Rejection

Just when I was starting to get a shred of self-confidence back, I am stepped on squished. I'm right back where I started, feeling like a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of someone's shoe.

I went to my therapy session today. It was supposed to be my first actual session. The one previous to this was intake, and I only really had about 20 minutes to talk about the issue(s) at hand. I had actually come to grips about who and what I am, and that I did need help.

Yet I was rejected.

My counselor is transferring me to another counselor. She's doing it for the right reasons, but it doesn't lessen the blow. She attends the church I am started to attend. She wants to be able to pursue a personal relationship with me and my husband. It totally makes sense. But it still stings.

It stings because now I have to start the process all over again. I have to tell this new counselor all the evil, degrading things I've done in my past. I have to relive what happened 2 1/2 years ago all over again. I have to feel like shit again, feel like an adultress, feel unworthy of my husband all over again. And I liked my therapist. She was so down to earth, so cool. What if I don't get the same vibe from this one? The hardest part of therapy is the first few sessions. I had gotten through those, and I was ready to dive in head first. Now I have to start all over again, and I couldn't get scheduled until the end of November. Great. Another month of feeling like pond scum.

I'll live. I'll be okay. "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger" or some stupid philisophical bullshit like that. I just need to learn that life sucks. Anytime I feel like I can make it, I feel like I'm getting better, another wrench is thrown in the way. Why can't I just accept that and move on? Why can't I just learn that this is how life is going to be for me? This is as good as it gets. If I could just learn and accept this, I'm sure I would be much happier. How could I be disappointed if I know it's not going to be good? Just expect the worse, and live.

1st Haircut

My son is 16 1/2 months, and he got his first haircut yesterday. Yes, folks, he was bald for quite some time. He still doesn't have a ton of hair, but it was enough to drive Mommy crazy when it was sticking up in all directions. No amount of Mommy-spit would get it to lie down. Thus, the haircut.

He did amazingly well. Hillary, my hairstylist, put him in a booster seat but did not restrain him. She had little handheld video games to distract him, as well as hairburshes. The boy LOVES hairbrushes. He let her snip away, never questioning what she was doing. I cheered him on for doing such a good job, which in turn got odd looks from him thinking "What? I'm just sitting here." When she was finished, I saw that my baby had vanished, and in his place was a little boy.

I was so impressed with myself for not crying. I didn't even get teary eyed. But alas, I celebrated too quickly. While I was rocking my little one to sleep that night, the tears fell like rain. I couldn't believe I was holding a little boy in my lap. My baby was gone.

But I'm okay now. I know that it is time to move on. There are bigger and better things to come.

Last night I mourned the loss of my baby. This morning I rejoiced in the gain of my little boy.

JIMMY!!!!!

Friday night was one of the best times I've had in my life. I went to see James Blunt. Now, if anyone actually stumbles upon this blog, you're probably thinking "Who the hell is James Blunt?" My answer to you is, "Um, DUH! Only one of THE best singers EVER!"

Anyway, I'm not going to take time to explain to the imbiciles who don't know who James Blunt is. Let me just say this. I was in the 6th row. 6th row! I was only a few yards away from my British hunk. I absolutely adore him and his music, but seeing him live was absolutely out of this world. He was excellent. He was amazing. He was [insert any other superlative known in the English language here.] I stood there in shock watching his every move, but of course was still able to sing along. I was moved to tears during Goodbye My Lover. I was given goosebumps during Cry. I was on my feet dancing and jumping during So Long Jimmy. I had a camera with me and snapped shots throughout the whole concert. Granted, they're not the best photos ever, but they're my photos, and that makes it so much more special than a photo I could buy online from some stranger or company making money off my handsome bloke.

Watching someone perform who has so much talent and obviously adores what he does for a living is inspirational. It makes me want to quit my job and pursue my wildest dreams. Of course, I'm not sure Broadway would hire a nearly overweight 29 year old woman with no dancing experience in the past 11 years, but what the heck. Let's go for it anyway. Maybe someday James will be there watching me in awe.

Naaaaaah......

Anger in Coming to Terms

Okay, so I'm not really coming to terms, but I sure am angry. And frustrated. And scared.

I'm still not accepting the reality of being so fucked up I need therapy. And before you start lecturing me, yea, yea, I know that 'everyone has issues,' and that just because therapy was suggested that I'm not 'fucked up.' But knowing that in my brain and feeling how I feel in my heart are two different things.

I feel like a traitor in my own body. I feel like I'm not allowed to feel the way I do. I feel like I'm betraying myself with every action I make. How should I feel? How should I act? Who am I?

I'm dreading Thursday (my first appointment), but I am hoping like Hell that it'll clear some things up, or at least make me feel like I have some point in life. Like I have a life to lead for myself, and not just for others. That's a lot to expect from one session, I know.

Ugh. They say ignorance is bliss. I'm beginning to believe them.

(Not) Accepting Reality

Sometimes, accepting reality is a very difficult thing to do.

My husband and I went to our first counseling session yesterday. The good news? The counselor thinks we're doing everything right, and we're on the right course for healing. The bad news? Well, she says I'm co-dependent and need intensive therapy as well as attendance at a women's group. Greaaaaat. My husband? Nah, no real issues there. "You'll just need one or two sessions" is her reply to his question about individual therapy.

I'm having a very hard time 'embracing' this new title. Me? Co-Dependent? That's exactly what I can't stand. Needy. Clingy. Weak.

Imagine waking up one day and finding out you're the complete opposite of who you thought you were. Before yesterday, I thought I was a strong, independent woman who was capable of just about anything. Then I hear, "No, you're not. You're really not. You need a TON of work to make you whole/right again."

My husband is trying hard to be supportive of me, but he just can't understand. He gets to be validated in therapy. I get to feel screwed. He gets to hear he's normal for reacting so harshly. I get to hear that even through all my sacrifices, I'm only trusted 80% of the time. He gets to hear that he really doesn't need counseling. I get to hear "You're severely fucked up, lady."

Reality bites.