Claiming my Inner Bitch

The Report of My Departure was Premature

Well, I guess I must have been feeling a little sorry for myself earlier, huh? In case anyone dropped by in time to catch my now-deleted self-pitying tripe post explaining that I might not be blogging here much for a while, I apologize. I guess I was in a particularly despondent mood.

I've been going through some rough patches recently, with my dad's death in March, the birth of my first grandson in April and my anger over Dad never getting to meet Brendan. I've been increasingly disturbed by my frustrations with my job and the handful of coworkers who have made working there so unpleasant. Unfortunately, two of those coworkers are immediate unit supervisors, which makes it difficult to battle. (According to my therapist, one is passive-aggressive and the other is openly hostile. That makes many days less than pleasant for me, especially since I'm at a point in my life where dysfunction is so intolerable to me.)

I've been in psychotherapy for two years and it has often been two steps forward, one step back, resulting in a series of periods of relative highs and lows. I've been in a low period recently. (No, I'm not bi-polar, just generally fucked-up. : ) Fortunately, I was able to come to a reconciliation with my dad before he died and feel I did everything I could to show and tell him how very much I loved him before he passed away. I can't tell you how much that meant to me and how glad I am I was able to get to that point, albeit late in Dad's life. I wish everyone the opportunity to make peace with those they love before they pass away.
I still have a lot of work to do in therapy, though. I find myself at the impasse I've repeatedly returned to over the last two years...my inability to take risks in the real world, to get out there and meet people in my area, to seek and accept friendships, to eventually seek out someone with whom to share my life in ways more meaningful than friendship. So, now I have fairly clearly defined myself and come to a place where, when I'm not in the middle of being socked by depression, I can find fun things to do alone...kayaking, beach time, hiking, traveling, reading, movies, music, artistic pursuits and now blogging.

I've managed to get to a point where I know I could have a fulfilling life (especially since the sexual part has gradually become so very successful for me over the past year : ) even if I never find a life partner. But I don't think I can do it without circles of friends (real life, not over the 'net) in my life. And this is the point at which I always stumble. It's so hard to let people in. It was much easier to go to Barbados and screw my Bajan lover's brains out for a week than to have lunch with someone who lives 10 minutes away.

I'm not a recluse...I have a few friends I do things with sometimes but it's nothing like the layers of friends I'd prefer, the community. Presently, I do a lot of things solo. Delayed adolescence, I know. Most 'kids' get around to figuring this stuff out in their teens.

I have been spending entirely too much time online recently. If nothing else, I need to at least start reading the dozens of books I've bought over the past few months. I need to get my kayak in the water (if the God-damned heat ever abates in this Philly summer). I need to get back out in my garden and figure out what I need to do to improve my tomato yield, which is paltry at best this year. I need to get a new job and I need to meet some people around here and find folks to do things with.

Rome wasn't built in a day and I will not become the whole person I'm meant to be overnight. I hope I won't dissolve into wallowing self-pity and depression on a regular basis and subjecting you to it here but be forewarned; it might happen again. You might again be subjected to a self-pitying tirade. Shit happens.

So, I had a good cry with my therapist (who didn't cut me any slack and basically told me to get off my lazy, frightened ass and get out in the real world). I had a good cry at home when I called to pay the most pressing of my credit card bills and had to give some explanation about why I was two months late. I had a cry when I got off the phone for getting upset over the phone. Then I had a good cry about my dad.

Then I watched Nova, one of my favorite PBS programs. After that, I found Field of Dreams. With the opening music and The Voice speaking to Ray in the cornfield, I cried because I knew who he was supposed to "build it" for. I laughed when Ray Kidnapped "Terrance Mann." I cried when he met Doc Watson and cried again when Archie "Moonlight" Graham left his dream to save Ray's daughter from choking. I cried when James Earl Jones gave his impassioned speech about baseball, America's great, innocent past, reminding me of my innocent past as well. And, of course, I bawled my eyes out when Ray willingly had a catch with his dad, after all.

I love this movie. It's about promises broken and kept, about dreams and possibilities, about some things being more important than materialism, about betrayal and redemption and forgiveness. It's about magic. How could I not feel better after watching that. Besides, Amy Madigan (anybody know if she's a lesbian and if she's free? ; ) is just cute as a bug as Annie Kinsella, especially when she calls Beulah out after calling her a "Nazi cow." Maybe that was all I needed was several good laughs and good cries. By the way, it's a great book, too (Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella).

I've also learned how to take my Lunesta...about two hours before I want to be asleep is enough for me to fight it (as I do) and finally get beaten down enough to have to go to bed. So I took my pills around 10 PM and am heading off to bed after Charlie Rose is over at 12:30. Then back to the salt mines tomorrow.

Bear with me, folks...work in progress, you know.

Peace.

Technorati tags: life / pharmaceuticals / self-awareness / therapy

posted by Cheryl @ 10:20 PM