I'm watching the Commander In Chief Forum and wondering what the hell I'm watching.
Oh wait, I know. It's the end of the world as we know it.
Holy shit, this thing is still here!!!!
I am in therapy.
This, of course, should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me or claims to know me, but I felt I should put that right out there.
I had a hard time with the combination of menopause hormones, child leaving home, child's personal issues, and a long time and tenuously controlled anxiety disorder. All of these things together led to a savory melange of stress and panic attacks that kept me paralyzed with fear or kept me crying in a fetal position.
Better living through chemistry, with the addition of therapy.
Therapy is HARD. Really, really hard. Therapy is painful. Really, really painful. But sometimes you have to lance an infection to get the badness out and start healing.
I'm dealing with memories I didn't realize I had. I'm dealing with baggage I chose to ignore. I'm dealing with me and all my issues I have with me.
Your brain has all kinds of self-protection mechanisms built in. I didn't know that. It was only through talking with my therapist that I realized that I don't remember any of my birthdays as a child. I don't remember much of my childhood at all. Dredging up memories is just that--dredging through layers of silt and mud.
And when you get to the memory and look at it... really, really look at it... and see as an adult what you went through as a child... And then you realize that while you're okay with this happening to you, if you saw it happening to another child, you'd be enraged. You'd be horrified. You'd do anything you could to keep a child from being treated that way. That feeling of disconnection is abnormal. So very abnormal.
My therapist tells me that I'm not fucked up. The people who raised me were fucked up, but I'm not. I'm a survivor.
I am in therapy, and I am in the process of healing.
Watching "Les Miserables" with the family. I want to die.
(I normally love love love musicals with all my heart, but this one falls in my category of "painful, long, OMG make it stop kill me now". This is the fourth musical in that list, the prior three being "Camelot", "Moulin Rouge", and "Phantom of the Opera".)
In short, I think I hate this movie.
Does anything more really need to be said? (Yeah, I hated "Life of Pi" last week too. Sue me.)
One thing I like about "The Following" is that whenever the story just gets beyond any reasonable level of belief, Kevin Bacon or James Purefoy will snap off a piece of the scenery and start chewing it with great vim and vigor. It's their performances that keep me watching.
I can forgive a lot. A whole lot. Exhibit A: My undying and inexplicable love of Orlando Bloom circa 2005.
I'm going to see if I can crosspost my Facebook posts to my LJ to see if that will inspire me write a little more than I will on Facebook.
At the gym I discovered that the spanking brand new Arc machine has a fan on it. YAY! I also discovered the fan automatically disconnects when you go below 80 steps a minute. BASTARDS. Some call it motivation. I call it.... BASTARDS.
Here's the thing about Facebook--I can't really be me. My family's on facebook, people in my industry are on facebook and I'd really rather not get my freak on over there too, too much. Even when I say something that I think is harmless, I find that someone, somewhere thinks I'm completely off.
So Thom and I were at the gym. I'm still struggling with my weight and with all my deep-seated self loathing issues surrounding my weight. I'm also dealing with the fact that Liv is graduating from high school in six weeks and heading off to college in August--as in I've got a cap and gown in the closet and I have to put a tuition deposit down this week. Oy.
So needless to say I'm a neurotic ball of neurotic.
But really, is anyone surprised by that?