Just some thoughts

Okay. I just did the thing where I wrote the whole post, then I highlighted it and deleted it. I mean, I guess it wasn't an entire post, it was just me writing and fuck man, I didn't want to go to those places.

I know I'm a big lesbian, and I work with counselling psychologists, and I'm a writer and a talker, but fuck dudes, sometimes I just want to be. I just want to live and not analyze and process and work it all the way the fuck out and know exactly what I'm doing at all times and why and being perfectly intentional in all of my actions and absolutely the epitomy of maturity and responsibility and logic.

Like I wrote in my journal last night: "I want to unabashedly feel emotion."

I don't want to analyze and process everything all the time. I want to actually live it. I allow my head to get in the way of my heart, and I kinda wanna see what it would be like to just allow myself to follow my heart for a while.

I know I need therapy to deal with the nightmares; to help me with the sudden-insecurities as we lay in bed and without warning it's not okay for her to be touching me or to tell me good things or for me to share anything remotely personal; to remind me of my own worth, but I really think I'm starting to know it; to value myself even in the face of my parents and their constant attacks--

Oh! Get this! You know how usually I'm too fat for my mom? Well, maybe you don't since I usually try to not talk about weight or body type, but she's nutso and has been making comments since at least high school about my size being too large--no seriously, she has, I already told you: nutso--and sitting me down for talks about the necessity of me being on Atkins and all sorts of crazy. For real, so many other parents (like of my friends) constantly question their children if I have an eating disorder and there's mom, telling me to go on f-ing Atkins. But the other week she called to ask if I could fit into some pants that she doesn't anymore and if she wants me to have her send them to me, but they were too big. Like, by 4 sizes. Or maybe only 2. I'm not good at this stuff, I don't know how sizing works, but regardless, they were too big. She got all huffy like I was lying to her or something. I mean, I got out my work pants, looked at the tags of three different brands and they were all the same size, either 2 or 4 below what she was trying to send me. But that was absolutely unacceptable. How dare I not be the size she's currently telling me to be.

She's just nutso. I mean, I clearly know that I'm not fat. So when she tells me that ridiculousness it's so easy to know that she's just spewing crazy at me and I need to put up my splash guard. But now, I mean, how can she not see herself how much bs she's trying to feed me? It's just so utterly nonsensical that I don't know how to even respond to her.

But yeah, with things not quite so obvious where she may be able to get some spew on me because I'm not prepared with my shield, therapy is good for cleaning up the crazy and reminding me what's real. Also, therapy was absolutely essential when it came to helping me realize and remember that I'm still okay and good and all of that, even without the ex. That was a pretty rough patch for a while...

I'm not sure why I just went on for so long about therapy, but I know one of my original points was that I don't need to therapy-ize every aspect of my life. I don't think I ever knew that before, but there's a part of me that (for once) doesn't want to overanalyze and wants to give living a shot. Let's see what I've learned and believe in myself to live a good and healthy life without the help of a trained professional for $20 a pop once every one to two weeks. If the point of therapy is to teach me that I'm strong and good and capable of living a life on my own, then maybe it's time I own my shit and stop relying on other people and actually go live that life.

Not that I'm going to stop therapy, because I do need the trained professional to deal not only with the literal meaning of "nightmares" but with the whole metaphorical, read-between-the-lines, when I say "nightmares" I really mean everything involved with them, why I have them, what they're about, what happened that's now causing them, on and on...

Yesterday she said "I love you" when I wasn't expecting it, and I needed it. Not only was I okay with hearing it, it felt really good to hear it and she said it right at the perfect time and could tell that I needed to hear it even though I didn't know that's what I wanted or needed. Things with her are really, really good.

She made me breakfast this morning. Such good coffee. Such good.