We’re talking about the story I tell myself to explain the things that happen in my life. About how my mom left me when I was three and my dad was a mean drunk whose affection was arbitrary and conditional and I dropped out of college 6 times before finishing my B.A. and I get fired a lot and don’t get hired a lot and how it’s all led up to a story that I’m not worth keeping.
And she says if I keep telling myself that story then there’s no point in therapy and I need to tie all these events together with a different story and she can think of a million other explanations (thus implying that surely I can come up with one), and then I feel like I’m in a guessing game and I get annoyed. I hate guessing games. The worst thing about being a kid was grown-ups were always asking me questions that they already knew the answers to.
Another part of my story is that my husband and this woman did a terrible thing to me, but everybody is so quick to forgive them that I start to think maybe it wasn’t so terrible. If they’re basically good people who did the right thing, then where does that leave me? Did I deserve this, because it takes two to wreck a marriage and all that?
And it’s wrong to say they stole my future because it wasn’t my future, nothing is promised, I supported his career of my own free will and he doesn’t owe me anything. And if I cling to this narrative that I’ve been done wrong then I’m trapped in a victim mentality and not taking responsibility for my emotions and I’ll never be able to move on. To move on I have to accept and believe that my understanding of everything thus far has been wrong, but if that’s true then how can I trust my own judgement? And if I can’t trust my own judgement how can I make any decisions? And then I’m paralyzed and I can’t move forward. And I’ve just never been great at improv or brainstorming or just thinking up stuff so I’m trying to come up with a new story but the task is just too abstract; I don’t know where to start since there’s nothing tangible I can do.
So yeah. I’m flunking therapy. God I fucking hate December.
So yeah, in December I only have one job, so I am going to Dorfen every weekend. This time I took Thing1 with me. He is living with his father and the new girlfriend now, while he figures out what to do with his life. Thing2 is already at the house, so the three of us got to spend some time together, that was nice. I guess.
I’ve been on an eBay binge for awhile, gathering used furniture for the house. So now the front entry is done – already had the shoe shelf and a hatrack, now there is also a coat rack and a bench to sit on while you put on your shoes. I still need to get a buncha little mirrors, but it already looks like a real room – in contrast to the other rooms, which feature stacks of boxes, a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and/or pieces of furniture waiting to be assembled. But the first part of the house you see is done, and that’s something.
December is a bad month for depression. It has always been really rough for me, and in past years I’ve gone hard on the manufactured cheer of the Christmas season just to keep myself from going under. Organizing presents for everyone from everyone because nobody else would take responsibility, and filling the house with sparkle and light despite my husband and sons’ sneering cynicism was almost more work than it was worth, but I did it anyway. But this year it’s all I can do to hold on. Just gonna grit my teeth and get through this.
Thing1 said on the drive that he noticed his father had been unhappier over the last two years. I didn’t notice that at all. I mean I knew we had problems and I had a plan for addressing them and I know I waited too long, but also, I didn’t even realize that it had recently gotten visibly worse. I’ve always been sorta clueless about that sort of thing (if you went to high school with me you are now doing a spit-take and saying, “SORTA!?”), so it’s maybe not surprising that I missed it, but maybe if I had noticed, I could have done something about it. Or at least had some warning, so I could brace myself. Then maybe I wouldn’t still be shaking my head in disbelief after nearly eight freaking months.
So yeah. Dark thoughts. Grit teeth. Hold on.
Ooops, I sort of forgot about the blog for a bit, sorry. It’s been a really bad week, lots of tears leading to a migraine, feeling confused and frustrated and hopeless. It’s affecting my work, which is bad because I’m still on probation and I really wanted to make a better impression at this job than I am currently making. On the other hand, the job is in Heidelberg and working here will certainly complicate my move to Bavaria, which is already much more complicated than necessary because hi, it’s me doing it and unnecessary complication is totally my superpower. Still, losing this job will probably not improve my self-esteem.
Friends seem surprised that I’m still sad, which makes me feel dumb, so I’m trying not to talk about it. But I’m still really sad. Not dewy melancholy staring through a rainy window like in the movies sad, but ugly-crying and wishing I’d died before any of this could happen sad. Other things are happening which I can’t talk about because of other people’s privacy, but it’s all got me feeling quite hopeless. I’m not a lot of fun to be around lately.
Huaugh. Maybe it’s a good thing that I forgot about the blog for a bit. #DebbieDowner