Yesterday’s session was brutal. I spent much of my time in tears, some of it sobbing, some just tears rolling down my face. I used many tissues. No wonder therapy is so expensive. Their paper goods bill alone must be daunting. It was bad that I had to go back to work afterwards because that meant I had to find a way to pull myself together and not look like a complete sack of shit, but it was good that I had a 15-20 minute drive across town to accomplish it.
While I have mentioned J, and our affair, in therapy it hasn’t really been the crux of conversation. Why? Well, since I’ve been seeing Freud J has kind of been a background character in my life rather than an all consuming obsession. I’ve had other things to worry about and therapize (not a real word, but I like it so I’m using it) about, such as:
- Getting my medical depression under control
- BJ’s and my breakup,
- W moving back in and my decision to turn martyr by allowing him to,
- My on again off again attempts to lose weight,
- My physical fling with M (Oh how I miss M sometimes, just from the physical release standpoint. A good orgasm occasionally is a miracle drug I tell you.),
- My ups and downs at work,
- My disagreements with W over parenting,
- My Dad’s death within three months after my grandmother’s.