I think I’m about to get into it. I think I’m getting ready to get better.
Last time I saw my shrink, which was 2 months ago, she chewed my ass up and down. She told me to quit living in a fantasy and pull my head out. She told me to quit making excuses for people. She told me I am not better. She told me I am still depressed. She told me I am still angry. She pressed about why didn’t I just pull out that anger and deal with it. Why did I only let it out tiny bits at a time.
She called my bullshit.
Since then, I’ve been wretched. I pick the word wretched because of Talyaa’s post “On Being Wretched“. The word clicked with me.
I’ve been healing. Recovering. Learning to forgive. Learning to be.
I haven’t been getting any
In all this wretched, my body has said no. I’ve been sick almost this entire school year. In mid-February I gave up doing anything but sleeping and keeping Alex safe. No laundry, no cooking, no dishes, no cleaning. All I had left was the need to get well. Finally. It took realizing I’d had two consecutive healthy days ONCE since before Thanksgiving to really shake me awake on needing to super duper reboot myself on the health front. Had to get out of survival mode at last.
Once I felt healthy again, I had to start climbing out of the house mess hole that was left behind.
Slowly. Laundry got done. Dishes got done. Outfits got put together in my closet so dressing was fun again. Alex’s room got cleaned. My room is clean.
There are still spots of total disaster in my house (guest room, my bathroom, kitchen table), but it’s getting BETTER.
I sit here tonight, knowing I am healed. I didn’t know this was what I was looking for, but now that I sit in the bed I chose, covered with the bedding I chose, literally surrounded by the two cats I chose, on the flooring I chose, in the house that I chose . . . I am healed. Past tense. No longer the active “healing“. Healed.
Last spring, on one of the most painful days of my life, I threw my phone across my kitchen, sobbing, “I don’t want to live in this house without you!” I was in agony. I was destroyed. I was . . . I was as far from healed in that moment . . . yet I got ripped apart more and more in the months to come. It was summer before I began to heal even a little.
I love this little home of mine. Filled with the choices I’ve made. I’ve messed a lot of things up. My housekeeping continues to be lacking . . . disastrous . . . sometimes lazy. There’s been a good bit of half-assing up in here . . . my whole life.
I am healed.
Which is different from okay.
I am angry.
Oh God (which I say as a prayer of sorts, because God help me . . .) I am angry. Set me on fire and fuck off angry.
I am healed, which means I can finally feel it and not be destroyed by it.
Each day I drive past his work, or our old apartment, or pass them, or meet them at a stop sign. I am angry. Today instead of trying to take the high road, I began whispering out all my hate. It’s time. I hate them for what they did, for how I was treated, I do not wish them well, I wish them nastiness that makes their parts fall off, I hope they are miserable together. I hope they get what they deserve – which might just be each other.
I’m not sure where the anger at Dad is going to fall. I only know that when it creeps up … which it will, because we are in the thick of “4 years ago today…. blah blah happened” time of year . . . that I get to be angry at him too. He screwed up and it screwed me over, time and again, and it’s okay for me to be angry about that. Him and the restarting families rather than caring for the one ONE child he was supposed to take care of always . . . yeah, I get to be white hot pissed about that if that’s how I feel.
To the one who was all I hoped for . . . who showed me “my WHOLE list” existed in a man . . . and then went away . . . no matter the reasons . . . or excuses I made for him . . . yeah, guess what, I’m livid about that . . . which is complicated due to the whole “fucking miss him” and as long as I am just laying it all out and being honest at long, long last . . . well I love him too. Without being loved back. Which is completely crazy making in my head. Even if I won’t pick up the phone . . . love him I do . . .
This honesty stuff is not easy. I write that above paragraph and wonder how I would feel if he read it. I’m in a nice fuzzy denial that he ever will. No matter how old I get, I seem to stay terrified of showing my heart for fear it gets trampled.
I’m healed. I’m okay. I mean, clearly I’m a mess, but I’m okay. I’m not worried for myself, my health, my job, my home, my son.
I’m okay. I want to be better.
I won’t get BETTER without honesty. I won’t get better with this anger inside me. It’s taken me two months to stop pinging from being called on it. I’m healed, now I want to get better.
Honesty is hard.
Be pissed and be better.
(slow clap) I’m a believer in feeling the anger, letting out so you can let it go. Getting better is a process…being able to move toward that is fabulous. I’m proud of you. 🙂
Oh lord woman I SO get this. In a way I’ve felt healed recently, too. Except that I’m past that anger…I’m no longer angry at my ex-husband, or angry at that man who showed me what love SHOULD be like then left. I’m not angry that I’m 34 and single and most nights sit alone watching TV when there should be someone sitting next to me, his feet in my lap.
Because I? Have faith. Its hard as hell to keep in mind, 24/7. And I’d be lying if I said I was confident 100% of the time or even 80%.
If you get a chance, go read *my* soul-purging post from today — only because I think you might “get” what I mean. Hugs to you…
Us women are told our whole lives that we can never be angry, and we can get pregnant the first time. Pretty fucked up stuff, eh?
I am cheering for you, lady. CHEERING. Much love to you, and when you feel bad about being angry – which you might one moment during a tough day – come back and read this, and the comments too – and remind yourself it is normal to have gone through these stages to get here. Everything you’re feeling is normal and amazing. xoxoxo
Ok, seriously, you cannot ever consider a messy room a failure. Because that, that right there leaves massive swaths of failure. Don’t do that to me.
And the loving thing? Irrational fucking embers will always find a tiny bit of room to burn, just let them light the way to something better or, if serious conditions ensue, stick your finger in the ember and feel the sweet burn and step the eff back.
You are incredible, we all are. If we all had it figured out now what would be the point?
Love you. So proud of you for writing this. XOXO
So glad you got it out. I am always thinking about you, especially at this time of year. xoxo
I know that was hard as hell to write but I am so very proud of you. Good job. I think you’re in a very “just keep swimming” place and you will make it through the muck. I’m glad you are dealing with the hurt and anger – the only way out is through and all that. Big love for you, lady.
As you know, I’m on a similar journey. I am so proud of you for writing this. For laying it out there. You go right on and be angry. Get out every last ounce. Shed light on it. Yell at it. Verbally punch it in the face and kick it in the donkey. Yes ma’am. Cleanse your innards. ^5.
karla porter archer
It sounds like you’ve just been through a positive disintegration.
I’ve been reading every book I can get my hands on about “giftedness” and one word that comes up over and over in all that I read is “disintegration”. It can be either negative (breakdown, collapse, ruin) or positive (“dismantling as a prelude to construction and creation at a higher level’).
You are not ruined, or broken down… You are rebuilding beautifully. And better. And stronger.
I’ve had be called out on my own journey. For making excuses for others. For forgetting why I got in the car 3 yrs ago and drove away. Confronting those things has made a difference in my healing.
You already know how I feel about keeping things in and pretending (poorly) that everything is fine and that you aren’t hurt… The post I wrote last year, that you applauded me on? What you wrote about in this post is exactly why I had to do it, despite the anger that I knew would be turned back towards me.
It was scary to let it out. I was scared. But I had to do it. I had to heal and get better.
Now it’s my turn to applaud you.
Oh my. Hello there. This is awesome. I’ve got something to send you. It’s something I was making for myself, nut now I’m going to make two of them. I’ll send you a message.
You go, girl.
You gotta feel it, own it, and let it flame as long as it needs to until it’s out. You’re doing everything you need to do, babe. Trust yourself. Sending positive vibes and love.
Feel the hate, let it out, speak it aloud…let it turn to ash…having it bottled up inside could cause sickness, I imagine.
Rebuild, better, stronger… You can do it, you ARE doing it. 😉
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