Wednesday, October 19, 2005

One benefit afforded to us where I work is access to an EAP. Lately, due to a combination of issues that I can only describe as the "swings and arrows of outrageous fortune," I have been availing myself of this program. I'm pretty certain that I don't need anything long term, as my emotional makeup combined with some good work done years ago seem to have made for a strong base. Every now and again I do get broadsided, which is what led me to seek help.

How funny to be back in a therapeutic relationship. Though I'd never ruled out ending up on the couch again, it does take a bit of getting used to. Yes, I am a gregarious sort - have been told that I am the antithesis of a wallflower (ha!). I'm not used to having someone sitting across from me asking me about me, about how I am doing, about what's on my mind, though. The act of focusing on myself, on emptying everything in my heart and brain to this professional, of actually trying to make sense of the confusion going on around me feels alien but cathartic. Naming the issues and the players has pushed something forward and has been motivating me to start cleaning house, so to speak.

I think it would be less exhausting (and perhaps less painful) if I didn't have so much untangling to do, if there were one part of my life that didn't feel as though it were spinning out of control. For example: the awful dysfunction at work would be easier for me to deal with if I didn't have to go home to the latest family drama. I'd feel better about (finally!) having my sanctum sanctorum if it weren't so damn pricey (thus making quitting the job right now a very irresponsible thing to do). I'd love to be able to go to the guy for a hug, some calm, nice words, but he's often unavailable. On top of that, has his own issues to deal with. (At least my side are honest about their insanity.) I don't feel good unburdening to friends, as they all have their trials ranging from annoying to grave.

Thinking about this all hurts. Expressing it provides a little release. Seeing the therapist rolling her eyes or bouche bée at something I've just recounted makes me laugh, and the laughter helps the hurt. Last session, she asked me if I'd ever considered writing a book. I asked her if she thought my stories that fabulous. No - things were strange and stressful, but she was getting a good feel for what was going on and actually enjoyed the narrative. Mentioned that I really do need to take up yoga or something to 'take care of me,' as I'm so busy taking care of everyone else. I did tell her that I had a blog and (strange!) she laughed outright. No plans for a book, though.

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