As anyone who has anything to do with my actual life already KNOWS, I am in therapy. Officially, it’s psycho-therapy, but I’m not a psycho. In fact, I AM worthy to be here and am totally unique and deserve lots of good things in this life!! (My therapist told me to say that) For all those who didn’t know that, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? So yeah, so tonight, as I was wiping drops of tears from my eyes, trying to figure out why it is that I struggle to feel like I deserve ANYTHING and reminiscing about how miserable my relationships in the past have all been, my therapist gave me a frickin’ homework assignment. Right, I know, like therapy couldn’t get any WORSE, right? Well, I sit here to tell you that it, in fact, can. As if the torture of confronting my insecurities and concerns with where my life is going, battling against my issues with the opposing gender which are so deeply rooted in my subconscious that I don’t know if I’ll ever see the actual ROOT of the matter, realizing that I apparently don’t fully understand what LOVE in it’s entirety is AND feeling the barrier that I struggled for years to build up around me, crumbling into driveway gravel each time I go weren’t enough of a reason to hate therapy – now, I have homework.
I know that all of this post-session depression really is for my own benefit. What doesn’t kill us can only make us stronger. I know that in order to grow and heal as a person, I must be able to comprehend and PROCESS the reasons that I feel the way I do, and I know that one day, with my wonderful, perfect, loving husband beside me, I’ll look back at this and feel that it was worth it. But for right now, this is a hard bite to swallow. Having to actually think about, analyze and then write down lists of things that I can barely begin to accept seems such a daunting task, that I just wanted to bitch and moan about it long enough to avoid doing it this evening. I officially have 2 weeks to get my proverbial shit together, and let’s just say that I’ve never been one to do homework assignments ahead of time.
So, to my dear, dear therapist: Despite my seeming unappreciative rambling above, you are helping me work through things. Although I often can’t connect the dots, my general ramblings do seem to make sense to you, and the things we’ve talked about and the things that I’ve been working on are most definitely making a difference in my life. And although I sometimes feel like I’m beating a dead horse talking about this stuff, I do feel better than I have in a long time, so I’m going to humor you and myself and do your silly homework assignment. But next time, I don’t expect to hear about how my innate ability to repress and “fake it ’till I make it” actually intrigues you. I mean, seriously. You’re lucky I have a sense of humor!