The Therapist…

So, the big day finally came, my therapist was back from Ireland. It had been sometime in August since I had seen her last. Not a good thing I must say. I had already text her about when I got locked up, she just didn’t know why. So when I told her she said I need to let my psychiatrist know because it didn’t seem that my meds were managing my being bipolar. You think?

Without going into every single detail of my hour long session, I did realize that there were several things that I needed to take care of and there were a couple that I had already done before I went to see her. The first thing I did this morning was talk to a friend of William’s, who has become a friend of mine. He lives in Hungary and we speak via Messenger. I have discussed with him before about deactivating William’s Facebook page. Well, I did it. Needless to say I back it up first, but I did it! I felt a huge burden of relief, even more so when I spoke to our friend. He said I’d done the right thing. I was only hurting myself. I was constantly believing that it was him and he was alive. I felt if I let that go I’d lose him all over again. It hurt, but nothing like before.

Next after my session, now I had to think about this one, when I got home. I approached my roommate. Her boyfriend is the one who compared my grief and William’s suicide to his divorce and my roommate told me if I didn’t do something quicker then I was never going to get better. So, I told her that with all that had been said, I was ready to let bygones be bygones and that I was willing to move forward. She hugged me and thanked me. Not that I expected anything, because I DON’T, but does it seem like I apologized for something? I guess we’ll see how that works out. I felt like I needed to clear the air. They certainly weren’t going to do it and I’m not going to live walking on egg shells. I didn’t do anything wrong and I’m not going to be the one who is miserable either.

She left to go help in booking his band. I did a load of clothes and when I went to put them in the dryer she had damp clothes in there. Of course they had soured, so I washed and dried them, again. Later on, around 8:30 pm I hear her coming in the door. It’s both of them and they have brought me a bowl of homemade chill beans. I was shocked, to say the least. To top it of he said he had two tickets to a private party on Friday night and invited me to go. Said I could bring a date if I wanted too. Pretty funny don’t you think?

My friend from the UK has been emailing and told me he thought about me when first woke and that I could rattle on about anything if I wanted too, he didn’t care (btw rattle on means talking to much).So in my reply I did rattle on. Nothing to run him off, I hope. I really wish we weren’t 1,000’s of miles away from each other. The little time I knew him here was incredible. I hope to see him again, but in reality that really doesn’t seem possible. He made me smile and laugh, which was awesome. I had forgotten how and I didn’t feel guilty, at the time. Just little things sparked my interest. He certainly knew how to shag better than I did. Who would have thought that. For those of you not from the USA, shagging is dancing,lol.

I’m just going to have to take things for what they’re worth. I told my therapist I could trust no one. When I tell people what’s happened their perception of me changes dramatically. For some reason they think they have a right to tell me how to grieve, when to do it, how long it should take, etc. It’s no ones decision but mine and I really don’t think it’s a conscious decision. This past year has been hell. I’ve lost so much, but I’ve kept going. I finally got my daughter back into my life and that my friend was tremendous.

The day to day stuff is what keeps me bound. The memories that flood into my mind. The constant knowing that there was nothing I could have done to have changed the outcome of that morning. The hatred that his family has for me. The lies, manipulation, on and on and on I just have to let this go or I will end up dead. I will drive myself crazier than I already am. Already, I beat up my friend for saying something about William I didn’t like. What would I do to someone I didn’t like not being properly medicated? I can’t do that to my daughter. I can’t leave her like that. I won’t do it.

I will continue to write and continue to see my therapist and my doctor. I will do my very best to stay out of trouble, even if I have to stay in my room. I don’t care anymore. I have to get better. I have to see the world again. It can’t stay dark anymore. It’s killing me and I know I wish I were dead, but I don’t want to die right now. Not unless it’s what’s supposed to be, then I’m ready. But I don’t think it’s my time yet or I believe I would have been gone before now. There’s something I’m supposed to do and I’m not sure what yet, but I’ll get back with you on that…

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Categories Bipolar, Depression, PTSD, SuicideTags , , , ,

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