‘Twas The Night Before Therapy

I sometimes feel like I don’t use my time wisely in therapy if I don’t have an issue to report. What ends up happening is that I get some validation that what I am doing is working, and we discuss ways that my circumstance could improve. Though, I have a pretty good thing going here; I’m hard pressed to find the flaws in it. Though one thing I must add to my routine is exercise. I need to break the monotony of my sedentary life with some basic aerobics. I’m doing the other part (eating healthy) consistently, yet there is plenty of room to advance. As my past posts have indicated, I was sick for most of a week and in no condition to physically exert myself. But I’m better now, and can begin exercising starting tomorrow morning. What a great thing to be able to report to Margaret.

I had a big spinach and assorted greens salad for dinner. There’s no lettuce in there, it’s all good shit. I add a little oil and vinegar to improve my grazing experience, but the nutritional content stays high.

I think a lot about Jax, and the things about her that I miss. It was fun having someone close who I could share my day with, talk trash about people at work to, and gain perspective from. I used to consider her a valuable friend, who would understand my plight and have my back even if no one else did. I remember the way she used to just comfort me as I started to spiral into depression. She would just hug me and let me cry. Out of all the partners I have been with, she was the most understanding of the inexplicable sadness of my dark times. She never judged me (that I am aware of) for being weak, she, if anything, understood it. I took her for granted in this area. I was also in denial over the onset of depression. I couldn’t see the warning signs, like my smoking, abuse of junk food, and poor mental stability. I didn’t know the Effexor had given up entirely until the very end. But I’m glossing the nostalgia. I can recall just as many times when I felt totally incomprehended or otherwise relegated to disregard. I remember a time when I borrowed a couple CDs from my dad, and thought to myself: you know, Birdy might actually like this artist. I know she’s into anti folk, and this is folky. I put on the album and she said to me: this is the worst thing you’ve ever played for me. I recall thinking that I was not surprised, because she hated nearly all of my music. And I detested nearly all of hers, though I did get in to Two Door Cinema Club and Mumford & Sons. I tried, anyway. And I never told her I hated her music. I let her play it all the time, even when I wanted to hear something else. It’s another microcosm of our dysfunctional relationship. I fell in love with her, but I could only see her outmost layer. We dated on Skype and she moved here to live with me having no idea what I smelled like. It was a fantastical dream, that two mentally ill people could find love and comfort in commonalities. But I grew to see how vastly different we were, and how irreconcilable the gap was. We had different core priorities, and the ways we were distinct ended up shredding our fragile relationship into nothing. Them when I had my suicide attempt, she didn’t want to be with me anymore. I put the pressure on a destroyed bond and, naturally, it collapsed. She cheated on me the night she came to visit me in the hospital, and she even asked me to let her go. What was I going to say? No? If she wanted out, there was no going back. It was over. And she took that and ran with it. I was crushed, mostly because it was all so easy to ditch me and find someone else. I would need months to rebuild, but for her, she found someone, then someone else, and eventually settled with a new partner and moved on entirely. I’m no where near that stable. I could never commit to another relationship, given my history of finding ways to destroy them. I took responsibility for what I had done. I know that it will take me a long time before I even go looking for companionship again. Maybe never.

Life is funny the way it can do randomly deal change. It seems to have no regard for norms and can flip a bitch in a split second. I know better now how I need to improve as a person, and look at all the things I have done as a result of that disaster. I’m stronger now than I ever was, at any point, with Jax. I guess I needed to have someone with me in the big scary world, but in the last 7 months I’ve stuck to my plan of forging my own trail. I live to a standard I set for myself, and my pride is at stake; I must be able to look at myself in the mirror and not be ashamed. I am so easily a victim of my wrongdoings, and am absurdly critical of my mistakes. But I’ve learned so much, and changed myself in a way I never thought possible, and I have the end of my relationship with Jax to thank for that. I couldn’t have gotten to where I am if I had stayed with her. As condemning as that is of my decision making, it is a truth I cannot avoid.

My day was pretty busy. 32 calls today, and nearly all of them were contract exchanges. Which I love because I can do an order with my eyes closed and it only takes me about 7 minutes from start to finish. I never fuck them up. The order review department hasn’t sent me an email in two months. I don’t make mistakes on my Oracle tasks, and no matter the variables involved, I always get it right. Even with billing; since that email I sent to Laurel about all the fucked up things that other departments were doing, I’ve been flawless. I’m excelling at work, and my new life direction and personal prerogative are to be thanked. I’ve never done better at my job, at any time that I can remember. And I’m making A LOT of money. More income than I know what to do with. I don’t buy shit unnecessarily and generally just save the excess monthly income.

I hope you have a good night. I’ve clearly got some things on my mind. But that’s the beauty of having a therapy session tomorrow morning: what lingering thoughts I have will be fuel for the conversation fire.