It’s been years. Actual years. But I’ve never been able to shake him. This isn’t my first post about him and I doubt it will be my last. I’m out somewhere having a great time and I find myself wishing he was there to share it with me. I see something and think how much he’d enjoy it or laugh at it. I’m feeling sick and I wish he were there to help me. I’m depressed and I wish he was there to cuddle with me while watching ridiculous, weird movies. I’ll be sitting there daydreaming about him just showing up at my door or at work and I wish it would come true.

I just know, deep down, that if he were simply sharing my life with me, I’d feel better. And not always in that, “I’m sad and he’ll make me feel better,” way. In that, “This is so fun and it would be even MORE fun if he were here, he would enjoy this so much!” He’s everywhere. And I liked myself so much when he was a part of my life. I felt like I had myself figured out, I learned about myself and I changed and found ways that I wanted to be better.

I wish we had found each other later. I think things would have been different if we weren’t so young when we met. We would have been more mature, healthier, we wouldn’t have destroyed each other like we did. So I have to wonder if we will “find each other” again later. When we are more mature, when we are healthier people. But I can’t count on that, so I have to keep on keepin’ on and just… see. I’m tired of “just seeing.”

Whenever I think about my future, my husband-house-kids future, I see stability. I see familiarity and partnership and hopefully adorable children. I see myself happy. I honestly do see that. What I don’t see is head over heels love. I don’t see being in love. I don’t see passion. I don’t see that connection I had with him. I don’t expect that. I don’t think I need that to be happy, I think I can be perfectly content without it, but it isn’t really pleasant to think about. Especially because I had that.

But then I remind myself that I am just shy of my 26th birthday, not my 86th. I have forever. Forever and ever to fall in love again. Really truly in love. I saw a post on Word Porn [a Facebook page everyone should “like,” by the way] that said something along the lines of, “Give a big round of applause for your second love, because they taught you love still exists after you thought it never could again.” I’m ready for that second love.

That brings up so much other stuff though. I am honestly, truly, NOT interested in a relationship right now. I don’t want a boyfriend, I don’t want someone all over me, I don’t want to let anyone close to me. Part of that, hell almost all of that, is because the one who got away also managed to destroy so much of my ability to trust in anyone else. To let someone else close to me is like… *shudders* I just don’t want that. But I sure as hell can’t find that second love without like… dating. And dating is a most horrid form of torture. Not to mention a recent, unfortunate diagnosis that affects everything and completely changes the game. None of this sounds like anything I want to do. I really want it to just… happen, you know? I don’t want to have to work for it, I want to stumble into love. I want to be surprised by it. I want it to happen in such a way that it just occurs to me one day that, holy shit, this is it, huh?

But there’s still a small part of me that thinks I already had it, and a bigger part that wants me to get that one back.