Untitled Again
Today was surreal. I'm still in the midst of the fog I was in when I woke up. I went into work for a little bit but didn't get much done. So I brought it home.
I have to have the issue to the printer on Tuesday and I still need to write something to fill some space. Wonderful. I also need to proofread it and do some fine-tuning in Quark. I was told it looks good. The same individual said we should have a launch party. I'm all for that. After work, I went to my therapy session. The first thing she said was, "you look sad." I told her that someone last night at the party looked at me and told me she could tell something was up because of my eyes.
Elizabeth said she could tell in my demeanor. She said I was downcast. It was an interesting session, because I behaved differently. By "behaved" I mean that I was talking more slowly. I wasn't trying to rush through thoughts like I usually do, but rather was working through the stuff that was going through my head. I won't reveal the topic of conversation but at the conclusion of the session, she asked me when she was going to see me again. I told her I had already made an appointment for Wednesday.
By her question, I thought she was thinking that because I had derived so many "conclusions" from what I'm feeling, I wouldn't need to see her next week. I was wrong. She said she thought she should see me twice. So I'm going back on Monday. I must be pretty bad. She seemed concerned. But that's her job, I guess. I really like her. She has respect for me. And that's really important to me.
The fact that I'm in therapy at this time in my life is interesting. And I didn't think I needed it. I'm not sure how many sessions I have left. I'm afraid to ask. It's gonna suck ass when I can't see her anymore. Cornelia and I had a good talk tonight. I was watching television and she came home. I wasn't in the mood to talk, of course, but I made myself. It turns out she was taking my behavior of late personally in a way.
She said that she knew I was talking to my other friends. I told her that wasn't the case at all. That even with my friends I was just going through the motions. I explained that I'm in a sort of growth period right now and that it's really hard. There is a lot on my mind and I feel like being alone a lot.She understands. I apologized to her because I know it's hard to be around that. She said I totally didn't have to, but that she knows I keep stuff inside and just wasn't sure what was going on. So I'm glad we cleared it up. She's really cool. A good friend to have. Plus, she's going to be a psychoanalyst one day, so it's good to talk to her as I process the activity in my subconscious. The way I see it, none of this is supposed to be easy. Learning hard lessons about oneself is always difficult. These ones have been particularly painful and it's just a lot to deal with. But I know I'll get through it. I'll one day be back up on my mountain. I'm certain of that. I feel as though I experienced an existentialist earthquake. Everything I knew about myself -- my existence -- is now lying in pieces on the floor. What I need to do is put it all back together, piece by piece. But I'm not going to rush it. If it's going to take six months or a year, then it will. The hard part is knowing what's going on. It's both a blessing and a curse. I realize I could be completely lost and unable to identify what is happening. This is not my problem. I have been bombarded with the full awareness of what is going on. It's as if I'm a perfect witness to my own de(con)struction -- an intensely overwhelming experience. I haven't yet identifed the steps I need to take in order to restore myself to the person I know is somewhere in here. But the good thing is that I recognize the necessity for patience in this process if the results are to be everlasting and something I can trust. The important thing is that I'll actually feel it. Throughout the process, I will continue to read and write and work toward meeting the goal I set for myself when I moved to New York. In eight months, I will have a master's degree. Who'da thunk it? I've made important connections this week with professors, which I've already mentioned, and I think these relationships will be valuable assets for me as I complete my work at New School. I'm excited about this and I'm excited about the thoughts that I haven't had yet. I am confident that they will surface in the thesis I submit next spring. And who knows, maybe I'll even continue after May. But first things first: I have some knowledge to acquire; writing skills to improve upon; and personal construction to undertake. This all must occur simultaneously. It's going to be difficult, because I have not been in such a space before. Heartbroken? Yes. Painful growth spurts? Yes. But at the same fucking time? Never. The first step, though, is to get some sleep. I'm not totally happy about the fact that I seem to be falling back into my going-to-sleep-at-4 a.m. habit I picked up last fall. I still have to take a shower. It's become ritual this week because it's so fucking cold in my house. I need a down comforter. I go to sleep with the covers over my face to warm up. This lasts for about seven minutes and then it becomes a little hard to breathe at which point I have to just rearrange and suffer.
