She is a counselor and I was put in touch with her through my primary care doctor.
This all came about when my eyes got hives (see below) and I called my doctor because I was concerned that it may have been related to the new behavioral medicine I had recently begun taking.
Her advice (God love her)?
Stop taking it.
Um, come again?
That's when I lost it.
The proceeding is a recap of how that conversation went down:
ME; Excuse me, What? Stop taking it? As in, STOP?
DOC OFFICE REP: Yes, just stop for a few days, see if it goes away, then begin again and see if it returns.
(No offense, health care physicians, but this did not sound right.)
ME: Um, here's the thing. I take this medicine BECAUSE I NEED IT. And, if I stop, things get worse. (By now I am feeling emotional and starting to get angry at myself for needing something in the first place and simultaneously dwelling on some recent set-back I had which demands the medication in the first place) Like, I have a difficult time controlling myself NOW, and without my medicine,
I.
AM.
A.
BUTTHOLE
...only I did not say butt.
I am mean to my husband...
I am mean to my children...one even told me he hates me-HATES ME!!
DOR: Um....let me talk with your doctor and call you back, umkay?
We hang-up the phone and I am wrecked, and not in a good way.
Now I am frustrated at my eyes with hives...at the doctor's advise...at my needing medication...at my set-backs...at my mouth...at my attitude.
Pretty much, I was feeling pitiful and that further upset me.
Ring-ring
ME:Hello
DOR: So...I spoke with your doctor and she agrees that you should stay on the medicine. We will just monitor your hives. And, also...have you considered talking to a counselor?
Needless to write, I set an appointment upon my calendar book and, one week later, I was sitting in Deborah's office.
In the spirit of full-disclosure, we talked about why I was in the pits- because that is where I felt I was that first meeting.
After telling her about my week of heaviness: woke up Wednesday feeling like a dark weight set up residence on my lungs and heart. Got sick. Puked and slept. Was grumpy. Did not want to socialize. Stayed in a dark, quite basement, alone. Little patience for anyone.
Deborah asked if I have any "me time"?
Me time..what is that?
No, really, I actually do get this..,only not as consistantly as I need for head-clearing and self-reflection.
Not.Near.Often.Enough.
But Big Strong Man IS good at letting me go and
OK, she says, then your assignment for this week is to have some "me time".
I left her office hopeful...albeit, still feeling the heaviness of the weight which was still present, but fading at the pace of a drunken, lazy snail.
Session two came a week later and -mercifully- she said that she could tell JUST BY LOOKING AT ME that I was already doing better.
And she was right.
The difference between week one
and week two felt enormous.
Mostly because I was no longer feeling
as though there was a great divide
between God and me.
A great divide.That's what it had felt like that week prior.
Like He had run from me.
Hid from me.
Forsaken me.
Mellow-dramatic? No, I kid not.
So we talked about what it was like with my mother-in-love having had just spent two weeks with us and my having a depressive/dark episode during that time.
Talk about humility.
Turns out, love her as I do, having her around does make me anxious...I mean, more than I already am.
We put two-and-two together when I mentioned how I got all crazy when she last visited as well.
I mentioned this because I naturally assumed it was ALL ME and was upset because I had assumed that she just figured her son married a nut-case and she was forced to love me like a good mother-in-love would do.
Well, maybe that was it -in part- but maybe the pressure I placed on myself in her presence is too much for me to carry...so I crack.
Light bulb: maybe I am not entirely crazy.
Week two assignment: stop thinking I can read people's minds and always assuming the worse of myself in situations.
Yesterday was week three.
I am feeling a breakthrough here, I really am.
We talked about self-esteem, of which mine has recently been in the pits.
We talked about body-image and sexual relations with my husband and how what I feel about myself directly interferes with our intimacy.
On the other hand, we talked about his use of pornography and how that does little to help the situation, READ: it is doing SO MUCH HARM.
I declared that I feel like he has invited another person into our bedroom- an unwanted guest.
That he does not need me when he can turn to something so quick, easy, and always willing.
And I realized, speaking out loud for perhaps the first time, that I cannot compete with that.
I am not that kind of lady...
built that way...
doing that stuff.
And because he chooses her, I feel unlovable.
Unattractive.
Deborah's advice: consider marriage counseling as well as continued counseling for me (her sessions are limited) and maybe even self-sessions for my husband.
I was given 10 days to make an appointment.
She will be checking-up on me.
Admittedly, I am uptight about this.
Will our insurance cover this?
Will I have to dive into my past?...which I have done repeatedly with numerous counselors in the past and it is loooong and difficult.
Will I ever be cured?
Who will watch our children?
How much is baby-sitting going to cost us?
Will we be made to track how often we have intercourse...and then talk about it?
Will I just cry and cry while Big Strong Man is made to look like a fool and gets defensive on account of it?
Yikes.
Too many questions.
To much negativity.
I wrote it into the calendar for tomorrow:
call and get my name/our names in a book somewhere.
Make this happen.
Here's to three successful weeks of taking the time to work on me: heart and mind.
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