The bubble popper, part 2

It hits me as I’m driving to yoga. Damn it. I’m mad at Bea. She’s right. It feels like my world is imploding, and like I can’t contain the hurt. I don’t want to be mad at her. I can’t be mad at her. I need her, everything is falling apart because she popped the bubble, and I need her to help me put it back together. So, I can’t be mad at her. This is terrible. What am I going to do? I can’t breathe.

Bea is the bubble popper. She ruined everything. How is this ever going to be okay?

I get to yoga, park, walk in. I’m trying to push down all the anxiety and fear and upset and whatever else it is– the feelings I can’t name– down. I’m a little early, so I spend the wait time writing out all the feelings in me.

“Good morning,” Kris says, walking out and smiling at me in greeting.

“Hi.” I grab my things and follow her back.

Kris sits down on her green mat in hero position. “So how are things?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, and it’s honest. I have no idea. My world feels like it’s crashing down on me, and I’m struggling to pretend to be okay. I smile at her.

“You saw Dr. B last week, how was that? Did she want you to be careful with anything or work on anything?”

I pick at my fingers. I barely remember that visit. Last week, Bea popped my bubble and everything was disoriented and hard, scary, too much. “Last week feels forever ago. I don’t know. I don’t remember her saying anything specific, I think everything was good.”

“And Hubby? Kat? Are things okay there?” It seems Kris has the sense something is up, and she is trying to figure out what it is, and if I’m okay.

“Good, nothing new.” I attempt a smile, or doesn’t work great.

“Is there anything you want to focus on today? Anyway your body wants to move?” Kris asks.

I think for a minute, shake my head. “You always ask me that, and I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“No sorrys. I’ll keep asking you, but it’s fine to not know. It’s okay to be where you are.” Kris sounds so calm, serene. She’s this person that just accepts everything. I have this momentary thought of telling her about the bubble, and being mad at Bea, but that not being okay because I need her, but needing her is not okay either. I have this feeling that Kris could handle it, and that she would be calm and accepting and somehow help me feel okay about it all. I don’t say anything at all, though.

We end up going through several series of sun salutations; I’m trying to feel grounded, but also be okay and not fall apart. Its a difficult yoga session, and I end up staying more in my head than grounding myself in my body. When I leave, I feel numbed out and gone. Dissociated.

I email Bea, freaking out, and I’m totally honest with her: (my email was long and disjointed, unedited and messy, but this is part of it below)

“I think maybe I am mad. You popped the bubble. I think though, I’m more upset that you just wouldn’t accept the idea I wasn’t mad, that you just kept pushing and…..I don’t know. Why did you have to do that??? I was perfectly happy not realizing I was mad. But you had to ask and ask, and then because I’m me, I had to think it over and over and circle it around and around my mind, until I realized I was maybe mad, in a way I can’t exactly feel, but it there if I really look for it. But I can’t allow myself to be mad, because I need you. I don’t want to say that, or think that or have you know I said that. God. I never want people to know I need them. I don’t want to need anyone. I don’t want to be so needy and just…..ugh. I don’t know. Needy. Too much. Ugh. Not okay. I don’t know.
But to be mad at someone means they will leave. And I can’t be mad at you because I need you and I can’t risk having you leave. So. There it is. I’m mad, but not mad. I don’t exactly feel mad. Ugh. It’s like….far away. Like if I really think about it, I realize I am mad at you, but I don’t really feel it. This isn’t making a lot of sense. I just can not be mad, or have this conversation, because……I don’t know. It doesn’t matter what you say. I think you said something about me not ever being in a relationship where I was allowed all my feelings, but that I’m allowed to have any feelings I have now. I don’t know, I wasn’t really there. I couldn’t be there. You were talking about scary things, you know I don’t talk about relationships, you know that makes me scared. And I’m sick and scared and having this huge anxiety because now I know there is mad somewhere in there. And that isn’t okay. I can’t be mad at you. And then I feel stupid for that. And I have been so careful to not accuse you of popping the bubble or breaking down the walls, or however you want to phrase it, because if I start to accuse you, then I can feel a little bit mad. And that is so not okay. But really, I think that there is more than mad, there. I feel….I don’t know what…..surprised maybe. I thought you didn’t know, thought you believed that I was really okay and doing well, that I had you fooled. And that felt safe. Well, part of me was annoyed,because I thought you didn’t get that I can just pretend it all away and be okay even when I’m not. But now I know I can’t fool you. Which isn’t safe, I don’t like people that I can’t fool, it’s too hard, too….real…I don’t know the right word. I don’t know. Ugh. I’m not explaining this so well. And hurt, my feelings are hurt. I don’t have a reason, or a why, just that my feelings are hurt. I think you were kind of mean to pop the bubble and dump me back into this not okay and scary place. And I’m mad. And so mad at myself for being being mad. And scared that I am mad. And scared that I can’t fool you with the “okay bubble.”
And then again, thanks to the bubble being popped, I am really kind of not okay, and you are the only person I can tell that to, and the person I am supposed to be able to fall apart around, so I can not be mad at you. I need you to help me. But you can’t be worried. But I need you to know how much more of a struggle it is, how hard things have been now that the bubble is popped. It takes so much to maintain even a fraction of the okayness I had before the bubble popped. And it’s hard to build a bubble. And now too much is bombarding me, and I just can’t make another bubble and I need your help with those things. You popped the bubble. And everything is worse. Symptoms increased. Nightmares. Not sleeping. I have pictures in my head of terrible things that just come and go as they please. Some you know about, some you don’t. I have this anxiety in my stomach, just sitting there for no reason, it’s just there, all the time. My patience is all but gone again. I mostly want to hide and not have to see or talk to anyone. I’m cutting more often. I’m not eating. Or I’m stuffing my face and bingeing. I feel like I’m crying all the time, or pushing back tears to not cry. I’ve been having migraines frequently again– I’ve taken my migraine medication almost every day the last week or so. I can not add Hubby and his hurtful comments to this mess, too. It’s too much. It’s all just too much.
-Alice”

I can’t believe I actually send it, but I do. The anxiety of waiting for her to reply is awful.

Several hours later, I have a reply from her: (she replied to a lot of the messiness of what I wrote, but below is the most important parts of what she said)

“You can need me and still be mad. I don’t intend to go anywhere regardless of if you are mad, mean, happy, etc.–well, I am going away for a few days next week, but I will come back! It’s a big step to admit mad–and neediness. This was not something you have experienced positively in past relationships. I will not leave. I know that is hard to believe, and you will probably have to test it, but I will not leave.Only by experiencing this in a different way can you start to believe it. I need my concerns and worries, so they can help inform me if you are safe. So you have to let me keep those! You can be mad at me, fall apart around me, and need me. My job is to contain it all and help you gather yourself together again. That is a very real and honest email. Good work!!! And wow, you do have a good reason to be mad at the person who popped that bubble….”

We email back and forth, and I spill out more of the mess inside me. I even admit that my coping methods aren’t so in control. And then Bea sends an email that doesn’t sound like her, and it feels distant and cold. I don’t understand, and my feelings are hurt. I can only assume she is mad that I won’t talk to Hubby right now, and that she is leaving after all, no,matter what she said. She doesn’t care, she’s leaving.

I take a benedryl after getting Kat to bed, and fall asleep early. Thursday, morning I’m terrified of walking into therapy. I debate not going. Even on the drive into town, I’m crying and unsure if I’m going to actually show up. I end up in Bea’s parking lot, almost twenty minutes early. I cry, and sniffle and work on pulling myself together.

I force myself out of the car, and into Bea’s building, and up the stairs. I look into Bea’s office, and pause outside the door. She looks at me, and smiles. “Hi,” she says, as I walk into the office.

To be continued…..