Sadielady3's Diary


A friend of mine recently told me that I should start journaling and I thought that maybe this would be a good place to do so.

I've been in a weird place lately. I started taking Gabapentin for my anxiety about a month ago and I think it might be having an effect. I definitely have some of the side effects like drowsiness and the dizziness but I also have felt less anxious about a few things. The thing is that I think the anxiety was blocking a lot of my other emotions and other emotions are now getting through. Some of this is good- for the first time in my recollection I woke up the other morning smiling and happy for no apparent reason. But sometimes I get triggered by something. Sometimes I find myself crying for no reason that I can identify. Sometimes I think about things I haven't thought about in years for no apparent reason. Some really painful memories have been coming up. Sometimes I just want to go back to being a pile of anxiety- it's a beast I know and can mostly manage.

I keep thinking about all of the times I was forgotten. I keep remembering that feeling of knowing that no one was coming to pick me up after school or getting left places. Despite rationally knowing that I have people that love me and care about me, I keep wondering if they'll eventually leave me too. I'm really having trouble in this area with my therapist. I've been abandoned by so many mental health professionals. When are all of these people going to realize that I am not worth remembering? I keep feeling like it's coming, despite all of the overwhelming evidence that my therapist, my friends, and my husband are rock solid and not going anywhere.

I keep thinking that I need to put some distance between me and my mom. She spent my entire childhood blaming me for everything. We have a strained relationship, at best. I can't talk to her about anything important. She has no idea that I had to miss a month of work to deal with my mental health issues. She has no idea that I'm currently in therapy or taking medication to address my issues. I can't tell her because she'll attack it. I can't tell her when I'm having a physical medical problem because she belittles it and dismisses it. So I sit there on the phone with her for hours being invisible. Listening to her talk about politics and triggering deep negative feelings of helplessness. I can't change the current political landscape. I voted already and that's really the thing I can do. And so much of current politics is so negative and heading in what I think is a bad direction. So I sit there for hours listening to all of these things that make me feel horrible. And I just can't leave. I feel as trapped during those conversations as I did in my childhood. I go back to this place where I don't matter and my feelings don't matter. And if I don't answer her calls, she just keeps calling. And if I still don't answer, she freaks out and involves other family members. There's this dark place of my soul that feels like I'll be relieved when she's gone. And then I feel like shit because who roots for someone else to die?
Great start to your diary. I hope it's ok if I comment. Even tho you have been abandoned most of your life, it sounds like you are doing well with not sabotaging the relationships you have! I made of mess of things usually so that I could leave 'first'. A horrible way to live. So, glad to hear you are giving yourself and others a chance to let you know you DO matter.

Hope you can get to the place to put that distance with your mom. It will make a difference in how you progress not having to be the 'listener' and being able to feel your own feelings and share with people who will let you know you matter and validate your feelings. Hope you find healing in keeping a diary.
Today I had to meet with my boss one on one. She's normally a massive trigger for me and I was really nervous going into the meeting. However, she was actually really nice to me today and it was a relief. She focused on the work we needed to do and even joked around with me a little. She even thanked me for all of my hard work.

I'm really worried though about my upcoming therapy appointment. This isn't my normal anxiety- it's actual fear. I want so badly to press the cancel button. It's going to be a hard conversation for me to have. My T is aware that I'm having fear of abandonment issues at the moment. He says that this is normal for people doing the difficult work that I've been doing. But I think it's more than that. Therapy has never gone well for me. I've had two different therapists label me as being "too difficult" and I've even been called a "lost cause". Other negative reactions from my mom have been that I'm doing all of the things that I do for attention. I even had the discharge nurse tell me that when I was being discharged from a stay at the mental health ward in the hospital. It makes me wonder if my real issues are imagined sometimes. I wish I didn't do some of the things I do. I will even know my reactions to things are bad at times. I still do them for some reason.

With my T, I feel like he needs to know that this is where I'm coming from. I've believed he would give up on me like every one else since the very beginning. Rational me believes that this will be a good conversation and it will help him to understand some of my deeper issues better. Boy, has he ever been poking at some of my trauma! I think he already knows that I'm a trauma client and not just the initial anxiety and depression patient I came in as. And he's stood by me through a rough time, even though he didn't even know me yet (we'd only had one session). He always makes sure that I have another appointment to come and see him at the end of my sessions. He even suggested trying to do EMDR as a way to help me, which is a bigger time commitment on his part. Rational me sees all of this and knows I need to stay the course.

But then there's the enraged, irrational toddler on steroids that is my emotions. It's terrified to let him see the darker parts. Probably due to my trauma, I always need to get the gold star. I need to be perfect at everything. It's exhausting. I feel so much shame and disappointment in myself when I'm not perfect. I am afraid that if I start telling him about these past experiences, he'll start seeing me more clearly. He'll realize that he can't help me- that I can't be helped. He'll finally know the truth and stop wasting his time on me.

It's a battle right now. I'm not entirely sure who's winning- rational me or toddler me. I probably won't know until next week when I really have to decide if I'm keeping my appointment or running away. I'm trying not to think about it. Thinking about going to the appointment is just locking me in fear and I'm having a lot of memories, dark memories pop up. I do think my current T is different and I honestly might be too. Maybe the differences in me make the biggest difference. But I can't help but feel afraid right now.
I guess I still have a lot of things on my mind so I might as well write them down. I still don't know how to have this big conversation with my therapist so maybe writing about it will help me find clarity. I want to tell him everything, really lay my cards out on the table. I have this deep need for him to know the big pile of mess that he got when he took me on. I was also randomly assigned to him so he didn't really choose me, nor I him. I have no idea what the rules are with my HMO and if he is allowed to pass me off. There's a lot of guilt here. I have this overwhelming need to get this conversation "right", whatever that actually means.

I started therapy when I was ten years old. Obviously not my choice and I didn't really even know why I had to go. I don't remember much about the sessions and I'm fairly unclear about how long I went for. I remember it being okay but I don't remember anything we talked about. I remember the carpet really clearly- brightly colored with tons of pinstripes of color right next to each other. I remember talking to him at the end of a session about his carpet and he called me a child of the seventies and chuckled. I actually looked the guy up recently just to see if this person really exists. I sometimes feel like maybe I don't remember things correctly- I have such a hard time remembering most things from my childhood. He does exist and is now a professor at a college about an hour from where I grew up. Good for him. I remembered his face when I saw it, albeit a bit more wise now than it was when I was a child. I have no negative connotations with him. What I do remember that I think is relevant is how my time with him ended. I remember at the end of a session, he asked to talk to my mom alone. I don't know, and don't know if I ever knew, what they talked about. When my mom came out, she was enraged. I remember her screaming at me the entire way home- about a twenty minute drive, give or take, but it felt like hours. I felt so trapped in that car. I don't remember everything she screamed about but she told me that I wasn't going back because I would never change. She told me I was a rotten kid and she wished I had never been born. It was snowing outside and I looked out the car window wishing I was a snowflake that could just drift away. I was so numb while she screamed at me. When we got home, she told me that I owed her an apology. I couldn't or refused to speak. She told me that I couldn't come into the house until I was ready to apologize. I held my ground and slept in the car that night. I remember watching the snow peacefully drift by the windows of the car. I couldn't make myself go inside. I don't know if it was fear or stubbornness. All I really remember is the screaming and the beautiful snow.

I remember being in high school and having some major depression issues. I think that I threatened to commit suicide to a friend. I don't remember the details but I do remember she took me to see an adult in the building that she thought could help me. It wasn't my guidance counselor and quite honestly he was useless for anything. I remember walking through the elementary library to get to this person. I remember it was a woman. I don't know that I could pick her face out of a lineup. I don't remember anything about her name. I remember she talked to me for awhile but I don't remember anything about the conversation. She started meeting with me once a week after that. I remember having to miss Spanish class once per week to go and see her. My Spanish teacher was less than thrilled about this arrangement but I was an excellent, straight A student so she really didn't have grounds to say no. I only missed one question on the state test at the end of the school year. It didn't hurt my studies at all. Then my mom found out I was seeing someone for my depression. She forbid me from going anymore. She told me I was an embarrassment and I needed to stop acting out for attention. She grounded me for a month. I didn't really care about being grounded- I was just going to sneak out of the window anyway. The rule in our house was that you didn't get to have supper when you were grounded. One of my neighbors would always let me have supper at their house, which was usually better anyways, when I got grounded. My mom never noticed that I was sneaking out. Or maybe she just didn't care.

When I got to college, I quickly spiraled out of control. Most kids party and have a good time with their new found freedom but I really went wild. I was always drunk or high. I slept around a lot. Kind of a miracle I didn't wind up with some sort of disease. A few of my friends intervened towards the end of my freshman year and got me to go to counseling. I couldn't use my mom's insurance to go somewhere private- not only could I not afford the co-pay but I also couldn't let her find out I was doing therapy. I knew she'd get angry and might take my healthcare away. So, I went to the college's counseling center because it was free and my mom wouldn't find out. The counselor I saw decided in our first meeting that I needed to be on meds. So she arranged for me to see the psychiatrist that worked with the center. He put me on Zoloft. This med did not agree with me at all- I rapidly became more and more suicidal. I eventually binge drank with the intention of it killing me. I did shot after shot of whatever I could get my hands on at a party I went to. It was not well planned out and was an impulsive decision. I remember waking up in the hospital with the doctor telling me that I was lucky to be alive. I wasn't so sure. I decided to stop taking the Zoloft and started feeling better. The psychiatrist then put me on Celexa in my sophomore year. This made me crazed somehow and my roommate came home to find me covered in blood after having dug into different body parts. She took me to the counseling center and I got to check into the hospital's psych ward. It was a terrifying place for me. My roommate may have been schizophrenic and she was definitely having conversations with people who were not in the room. I don't remember much about my time there, just the feeling of being unsafe. When I was discharged, the nurse told me that I needed to stop with the attention seeking behavior. She hoped that this experience had set me straight so that I would be a good girl moving forward. I remember feeling so much shame and wondering why I did what I did.

The psychiatrist switched my meds again but I don't remember the name of the third medication. Whatever it was, it was the worst one for me yet. I became so deeply suicidal that I actually consciously hatched a plan. I bought two of the biggest bottles of Tylenol I could find and a large bottle of rubbing alcohol. It was 2000 pills altogether, I think. I wrote a note, got dressed up with makeup and everything. Spent the next whatever amount of time swallowing all of those pills and washing it down with the rubbing alcohol mixed with cherry Koolaid. Eventually, I laid down and fell asleep. My friend found me and called an ambulance. I woke up at the hospital a day later, hooked up to all sorts of things. I had to stay in the hospital for about a week because I had lost the ability to pee. My chest also really hurt and it was hard to walk. My mom arrived at the hospital when I was first waking up. She screamed at me for this pathetic attempt. She told the doctor it was just attention seeking behavior and if I really wanted to die, I would have taken the prescription drugs I was on instead. She told them that she wouldn't consent to let me be treated and that they should just let me die. She tried to rip the IV out of my arm but was taken out of the room by someone. I remember someone coming in to talk to me about what my home life was like. I remember I was afraid to tell them anything negative. I remember my Dad arriving- he had been in California on a business trip and got back as quickly as he could once he learned what happened. He sat by my bed in the hospital. I was a lot more coherent by the time he arrived. He told me that he loved me. And then he just cried. I'd never seen my dad cry before. I never saw him cry again. I knew at that moment that I couldn't ever attempt to die on purpose again. That moment is the one I always remember when I start thinking about suicide. I learned that I couldn't ever try to take that route again, even though he died 8.5 years ago.

In the midst of all of the medication changes and reactions, I was going to counseling. Sort of. I never stayed with any counselor for long. I kept being referred to other counselors. Two of them told me that I was a "difficult case" and that they couldn't help me. One told me that I was a lost cause. Between medications not working for me and no one wanting to deal with me, I didn't have high hopes. After my suicide attempt, I started seeing a new counselor named Jeff. I now had mandated twice a week counseling, a condition for coming back to campus. He was a generally nice guy. I remember a few sessions in that he brought up my suicide attempt. I simply responded that I was doing it for attention. He frowned at me and said that based on the reports he had seen from the hospital that he thought it was a pretty serious attempt. I don't remember any of the conversation after that but I remember feeling positive, hopeful that maybe someone didn't think I was just an attention seeking junkie. I don't really remember any of my other conversations with him. Eventually, we stopped meeting because he took a leave of absence. I know it had nothing to do with me but can't remember the reason anymore, maybe something to do with his family. My grades and behavior had improved enough that I didn't have mandated counseling anymore. So I stopped going. Honestly, my depression had subsided enough and I was interested enough in the classes I was taking that it was manageable. I even got a 4.0 my last semester. I wound up graduating with a degree in vocal music, a degree in philosophy, and a triple minor in sociology, psychology, and English. It took me six years and a lot of failed classes along the way but I made it.

My degrees didn't exactly set me up to get a good job after graduation. I struggled a lot financially. When I was 28, I had my first panic attack. I didn't know what it was so a friend took me to the hospital. They gave me Xanax and sent me home. In the years following that, my anxiety started to get worse. The depression would come back when the anxiety was bad. I cycled around and around anxiety and depression cycles. They came and went. But they started to get worse after a particularly bad break-up with a guy I had been falling in love with. There was so much manipulation and the break-up went on for a solid month. My friends, who knew nothing of my past, suggested I go to therapy. I called my HMO and got an appointment with a new T. There was something about him that creeped me out. I was nervous being alone in a room with him, which I don't recall ever feeling before. After about three or four sessions, he told me he was transferring to a different location and I was welcome to drive there and continue working with him or I could work with his replacement. I opted for the replacement.

The next T was a nice lady. I generally liked her but I always felt like she hated me. I can't put my finger on why. So I only ever talked to her about things that were bothering me in my life- mostly my job. Nothing was ever really very personal. We didn't discuss anything about my past and I never really worked on any coping skills or anything like that. I stopped seeing her in June of 2018 because I thought my life stresses had calmed down enough that I didn't need therapy.

I started going really downhill in the fall of 2019. I think a lot of these things are shades of gray and I can't tell exactly when it started. I know the panic attacks started coming hard and heavy after my boss got angry with me for something that I honestly didn't do. I ended up talking to an urgent care therapist. He set me up with a new T and a new psychiatrist. He had recommended I go to group therapy but I wasn't interested. My only experience with it was from my time in the psych ward and what I saw in movies. No thanks.

The psychiatrist put me on Prozac. I told her my history with medications but she insisted that I'd be fine because I was older. Maybe statistically that's true for most people but it wasn't for me. On the 10mg dose, a dose so low it's not even considered therapeutic, the panic attacks got worse. I got lost driving to work, a place I'd been going for a solid year and a half. I don't know if it was the Prozac or just the continuation of my downward spiral. But when I went up to 20 mg, all hell broke loose. I was deeply suicidal. I started taking myself back off of the drug- I still had the small dose pills. By the end of the week, I had the worst panic attack of my life and wound up in the hospital thinking I'd had a heart attack. The hospital and subsequently my doctor ruled out a physical problem. I wound up not going back to work. I had to go to an intensive outpatient program. I was really not okay.

The new T had only had one video visit with me at this point. I remember the first visit and him telling me at the end that I was welcome to continue seeing him or I could switch to someone else if I wanted to. I remember thinking that it doesn't matter who I see- all therapists are the same. Later that day with that thought dwelling in my mind I thought, "Besides, you'll find a reason not to work with me soon enough." I remember him calling me after I talked to a psychiatrist (not the same one who put me on the Prozac) and she was referring me to the intensive outpatient program. He sounded less than thrilled that I was going to the program but did help me figure out some logistics. He saw me once in the middle of the IOP program and told me again that I didn't have to stay with him. I told him I'd like to stay with him and he promptly booked me another appointment for as soon as he could- he squeezed me inbetween two other clients for a short session before I returned to work.

The sessions with him have been different. It might be because I reached a point where I acknowledged that I had a problem and needed to work on some things. I was tired of letting my mental illness control my life. I also think he's a great T for me. He's easy to talk to and seems to get me. He will call me out on stuff when he feels I am not being accurate. He seems to really care about me in a professional manner (absolutely nothing inappropriate). But I may also be presenting my best self to him and maybe if he saw all of what I am, he would change his mind. I don't know but I feel fear. And how much do I tell him? How much is enough for him to understand? How much is too much?

I think this rambling, long winded novel helped me to really get all of it out. How relevant some of it is, I don't really know. But it feels good in a way to write my story down. I've never told anyone the whole thing and I doubt anyone here actually made it through the whole entry. But it's not really about that. It felt good just to get it out.
I made it through the whole entry. I, actually, found it quite easy to read, not that your life sounds easy, just your writing style.

I can relate quite a bit. The going wild as a young person, yep, I did that too.

I'm glad you've finally found someone who seems solid.

I would suggest that building trust with him, not feeling pressured to say more than you are comfortable, could be where you start, it's about you being able to build trust so that you can heal your damaged attachment issues caused by an abusive mum.

My mum's abused and neglected me too and I know trusting people is hard and building self worth is challenging too.

I just mean, don't push yourself to say too much too soon, let it come out in it's own time. Meanwhile you can practise sharing hard stuff here, if it helps.

Just a suggestion. Take what helps here, and leave what isn't helpful.

I'm glad you found this site, but not the reasons why. Hopefully you find it supportive and helpful here.
@mumstheword , thank you. I know I need to be more patient. The fear gets to me and I worry that I'm not being open enough. Maybe it just comes in time. I think I feel pressured to tell him everything so that he can decide if I'm worth dealing with. Let the rejection come sooner than later, before it'll be really devastating.
It's been a rough morning. One bright spot is that one of my students had asked me yesterday during class what my favorite animal is. I had to think about it but ultimately decided that I've always liked koalas. The truth is, I've always really loved animals and have a strong connection to them. It was hard to choose a favorite. Anyway, the student, it turns out is quite the artist and drew me a picture of a koala. It was so thoughtful and I feel honored that he took the time to make something just for me.

I also had a rather long and rich conversation with a friend well into the night. I'll call her L. L is a colleague at school but has become a really good friend over the last year. She's been an amazing support to me, even though on paper we are unlikely friends. Reminder to self: people are more than the sum of their parts.

She initially called me to complain about students who are just not doing what they should with distance learning. I commiserated with her. We laughed about an incident in another teacher's ZOOM where a student impersonated the principal. We agreed that only *that* teacher would have *that* incident. That teacher is a sweetie but boy does he have a lot of random weird things happen in his classes, apparently on ZOOM as well as in person.

Then she asked me how I was doing. I gave my standard answer of, "Hanging in there." She knows I'm battling a lot of things lately but didn't know the depth or nature of my current distress. Then she pushed a bit harder and asked, "How are you really?" I don't know if it was how full my brain was with everything or if maybe writing things on here prompted it but I blurted out, "Well, I currently deeply want to quit therapy. I'm not sure if that means I'm great or horrible, but there it is." She quickly asserted that I definitely was not ready to quit therapy so we talked about the past year, since she's been around to witness it firsthand. She told me the progresses she's seeing me make and minor ways in which I've been handling stress better. Then, she asked why I would want to quit. Before I knew it, I told her my whole therapy trauma story. I got detailed. I had told parts of the story before but never this in-depth. She quietly listened. When I was done, L asked me a lot of questions but never judged me for what happened. She actually believed every word I said. I deeply worry about people believing me. Sometimes, I'm not entirely sure I believe myself, even when it was a recent incidence, like an hour ago recent. She had a lot of kind words, but not the same old platitudes that I've heard in the past. She also had some powerful insights.

I didn't get off of the phone with her until well after 1 in the morning. I stayed up thinking until 4 am or so about the conversation. Then I realized something. My current desire to quit therapy and run away is all about control. In most areas of my life, I'm really laid back. I don't feel a need to be in control. Even in my classroom, a lot of kids have told me that I'm a "chill" teacher. If you ask me what I want for dinner, I'm pretty happy to eat whatever. But when it comes to relationships, I struggle a lot more to go with the flow. I don't try to control my friends or husband, per se, but I do try to control the amount of risk and vulnerability that comes into the relationship. I tend to avoid hard conversations and hide things from others. I never even saw this behavior until she pointed out that running away from therapy was me having control over that relationship. I'm not actually even giving him the chance to make a choice about his involvement.

So now I know that the only fair thing to do with my T and the only thing that will have a real outcome that I don't overthink is to give him the choice. Really put on the table where my brain is at and tell him what I can muster up the courage to talk about. And let him decide if he can handle it. I won't get real progress out of therapy if I don't put it out there and I really think that if I keep trying to work this out on my own that it's going to end badly. I'll probably wind up back in therapy, only to start over with someone new. I don't know how to do this but really, it's not my story I've been afraid of but instead the reaction I'm going to get. But it's not my place to make other people's choices about this.
The world is quiet this morning but my mind is not. My husband is sleeping peacefully but I've been awake for hours. It's sort of amazing really how much I've changed in the last month. A month ago I was completely obsessed with my job. I worked around the clock every day to complete as much stuff as possible, to make my lessons as perfect as possible, to complete paperwork and write emails. And now, I struggle to find the energy to do these things.

I'm struggling with diagnoses this morning. My current journey started with being sent to the psychiatrist to start taking meds again and to get tested for ADHD. The test for ADHD came back negative. The diagnosis had seemed to fit pretty well so at first I was shocked and then I panicked. It's not that I wanted to have ADHD. I don't view it as a good or bad thing, per se, but it was an answer, a piece of the puzzle. Those old feelings of failing at therapy came back and I looked for answers. When I googled "What else looks like ADHD", it came back with a clear string of results, all commenting on trauma. I'm not really sure how much right I have to even be on these forums- I have never actually been diagnosed with PTSD or C-PTSD. No professional has ever dug deep enough with me to get the whole story. Until recently I've been in deep denial about how f*cked up my childhood actually was. I looked at diagnoses like Borderline but nothing else really described me all that well. With C-PTSD, it fit like a glove. And then I have to wonder, does having that stamped on my rap sheet really matter? I think maybe at the end of the day, it matters more to get treatment that might help me cope with my inner demons more.

A specific incident has been haunting me since last night. I woke up this morning still thinking about it. I've never told anyone who knows me now about it. When I was nineteen and in college, I decided to spend winter break at my dad's house. I always loved my dad and had a really good relationship with him whereas I hated having to go to my mom's house. Normally, a child of divorce wanting to see the other parent for the holidays would make them sad or whatever but my mom and step-dad were enraged. They insisted I come home for Christmas but I refused. My reasoning was that I hadn't spent Christmas with my dad since I was eight and I wanted to this year. There was a lot of screaming in that phone call and I remember my step-dad (who was my mom's third husband and they've now been divorced for many years) told me that I'd regret it. And I remember thinking, "So does that mean I won't be getting cleaning supplies from you again this year?" I'd gotten cleaning supplies the year before so that I could be more useful when I was home. I wasn't even allowed to bring them back to school for my dorm room- they had to stay at my mom's house so that I could use them to clean her house. I didn't see this as a big loss whatsoever.

The day after Christmas, my dad sat me down and told me that he needed to tell me something. He let me know as gently as he could that my dog, Freckles, had died the day before. I was devastated. That dog meant the world to me. He was so kind and loving. He was a cute little cocker spaniel- white with tan spots. He slept with me every night when I lived there and I'd go for long walks with him and talk to him about things that were bothering me. He was my best friend for a lot of years.

I asked my dad what happened. He hesitated and then said that he didn't know. I knew he was lying. I went to the computer and messaged my brother, who still lived there over AIM (that really was a lifetime ago!). He called me and told me that when I didn't show up on Christmas morning, my step-dad took my dog out back and shot him. His reasoning was that if I didn't want to be a part of the family, my dog didn't need to be either. Once, when my step-father was really angry with me for missing a spot after washing the dishes, he broke Freckles's jaw. I ruined that poor dog's life, as short as it was (he was only five when he died) by owning him. All that dog ever did was love me. I can't stop thinking about it, even though Freckles would be long since dead by now anyways (unless he lived to see 25, which is highly unlikely for a dog).

I don't really know why I've been thinking about my dog from over twenty years ago. But I feel really guilty about his death today. Nothing makes sense in my brain today.
I got some school work done today, which is good. I've been able to keep my mind a bit more focused on current events throughout the day, which is also good. I've also made peace with my upcoming T appointment and finally confirmed the appointment. I finally made the decision to follow through and actually go. Big discussions are not my forte. But ultimately I decided that if T doesn't do trauma and wants to refer me, better now. My journey is about me. He's currently a part of it as a support but he's not the focus. It's a hard thing to make myself the focus or the reason behind the things I do. I also decided not to share my whole story with him. I think it's enough to simply tell him that I think my main train of thinking at this point is that I have significant trauma. I don't need to prove it to him. It's so hard to fight the impulse of trying to prove everything. But this is my story and my journey. It doesn't belong to him. I need to do things in my own time.
Brilliant! Choosing yourself! Glad you gave yourself time to think things over. I truly hope he can help or send you to someone that can. Excited for you. This journey is hard enough without us putting ourselves first on the list.

Sending support for a very wise choice.
I had the realization today that my first period class is really adorable. They seem so sweet and genuine. But, due to distance learning, I don't know what any of them look like. And I realized that since it is unlikely my school will return to the buildings this year that they are a group of kids that I would have loved but will never really know. It made me incredibly sad and feeling so isolated.

I had group therapy this evening. I attend two group therapies- one is a graduate program from the IOP group I went through back in January and the other is a coping skills group. The coping skills group is good and I do get positive things out of it but the IOP graduate group is amazing for me. I feel comfortable really sharing- more so than I do even in one-on-one therapy. Those are my people- the people who were really down and out and get it. I get really excited on Mondays to go to that group. It's amazing that a year ago that I was dead set against group therapy- now it's my favorite time of the week.

I love the T that runs the group. He's not my T (although my coping skills group is run by my T) but he's very relatable. He doesn't feel like a T to me and I think I am too familiar with him to ever work with him (although he is a person I genuinely adore). Ironically enough, I inspired tonight's main topic, which was doing things in your own time. I was talking about my fear with therapy and how things are better because I was able (eventually) to reason through it and use some of the CBT skills I learned from IOP to process my feelings. Other people understood how I feel and it was a really rich conversation. Especially in these days of Covid and near isolation (thank goodness for having a husband!), it just feels so good to connect with people.
Today has been a rough day. A friend of mine died last night from Covid-19. I found out about twenty minutes before group therapy. Needless to say, I was not in a good mind space in group therapy tonight. Then, tonight's topic was on core beliefs. I know my core beliefs are massively messed up. I rationally know that they aren't true. I just don't believe that they're not. I don't really know how to change that belief.

The group in general was downtrodden and a lot of them wanted to talk about politics. Politics are really triggering for me. So that was fun. I just sat there thinking what was the point of even being alive. I actually moved my therapy space to the basement. I used to do it in my office but with three monitors, I'd often wander off and start looking at random stuff or even work during group. I wished tonight that I hadn't moved to the basement. The upside was that at least I could snuggle up to my nice soft blanket.

We did an activity at the end with bilateral stimulation. With my research into EMDR, I vaguely had ideas on what it might be but I actually really liked it. I did find it calming. The calm didn't actually last all that long but it was a nice break.

I'm still resolved to go to therapy on Thursday. I know I need to go and I'd feel truly awful for canceling an appointment that T went out of his way to schedule for me. Adding guilt onto the pile of awful is only going to make things worse. But I still don't know how to say what I need to say. A friend suggested I get drunk or high but I feel like it might be important to do this sober. I've never really cried in front of my therapist. I've come close once or twice but always managed to fight the tears back. I don't like crying in front of people. I think there's a good chance that Thursdays appointment might be me sitting on my couch with my blanket in basement just breaking down in tears. I'm not sure words are even going to come out.