Changes…….PART Two: therapy and my birthday 

Okay. Part one left us with me needing naps because I’m not sleeping well at night. There have been a lot of nightmares since the wedding. I was dealing reasonably well during the day (although the name of the game was constant distraction), but the dreams have been haunting my nights. The hardest part for me is that these dreams haven’t been specific to one memory, they are more of the crazy, mixed up, not real stuff, variety of dreams. Those are somewhat harder for me to deal with, because there doesn’t seem to be anything to process, just this crazy nonsense and really bad feelings. Bea believes otherwise, and has suggested we talk about reoccurring dream. 

Therapy has been weird. Bea is fine, she’s herself, I’m just in this weird, locked down headspace, and I’m afraid to talk and open up more. I’m super numb and not even aware of how I feel moment to moment but at the same time I’m being bombarded by nightmares and flashbacks and overwhelmed feelings. It’s hard. My crazy hurt teen part and the little girl part have been really on the lookout for signs Bea hates them or wants them gone. Maybe two weeks ago, when Bea said we should come up with a plan of what we are working on, I freaked. I thought she was mad I had been wasting time, or she was wanting a plan so she could work towards getting rid of me. It turns out, in her mind that wasn’t the case at all, she tends to have a sort of direction we are working but had wanted to make things be more collaborative— on top of which, with me being shut down Alice for the last 3 months, Bea really didn’t have a lot to go on. So I wrote her the email I posted “where I’m at, or some thinglike that”. 

That email brought up a lot of stuff, from anger vs rage, to how I was feeling after the wedding because we didn’t really process that, to hubby and couples therapy (which we have had two sessions now, and I need to post about that, too!), feeling like no one gets it (old feelings that come up every fall), and this idea that my mother didn’t give me much space to exist– I was either the perfect daughter or the daughter who was ruining everything. We’ve had some conversations around those things, and emailed as well. Bea missed one Monday because she went up north for a quick trip, and one session was spent on my birthday. So we haven’t had a lot of time to really talk or process much of anything. I’m feeling really disconnected from therapy right now, but I see her tomorrow so that will be good.  

As for my birthday, I went back to my parents’ house to celebrate. It’s the first time I’ve been back since the last time I celebrated with my Grandpa. That last birthday was 3 years ago. it was hard, being back. Hubby knew it would be hard, and had insisted my parents keep things low key, and just them and me, hubby and Kat. It was nice, but sad. I miss the days I loved my birthday, the days where I believed everyone should celebrate for a week and have cake for breakfast everyday. I miss the days where my birthday was a party, and an event— not because I was having a huge party, but because it was a fun day, a fun week. My grandpa always said I was his birthday present, and the best present he could have been given. I think my birthday was always so full of good feelings because I believed him when he would say that, and I. That moment, for that day, I could feel that about myself– I was important and mattered enough to be the best present. Now…..I just feel sad and lonely on my birthday. I’m lonely because Grandpa is gone. I cried on the weekend, and I told my family it was hard to be back in October and that I missed grandpa, and was sad. I didn’t hide my tears or fake happiness. So that was good. And hubby was supportive and more present than he typically has been, so that was good, too. 

Too be continued……


Birthday with my parents

My parents came to celebrate my birthday. Even though it was late, even though it wasn’t the day. We still celebrated.

I was tired. I’ve been opening my eyes to the truth of my childhood, including the truth of my parents and how they behaved. I wasn’t in the mood to be around them. I didn’t want to smile and act perfect. I didn’t want them to find me lacking, I wanted to still be perfect in their eyes. I didn’t know what I wanted. But I knew I was too tired to clean up and organize the house to my mother’s standards. Hubby told me to hide the mess.

“Put the dishes in the oven. Hide the toys, towels, laundry, whatever in out bedroom. Shut the door,” he said.

I thought about it. The idea seemed impossible. It was a lie. I wouldn’t really be perfect, and yet, my house would appear perfect. It would be fake. As fake as my “perfect” childhood. As fake as my “perfect parents.”

I went back and forth between it. Clean up. Leave things messy and face my mom and dad’s disgust. Put the dishes in the oven.

I put the damn dishes in the oven. 🙂


Hubby didn’t forget

It started with a text from hubby:

mom is going to pick you and Kat up and 2:00 and drop you off at my work. She’s going to watch Kat for us, I’m taking you shopping for your birthday present.

I was curious. I do love presents, and although I had been adamant that I did not really want to celebrate my birthday, Hubby’s text was intriguing. I had been considering my new iphone– I’d gotten the 5c, not the 6, I had wanted the pink/coral/peachy colored phone since it had come out– my birthday gift.

So, at 2:45, I was dropped off at his work, and we were walking to his jeep.

“And where are we going?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling. It’s a surprise. It’s a drive out though, so I hope you have your book, or maybe you will be able to close your eyes.”

“Huh. Can I have a hint??? Please, please, please???” I ask, dancing down the sidewalk. I feel goofy, silly, like a little kid. I’m enjoying the moment.

“Nope. No hints. I planned this good, and no hints allowed. It’s a rule.” He grins.

We reach his jeep, and we head out. The drive does end up being a bit of a long one. I read, check email, and doze intermittently. Hubby makes cryptic phone calls, where he sounds like a spy, or something and so I laugh and tease him about it.

Eventually, we pull up to a car dealership.

“Happy birthday,” Hubby says.

I look at him, blankley. I am really confused.

“A car. A car that you choose. For YOU. I did some research. I have some set aside, ready for you to test drive. I tried to find cars that should drive similar to your sunfire that you loved so much.”

I can’t speak. I’m speechless. Finally, I try to get words out, and they gush out in a mess. “What!?! How…why…thank you….mine? Just mine!?! Why!?!?”

He laughs, he is happy. “Come on, babe. Let’s go find a car.”

And so we do. It doesn’t take long. I don’t like fancy cars. I like small, and simple. I like cars that feel like they are moving. We test drive the Chevy spark, and I fall in love. All that’s left is to choose which spark, as there are several options.

I end up with a more “fancy” option in some ways. It has leather seats, with seat heaters— a must if you have fibro, in my opinion. And it has this awesome little screen with Bluetooth that connects to my phone and can play pandora, itunes, make calls, use Siri to read and send text messages, and there is a GPS app to download, and that becomes the GPS. It’s perfectly awesome. The screen is a touch screen, and there are buttons on the steering wheel as well, that work the Siri function and phone call functions. So you never even have to touch your phone to do anything. Awesome. The car is tiny. And square but slightly rounded. Cute. It’s sliver, with a darker gray interior.

It doesn’t take Hubby long to do the paperwork, he already had everything set and ready with the bank, the car insurance. All that was left was for me to find a car. I can’t believe he did this. I mean, really, who does this?

I ask Hubby, “Did you lose your mind?”

“No,” he laughs, “Kat is older, you don’t really need a ‘mom-mobile’, you like small cars, you’ve had two vehicles you haven’t gotten to choose, and I thought a big birthday present might be a nice distraction. It won’t make things better, but it might add some fun to this week, at least, for you.”

I really, really, love this man. I ask it often, but how in the world did I get so blessed to have him as my husband?

Driving home, I crank up my music, and go down the highway. I feel like me for a few minutes, even though I’m not sure who that is exactly. I sing along to Meredith Brooks’ “Bitch” and let my worries go for a while.