I had therapy yesterday. It’s been a really hard few days. (I will post about that, but that is not this post.) I had therapy for 3 hours. I went over my hour, by an hour talking about my nightmares. And then Bea was able to have me come back later in the day for another hour. I’m still barely holding myself together. I don’t want to read, I don’t want to watch a movie or a show. I can’t think. My head is pounding, and I feel sick. I’m a little bit scared, all the time. The fear I never let myself feel from my old life is being felt now, and it’s hard to do. It seems wrong, and it’s hard to explain to others that I can feel afraid when the sun is shining, I can hear my daughter making up a song about spaghetti-booty-ponys, my dogs are snoring in the patch of sun by my deck door, and yet I feel deep bone chilling, stomach freezing, heart stopping cold fear inside me. It never leaves me anymore. It has come for a vacation, and now it won’t go back to where it came from.
I did not know that posing a hypothetical question would begin to slowly kill off the perfect me. I did not know that sitting with my back turned to Bea and whispering “it’s not hypothetical”, would twist the knife into the perfect me a bit more. I didn’t know that everytime I spoke up, tried to tell a memory, shared a nightmare, a flashback, a half a flashback, admitted something even just to myself, that I was drowning the perfect me a little more.
So, she is gone. I’m not that perfect little creature I was my whole life. But then……who am I? Because without her, all I have left are these broken things inside me. And I’m not sure I really want them, either