Sometimes I don't have anything to say. I just sit at my computer, staring at the screen, hoping my thoughts will come together enough to form complete sentences. My therapist, well, ex-therapist, suggested that I open my blog to my entire life, not just Aralyn. Matt, that hot husband of mine, seems to think it's a good idea as well, but what do I say? I've thought about my "followers," and wondered if many will leave, but I don't write for them. At least that's not why I started this blog. I write for me. I need to get back to writing for me. It has become a way to update the masses. In the beginning, it was a way for me to cope. A way for me to make it through the day. Now, it feels like work. No more. Of course I'll still post about Bunny and provide updates, but I am on the track to healing and this is my outlet.
Now onto why my therapist is now my ex-therapist. I'm still processing the mess. I was desperate for help. I knew my PPD was spiraling, so I reached out and found someone to talk to. We'll call her Sue. My first visit with Sue was amazing. She didn't care that I was a hot mess. She didn't care that I was nursing a baby the entire time. She didn't care that I was running late. She just listened. The first visit was pretty basic. Relationships, kids, work, living situation, the easy stuff. Sue mentioned that she's "crunchy," and we agreed on so many levels. I left after an hour and felt like I truly could take control of my life back. I was unstoppable. Then came the second visit. Everything was the same on my side. I was frazzled, nursing a baby, running late, the usual. She took a great interest in Bunny and the session focused around her needs, life challenges, and of course the whole insurance mess. Sue offered some breathing techniques and said she felt that I would be better off having someone step in to help me. If only it were that easy. When I left after that visit, I felt no relief. I cried all the way home and felt defeated. I didn't know what I needed out of the session, but I knew I didn't get it. I was very hesitant to go to my third session because the last one did no good. However, I promised myself and my husband that I would stick with it. I knew it was going to be tough. Within five minutes of my third and last session, Sue began to tell me that the only solution to my life's problems is to put Bunny in a nursing home. I would never get control or relief as long as I'm caring for her. The longer the one-sided conversation went, the more frustrated I became. No. Not happening. Nope. No, ma'am. As long as I have oxygen pumping through my body, I will care for my child, my children. I will not give up on my daughter. The same one who has fought for six miraculous years to defy all odds. So here we are. Sue and I are no more. I broke up with my therapist. That decision gave me more relief than all three of my sessions combined. I'll eventually find another therapist. I tend to use humor and sarcasm as a way of dealing with life, but I also know PPD is serious. My life is hectic. My struggles are real. Trial and error, but I'll get there. Just not with Sue. Until then, I'll continue to offer sarcasm throughout every conversation and allow my awkwardness to take center stage. A girl's got to cope, right?
