I guess I took it pretty hard when Lauren's father died, but it was before that too. It's been a while. I startle easily lately. I mistake specks of dirt or a fallen leaf in my peripheral vision for a cockroach or some other dire threat. When PMS starts two weeks early and lags two weeks after, it's time to ask some serious questions. Even with my game face on, I'm hanging by a thread.
"Let's talk about the thread", he said.
Maybe the thread is what people expect of me. Maybe nothing happens when the thread breaks. Maybe everything happens when the thread breaks.
"Anything more on that?"
I am one thread away from never getting out of bed, never shaving, never washing my hair, never running, never putting on my make-up, and never answering the phone again. It seems to me that whatever is going on here is time-limited; not in the way that it will go away on it's own, but in the sense that I can't keep it afloat much longer. I am starting to think about doing the one thing I said I would never do again.
When I told him that he said, "You see everything as a struggle between good and evil".
That's how it has always been for me.
"There are things in between. We still have work to do here. Just because I'm not normally a medication kind of guy doesn't mean it doesn't have a place."
"I don't know what to do" I told him. "I said never again but I can't just keep feeling like this. I don't know what to do", I started to crumble. "Just tell me what to do. Please I need for you to tell me what to do." I paused for a moment but there was nothing.
"I need you to tell me what to do, but you don't. You never do. It's so easy for you to take that stance. To use your therapeutic approach to excuse yourself from asking any of the right questions or taking anything on yourself." I couldn't stop trembling. "I need you to tell me what to do".
But he left it at that and I left with my sunglasses on again, tissues balled up in the palm of my hand.