The Super Awesome Fun Day

So Monday was AWESOME! AMAZING! I went rock climbing, water skiing, went to Disneyland, and rode rollercoaster riders until I threw up! Really!

Okay, not so much.

Saturday, Matt received the Demand Letter.

Maybe I will consider showing it to you, but I don't know about that. I'm not even comfortable looking at that thing myself let alone waving it around willy-nilly on the internet. (Even if everything is blacked out.)

Saturday night, some guy presses his face against my bedroom window while I stand naked and screaming staring back at him.

Sunday I had a photo shoot. I didn't take the dog out to pee until after 4pm because I was afraid to leave the house. When I finally got on the freeway for the shoot, I drive not, 3 miles and lights and sirens in my rearview. I am composed for exactly 10 seconds before I flip out.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY! LET ME OVER! LET ME OVER! LET ME OVER YOU MOTHER BLEEPING BLEEPING BLEEPING BLEEPER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

(Obviously the vehicle in the next lane wouldn't let me over so I couldn't get away from the stupid CHP and I had a little meltdown.)

Ahem.

Then I sobbed. And sobbed. And so on and so forth. For about... 60 seconds. While I changed from Interstate 80 to 5 South. Then guess what?

LIGHTS AND SIRENS AGAIN.

"LEAVE ME ALONE! WHY WHY YOU LEAVE ME ALONE! IT'S NEVER GOING TO END! OMG IT'S NEVER GOING TO END! DIE! DIE! DIE!"

Second tiny little meltdown of the first 5 minutes of my drive.

It was great.

Then I went through all the things in my head that involve leaving my house and what am I going to do. Because clearly I am never leaving my house again. I am going back to being an agoraphobic and staying put. Yes. Genius.

I do the shoot, it's fine. I get foxtails and stickers all over my butt and legs and shoes and they hurt, so I break my diet for the first time in weeks and get an ice cream cone and a small fry and try to feel better.

I stay up until 5am making sure no one is coming back to my house to break in and begrudgingly allow the dog to poop 6 feet from the front door, an allowance he does not seem to appreciate, and he makes a second donation sometime after I fall asleep in the entry way. At least it was easy to clean up?

So, that's your back story. Now we are to Monday. The Day of Awesomeness. The Day of Fun. The Day I wanted to stab myself with teeny tiny little golf pencils for entertainment because THAT would have been MORE fun than what I did!

Like I said, I was up all night because I was afraid to sleep. Then I was too tired to go to kickboxing. (And too afraid to go anyway. Someone will probably either follow me from the house, OR break in while I'm gone and chop my cats into tiny little pieces.)

11:30am it's time to go to therapy. I hate this woman. She sucks.

I stall. I don't want to go. I am afraid to leave the house, and I am anxious. I don't want to listen to her cheerlead me about how I sent the Demand Letter. I need to talk about how deranged I am and how scared I am, but she sucks at that.

I finally leave at 11:50 or something and arrive about ten minutes late at 12:10pm and I did text her to let her know I was late. I dash out of the car and start to walk in when I see... to my horror....

There's a freaking MAN in the waiting room. What the heck? It's 10 after! All of the appointments should be in already!

As you know, I am afraid of men, I don't want to be touched, I don't want to be talked to, and I do NOT want you anywhere close to me. And this waiting room is tiny. Per usual, I stand outside. A minute passes, then 5. He's still there. I start to cry. I'm paying $35 an hour for therapy with this woman and I can't even go in because I'm being held hostage in the parking lot! This probably happens at least once out of our two sessions each week but usually whatever guy is in there is gone by 5 after. I've now been waiting 15 minutes in the hot parking lot, meaning we are 25 minutes PAST my appointment time.  My hysteria over being late, wasting money, the big white trucks that are the same make and model as Matt's that have now passed by twice are getting to me, plus the proximity to this man- I am overwhelmed. I start crying. I am crying, and pacing and panting about one door down from the office and totally lost as to what to do.

I have turned my back on the door and I am standing there, trying to take deep breaths and calm down. Think rationally. Call the therapist? Text her? Ask for help? What do I do? Can I go in the waiting room? Can I ask her to ask him to leave? Breathe.

Then I feel someone TAP ME ON THE FREAKING SHOULDER.

"Oh, hi! (HUGE SMILE) Did you get here for your appointment early too? I like to be early, How are----"

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Seriously. I ran away screaming. The man from the waiting room came out to where I was trying to fight off a panic attack ONE BUILDING DOWN, SNUCK UP BEHIND ME (what is he? the quiet walker on Seinfeld?) TOUCHED ME, and then talks to me like he's FLIRTING with me?

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I ran like a bat out of hell!

I screamed and ran and hid behind the building across the way and had a full out panic attack and

HAVE NEVER FELT MORE INSANE IN ALL MY LIFE.

Thank you very much.

Then I slid down the 1970's textured wall that had little rocks and pebbles set into it, scratching my back all up so it bled and sat on the sidewalk and cried like a homeless mental patient.

I am so awesome.

Don't you just want to set me up with your brother, friend, or cute neighbor?  I am so cool and hip!

After I spent an additional 10-12 minutes crying/hyperventilating/coming off the panic attack, I sent a hysterical message to my therapist stating what happened and saying that IF I could get back to my car, I was leaving and going home.

I then peeped around the corner, saw no guy, made a run for it, unlocked the car while I ran, jumped in the car, and pealed out so bad that the tires SQUEALED. You know, like in the movies?

I think I drove over the curb trying to flee the Parking Lot of Horrors as well.

Stupid Incompetent Therapist (SIT) texted me to let her know when I got home. I sent her a MORE hysterical message saying I was NEVER going back to that place again and to cancel my appointment for tomorrow and that I was NO WAY IN HE** going back there because it was not safe, and what person in their right mind randomly approaches some woman outside of a psychiatric office in a parking lot? In 100 degree heat? Does this look like the time for The Bachelorette?

After that whacked out message, Miss SIT called me three times, which I did not answer. (Truthfully I could not hear the phone because 1.) It was on vibrate and 2.) I was heaving and sobbing too loudly and 3.) My car is kind of noisy.

When I got home I took a Xanax and a half and laid down and tried to go through my relaxation exercises that Jamie (previous therapist) taught me. I'm not very good at them, but I tried.

Then I got pissed off.

This thing with the guy in the waiting room (no idea if it's the same guy) happens EVERY week. I will arrive, and a man will be sitting in the waiting room. And I won't go in until he leaves. So I stand in the parking lot and wait until he gets called in for his appointment, and then I go in. So I am at least 5 to 10 minutes late EVERY SINGLE TIME even if I arrive on time. Or early. Because I won't go in if there is a man in there.

It has happened every week since I started seeing Miss SIT in April. It never happened with Jamie. It happened so often with SIT that she TOLD me she would be sitting in the office watching and waiting for whatever guy was out there (in the waiting room) to leave because she knew as soon as he did, I would magically appear.

Clearly, she was aware of the issue. I also had a panic attack leaving the office one day because a man was standing in the hallway on the way to the exit and I couldn't get past him without touching him. I started to cry and pant and she didn't do anything. The man saw what was happening and stepped into the administrative offices (he was a patient, looked like maybe for marriage counseling because a lady was there too) to get out of my way and I RAN past him, and then couldn't get out because another therapist was blocking the door!

SIT never addressed the incident at the time, or in our next meeting. We also never discussed or came up with a plan as to how to get me in the office when this happened or for how I could cope with these situations. Why was there not a contingency plan in place? Since she does the text thing, why couldn't I text her I was there and she come OUTSIDE and walk me in, so I could practice walking past the man? Or, teach me coping skills to learn to tolerate being in the waiting room? Why didn't we go out in the waiting room and practice being out there, since it's so uncomfortable?

With Jamie, I had big issues leaving the house, and I'd have panic attacks every time I did. The grocery store was a big problem and I wouldn't walk down an aisle if there was a man there. We went through these visualizations (that I hated) where I would picture the man, and then have to picture things to protect myself (she'd suggest a shield or sword or magic bubble, and I'd say, how about a snow jacket, and four pairs of pants and a shopping cart? I needed things to be real, albeit, impractical) We mentally boxed in scary men in stores with shelving units and locked them away behind security glass from the pharmacy department. We worked on breathing and distraction techniques and "You are safe." and all kinds of things.

Where was SIT in all of that? HUGE ISSUE, in the LOBBY of the THERAPY OFFICE, preventing me from GETTING IN TO MY APPOINTMENT? And we aren't TALKING ABOUT THAT?

Are you KIDDING ME?

I am pissed. I think this was inevitable. Of course this would happen! It was bound to! Not the exact scenario, but that something would happen and that I would freak out. And now what good did it do me? I'm NOT going back there, and I have no way to cope or deal with the situation should it come up again. Nice going, Stupid.

After the break at home and the Xanax I had my first physical therapy appointment for my knee, which I injured four+ years ago running, and basically have early osteoarthritis symptoms coupled with some runner's knee issues. I was late, went to the wrong building and got all wound up again, but I made it and I really like my PT and I let her touch me and do the session and it was OK. It helped that it was my lower body and not my chest or anything. That felt safer I guess.

Then I felt like I still needed to binge on something (I've been so good for so long, but yesterday was just... ARGH!) so I tried to get Cheetos at the Rite Aid across from the PT. NO CHEETOS IN THE ENTIRE STORE!!!! I couldn't believe it!

So I got Charlie a special squeaky toy he likes to play with at the park and had never been able to find anywhere to buy one of his own, and extra strength deodorant, because while at PT, I noticed I smelled rank. Perhaps from all the running and crying and squatting in alleys like a homeless person.

I stand in line for almost 10 minutes, it's my turn, I start to walk up, and a man darts in from the side and cuts in front of me and like 3 other people.

So I throw all my stuff on the floor (ok, in a basket) and stomp out.

ARGH!

And then I really fell off the sobriety wagon and bought hummus at Target on the way home. I just couldn't handle it anymore.

My New Therapist

is most definetly not working for me right now.

 I am so frustrated I am bawling in the car on the way home each time.

I went to a yoga class the other day (YES! Whole other post on that!), and as they made me relax in the class with all of that deep breathing crap, I was SO incredibly tense (which I didn't even really realize I was), I started CRYING in the CLASS. Not because I was overwhelmed with anxiety (which is the usual cause), but because I absolutely could NOT hold it in for one more second when she kept telling me to drop my shoulders, release my muscles and just LAY THERE.

Seriously could not handle it and lost my beans.

And what I kept thinking in the class was... this damn therapist is driving me crazy. She doesn't get me at all. In our first meeting she said to me, "I don't think you're depressed anymore! Look at you, you're laughing!"

WTFreak!?

Since when was that a qualifer for depression? And you're known me for an HOUR?!

Guess what she did in the second hour of knowing me?! She asked me.... cover your eyes conservative ladies...

She ASKED me, straight out and totally randomly, "So, do you masturbate?"

WHAT THE HELL?

I told her I went to the gym for the first time (and started crying) and she said, "Oh Emily, you're going to make me cry too!"

Hello, BOUNDARIES? I am your patient, not your friend! I'm sorry, but I think that is TOTALLY inappropriate for a mental health professional!

She also said to me on our last meeting, when we were discussing the length of my care for the future, and she said, "Well, you know this door is always open if you feel like you need it." And, "With my really depressed patients, we have an emergency plan and sign an agreement, and meet three times a week." Which to me says, you don't really need therapy, and I'm just entertaining you with this whole thing because you're needy or something.

Ok, not even in the beginning, when all I thought about was drinking nail polisher remover (don't ask me why, because even I don't know) and stabbing my legs with a screwdriver (or was it a pencil? Paige? Do you remember?), and driving into freeway overpasses, and looking up which of the pills they had perscribed me I could overdose on without vomitting and being in pain and agony while I waited to die for hours and hours... (the answer to that would be NONE that I could find, if you were wondering), OH, and driving into trees on the way up to the Reno airport, even in the midst of all THAT I was not even seeing someone ONCE a week at times! Until I found my last therapist, when I got a regular, once a week visit, until it occured to me that it would be okay to ask her to meet twice, and that's been my routine ever since.

I would have LOVED and probably really would have benefited from that level of care, but uh, no one told me that was an option! The best I got was a call from Kaiser making sure I hadn't killed myself if I didn't show up for a psychiatric appointment. (Which really impressed me at the time.)

I'm sorry if I am not open and forthcoming right off the bat. I don't know you, or trust you and obviously, I have MAJOR trust issues. MAJOR. Yeah, MAJOR.  Did you not hear my story?!

I sat in every one of my sessions with Jamie (last therapist) and bawled my eyes out. I'd cry on the way to therapy just thinking about what we would have to talk about! With this woman, I cry on the way out, totally wound up, super tense, and wanting to scream because we did not talk about what I wanted to talk about!

She twists everything back around to my childhood, she asks questions about things that are not in the direction I want to go.

For instance: I was telling her something about being affectionate with Matt, or how touch freaks me out now- something along those lines, and she asked, "Well were your parents really affectionate with you, or were you affectionate as a child?" And that started me off on this whole other tangent about my growing up, and how when I was 6 I was in love with my mother (as many 6 years old can be), and had to kiss her cheeks so many times on each side before I could fall asleep and the last words before I went to bed had to be "I love you" and how it drove my siblings crazy because it was so obnoxious and obsessive. (This may have only gone on a week or a month, I don't remember, i just remember them giving me crap for it and teasing me).

First of all, what does that have to do with anything? Why does that matter? If it does matter, why didn't you somehow lead the conversation into showing me how it related, because I was not seeing that. Second of all, she ended the session by referencing the whole "in love with my mother thing" (again, when I was IN KINDERGARTEN) by saying, "Well [chuckle] we are going to be working on THAT!"  Like there was something wrong with it! She was joking, but the joke she was expressing was that there was something really wrong with my behavior as a kindergartner and I was just so incredibly ridiculous to not recognize it.

Again, WTH?

She has also repeatedly asked me to bring in the magazines I've been published in. At first I was like, yeah, sure, will-do. But then I thought about it.... Why would I be bringing them in? Is this for me? Or for YOU? I don't want to waste my therapy time on looking over magazines with you! I can't afford to pay my bills right now and my time with you is practically a luxury- why would I be wasting this time which is supposed to be for bettering myself and helping me move on, with LOOKING AT BRIDAL MAGAZINES?

It makes me think of the first therapist I saw privately (outside of my insurance) after this happened, and she walked me to my car so she could see a picture of Matt I had in my backseat. She wanted to see what he looked like. My mom (who is an MFT) said, "Why does what he look like matter?"

And you know what, it DOESN'T. Just like the magazines. It DOESN'T matter. So why am I doing it?

She also yawns constantly throughout the whole session or is trying to cover it, which I try desperatly to ignore, but I think it's rude. Drink a cup of coffee if you're having that much of an issue staying awake at NOON.

She comments constantly on my tardiness (I am chronically 5 minutes late), which really makes me feel self-concious and frankly, upset, but I am DOING THE BEST I CAN. Making it here at all is a huge effort because I am, NEWSFLASH, depressed! I don't sleep, my eating patterns are erradic, I am afraid to out out places, the agoraphobia is still totally an issue, I have panic attacks on a regular basis, and if I'm not having them, it's because I'm not going anywhere!

So why haven't I dumped her and gone elsewhere?

Because finding a therapist is exhausting.
Because it took me 2 months after that horrible day in August to even find someone to begin with. Because I strongly feel I need to be "supervised" so that I am safe.
If I have a crisis, I honestly cannot guarantee what kind of thoughts I will have or the "plans" I will make.
Because calling people is exhausting and anxiety-provoking to me.

It is too much.

She has also offered to help me with some things no one else has, and I'm afraid if I seek help elsewhere, I won't get that assistance.  (SMH)

I read some portion of my blog for her the other day, and she asked me to show her "what a blog looked like" because she didn't know. I hesitated, but turned the computer around. She asked. I obeyed. It's just what I do at this point a lot of the time. I submit to authority because I'm freaked out. But now I'm freaked out she was just reading the address bar to find out the website for this blog! I don't want her reading this! That is WAY over the line!

I did email a therapist about EMDR, and she does it on a sliding scale, but she wanted my number so she could call me and that was just way too much.

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I am just frustrated, and obviously, really needed to vent. Maybe it will get better, or maybe I will get braver and move on from her to someone else. Or brave to speak up.

It also really bugs me everytime I cry in session she goes, "The tissues are right behind you."

Does my crying make you uncomfortable? Because that's what my mom told me to say to her, and I'm about to ask it.

Offering a tissue may seem a lame thing to get huffy about, but think about this: Therapy is supposed to be your "safe place" where you can say anything and express your emotions fully. Cry, scream, shout, laugh, whatever- without judgment. If I am in the middle of pouring my heart out, and sobbing, and you say, "The tissues are behind you," this communicates to me, Oh crap. I gotta clean myself up. I went too far. I wipe my tears and try to stop myself from letting it out.

But isn't that THE ENTIRE POINT OF THERAPY?!!!!!!

New Therapist

I said goodbye to Jamie, my therapist of 18 months about 10 days ago. She had called in sick her last week I was supposed to see her and I had to wait TWO WEEKS from when she was supposed to see me until I could actually see her. And I was supposed to get two more sessions and I only got one. (I am bitter about this, hence I must mention it. Maybe then I will stop being bitter? I got gypped!)

Anyway, I cried, and she got teary eyed at our last session and I gave her an engraved keychain. I'll have to look up the quote. I have one just like it on my keychain with a different quote. Mine says, "Be Brave enough to hold on to the hope that life will be beautiful again."

A couple months ago I was looking down at that keychain and just KNEW I needed to send it to my client who was widowed. I hurried and got it in the mail, and it turns out that it arrived within a day or two of her one year anniversary.  I also sent her something for her baby's room, who was born after she lost her husband. You can read their story by clicking on the "Help our Special Family" link on the sidebar.

Anyway, I gave Jamie the keychain and I asked if I could hug her (it felt incomplete walking out like she wanted to hug me, and I kind of wanted to, so finally I asked as I was walking out) and then we said goodbye. I cried hard in the car.

It is just so hard because she has been with me since the beginning. She knows my whole story, all of the ups and downs (well, more than most people know, maybe not all of it. I don't think any one knows all of it except Matt and I). and has always patiently listened to me. That means a lot. My family wouldn't do it. I had to pay someone to. That makes me sad. And miss her more.

So, yesterday I saw my new therapist, Julie for the first time. So far I like her. She does seem to have the same style as Jamie and I didn't find it difficult to talk to her. Actually I felt really needy having only been to therapy once in what, like 3 weeks? That's a long time for me. I think that's the longest I have gone without seeing anyone. I have been doing good, but stuff has been building up so I exploded a little in there. (Waterworks).

I see her again on Monday. Hopefully it keeps going good. I don't want to have to search for someone new and I know I really need this still. Actually, they keep reccomending EMDR therapy to me for the PTSD but I can't afford it... It should help me move along faster, it really should help with the panic attacks and nightmares and anxiety, but it's expensive. I'm not going to find anyone that will pro-rate it like my regular therapy. They've been reccomending it to me since like 2 weeks after I found out everything.

Pbbt.

The Collage Project

As therapy homework, my therapist had me make a collage of my life with Matt. The life as I knew it to be and what was really going on. It was a way to really "fuse" the two lives, the two people together. The hardest thing I have struggled with these last 18 months is realizing on an emotional level that Matt T., the man I loved and planned to spend my life with was the same person as that sociopath who lived a double life and was married to someone else the entire time he was in a relationship with me and talking about our wedding and having kids and saying he hoped I would be the only person he would ever be intimate with for the rest of his life.  (As he walked out my door and presumably picked up his baby from daycare and crawled into bed with his wife of 2 years.) Realizing these two people are one in the same- I guess intellectually I know they are because I can say it. Matt T. is the same person as Matt L. But... when I think of my Matty, he is dead to me. He's not sitting in his cute little track house 10 minutes away from me right now with his wife and kids. Because that's...pure lunacy. Who the freak could do that? You are pooping me right now if you think I'm going to believe you that THAT GUY that I was with for a YEAR AND A HALF is in a house TEN MINUTES AWAY with his wife and not one, but TWO kids, RIGHT THIS SECOND. That's insane.

No, he died. His soul died.

(Hello, denial. Nice to see you again.)

So, I made this collage. I blacked out parts that are too personal or things that were emailed to me by other people (ie, people who helped expose him at the time, and therefore the images aren't "owned" by me and shouldn't be circulated online), but the rest are images taken during our relationship or images he sent me while we were together. There are also notes he sent me, love letters and other stuff. The first layer of the poster is all love letters I sent him. I sewed them to the board with a blanket stitch, and then the board was too thick so I stapled them in the middle. They were mostly all written at the very end of our relationship when he was "so depressed" and claimed to be suidcidal and was having dreams about death and told me he had lost his job with the CHP. They are filled with words of encouragement and love, and sometimes anger for him not stepping up to the plate and getting it together. He never received them. Sometimes I think about ding dong ditching them on his porch, or covering them in dog poop and setting them on fire (a childhood trick my dad told me about once!). Mostly I wish he just had them so he knew what he put me through. I had to crawl behind my armoire to get them as after I found out the truth I couldn't look at them, and yet couldn't bear to through them away so I threw them back there, which is where they have sat, untouched all this time. I cried and cried as I sat on the floor, on my hands and knees and pulled them out one by one from behind the armoire. My therapist asked me if I opened them or read them, but I couldn't. It would have been too painful. I still can't imagine doing so.

After that I layered the pictures, text messages and notes we wrote each other. I even have our first communications to each other on the board. I put them right next to the date of his daughter's birth. She was born February 10th, 2009. He emailed me for the first time February 21st, 2009. He was cruising dating websites while his newborn baby was at home and his wife was still recovering from birth. As I re-read those messages, I realized that he had not taken off any time from work when she was born either. He says in the messages he is writing me from work. My brother and brother in law both took at least 2 weeks if not 6 weeks of paternity leave when their children were born, especially their FIRST children. This was his first child and he had a very well paying job with great vacation and sick leave pay. He took no time off. 10 days after his first child's birth he was back at work, on a dating website, which he was paying a subscription for, and writing me letters. His head was in a totally different place than that of a husband and father.  No wonder I can't unite the two identities- he wasn't living his true identity even in his "real life."

The pictures of him getting the tattoo and of him in the orange shirt were taken in  Hawaii that April. He told me he was on a guy's trip with his best friend. Really he was there with his wife, newborn baby and his inlaws. When I went through the pictures again for this project I realized I could see his father in law's wedding ring and hand in one of the shots he had sent me of a fancy drink he had ordered while there. Let's picture this:

You're in Hawaii on vacation with your family.
Your wife sits next to you with your 2.5 month old baby girl.
Your mother in law and father in law sit across the table from you.
You order a cool looking drink.
You take a picture of it... and.... text it to some girl you're trying to hook up with back home... while you're sitting next to your wife... and across from your in laws... at the same table.

How is that for ballsy?

Can we say WTF?

The picture I have of him getting that tattoo? He said it was in memorium of his friend who died on the job, that he was plowed down by a drunk driver after pulling over someone on a rainy night on the side of the road. He went so far as to play me the song they played at the guy's funeral.

The tattoo is of his daugher's name.

I would assume his wife or in-law's took the picture.

Which he texted me.

While he was on vacation.

With his wife.

Right.

Just trying to keep this straight.

Anyway, the engagement rings you see were parts of ads I had torn out of magazines and had put on my fridge to show him the next time he came. He told me I had about a one month's salary budget, so $10,000 or so. Those ads have sat on my fridge for the last 18 months. Untouched. He never saw them because he never came back to my house again. Time just froze here. I finally cut them up for this project.

The top right are the messages I received on August 3rd, 2010 which exposed him and confirmed the details I had pieced together. Immediately below this is a love letter I wrote him just days before that says on the outside, "No more kissing frogs because I've found my prince!"

The letter in the middle is the results of the citizen's complaint I filed with the CHP against him.

The bottom right is the topper to this blog at present. Next to it is a message he sent me: "You should not give up on [sic] dreams just for some guy."  There are a whole series of messages from him along the same tone and message on the board because I told him I wanted to wait until we were married to be intimate and he was very supportive of that. But truly, it doesn't matter what we were talking about. The message he wrote me is universal to life and that's why I included it.

As I went through the poster with my therapist (it took two hours/two sessions), when I got to this part,  I told her how I had put this picture and this note next to each other on purpose. I heard myself saying, "He's right. I shouldn't give up on what I want out of my life just because of what he did to me."

The therapist paused and then said very quietly, "I've never heard you say anything like that before."
"Say it again.'

I start to cry. ..

I stumbled through it again through my tears.  "I shouldn't give up on my hopes and dreams just because of what he did to me."

-"Again."

"I should give up on what I want because of what he did." I sobbed it out this time.

It was so hard but it was so true and so profound.

I think that's what they call "The Breakthrough."

****************

I got a call from my therapist yesterday canceling my appointment for today because she's sick and changing out last appoinment ever to a phone appointment. I was not exactly thrilled. So we have one appointment left. Great. Just great.

And now I'll be walking alone.

I walked into my second therapy session of the week this afternoon (I go twice a week, Mondays at 3pm and Tuesdays at 1pm) and sat down to bad news.

My therapist who I have been with for almost a year and a half, the woman who has been with me since the beginning of my nightmare is leaving.

Her husband is in graduate school and has been living in another town about 45 minutes- an hour away since last summer or so. She has been commuting from that town to here, stays with her family or in-laws Monday-Wednesday and sees patients and then goes home to be with her husband. A couple of months ago she cut her schedule back to just Mondays and Tuesdays and condensed all of her appointments into those two days.

Today she told me she has accepted a position close to home and we will have to say goodbye in just two weeks.  We only have four sessions left before she goes. 

I was VERY upset.

I can't say I didn't see it coming, I did. How can you sustain a relationship with all that time apart every week and all of that driving? She must feel like she intrudes on her in laws by staying with them every week too. I can't imagine that being super awesome no matter how close her family is, and I don't know anything about her family. (Obviously. She's my therapist. You're not supposed to talk about her personal stuff. It's not professional. It's all me, me, me in there.)

I knew it was coming, but I still didn't feel prepared and how fast it's going to happen was a bit of a shock. I sat in the car and cried afterwards. I just felt like I have been doing so much better lately and this feels like a huge set back. This is the biggest support person I have in my life now and I'm going to lose her. It feels a little like being abandoned. I know I'm not, I know she's a professional and this is her job, but, it just feels that way. I don't want her to go away... I depend on her!

After I lost Matt, it took me a long time to find a therapist. Kaiser could not offer me the kind of support I needed and once they kicked me out of outpatient (there's a limit to how long you can be in it) and then out of the outpatient support groups (another limit) there wasn't really any where for me to "go." The most a therapist could see me was once every 6 weeks. I could sit on an emergency list in case anyone canceled (and I could take their appointment), but that was it. There wasn't a support group that really fit me. I couldn't be with the bereavement/grief groups- no one had died. I could go to a depression support group, but I was devastated and traumatized, I needed more. I could go to a relationship support group- but it was mixed sex and I didn't want to talk about that, I didn't need relationship support, my relationship was over. That was kind of the point. I took classes and attended support groups for anxiety, depression and PTSD and tried to find a therapist outside of Kaiser. Everyone was so expensive. I called every place they reccomended to me and I still couldn't afford it. I sat in my house, under the covers and cried. I didn't shower for weeks. I stopped eating.

Finally my mom came to visit in September and went through the directory and came up with a list of non-profits that would work with me on a sliding scale. It still took me another month of hiding in my house and crying, making appointments with therapists that were too expensive and who I didn't mesh with before I finally found my current therapist. I was so relieved to have found her and I was a mess when I finally got in. It had been almost two months and after spending so much time either sitting and staring or crying curled up in a ball in my bed, hiding from the world- I was such a mess. My appointments with her first and foremost got me out of the house. That was huge. What she did for me emotionally is indescribable.

I love her, she helps me, she makes me feel validated and supported. I dread the idea of starting over with someone new. Where do I even begin? Do I have to start all over? She wants to transition me to someone else in the office, but what do we do, go back to the beginning? This lady wouldn't know my heart, what I'd been through, how far I'd come, what still hurts me and what to be careful of.

It's daunting. But am I really ready to quit therapy? Probably not.

I just don't want her to go and I am sad. :(

Remembering...

I'm starting to remember weird things about being in the house. Things I didn't remember before, things that seem and feel meaningless. I didn't really get it. Why is this coming up now?

I talked about it with my therapist and she said this was a good thing. She said that my brain is starting to process what happened. Instead of just thinking about it and it all passing by in a huge, scary blur, punctuated by massively terrifying or traumatizing or upsetting highlights, I'm starting to actually slow it down... watch it as it really happened. She said this was part of the process and this is a great development. She also said I should start writing everything I remembered down so I could continue to process it.


I remember standing in the driveway two doors down from their house, talking on the phone with my friend Colette. I was afraid to do it, and she was trying to encourage me that it would be okay, and that this was the right thing to do. What was the worst that could happen? We made a plan for her to check in with me over text or phone in about 15 minutes. If I didn't answer, she was to call the police. I gave her the address of where I was at. I also communicated with my friend Vince (I don't remmeber how) and had him do the same thing, take down the address, and watch the clock.

I remember standing there on the phone, in this neighbor's driveway, pacing. Somebody in the house next door was outside, trimming his lawn with one of those hand operated things- the quiet ones, not the machine. I think.  He was doing something with the lawn, but it wasn't loud. He was white and had dark hair I think.

I paced and panted in the driveway for awhile and kept peeking at the house, unsure if someone was in there, or what I should do.

I finally hung up the phone with Colette and walked over. When I got to the porch, I hesitated again. I started trembling a little and I remember starting to sweat. I had jeans on and this navy blue shirt from Down East that had lace on the bottom. I had pinned my hair up with a clip on top of my head. I forgot to take it down; I'm sure it looked stupid.

I stood on the porch and shifted my weight back and forth. I listened to hear if anybody was in there. I couldn't tell. I remember being really hot. Sweating. I hesitated a couple more times knocking or ringing the bell before I finally rang the bell. At least, I think I rang the bell. I remember staring at the bell for a long time.

It took a long time for her to come to the door. It felt like forever, but it was at least a few minutes. I could hear her rustling around in the house, moving around. I stepped to the side and I remember leaning against this pillar on their porch. I remember noticing Matt's white sneakers on the steps. There were some other things out there. Maybe a green plastic child's bucket. But mostly I remember the shoes. I remember wondering if they were those bright white sneakers he wore on our first date that I had hated. I felt annoyed to see them there. More evidence that I was right, I guess.

I leaned against that pillar, out of sight of the peephole. I didn't know who was in the house and I was afraid if it was Matt and he saw me out there that he wouldn't open the door. If it was him I didn't want him to know it was me. I stared up at the ceiling of the porch and closed my eyes and tried to breathe. Finally the door opened.

Sydney was standing there, I think the baby was clinging to her leg. She had a spaghetti string tank top on and pants that didn't really fit. Mostly I looked at her face... and the baby. When I looked at her, I looked at someone who sort of looked like myself. She had glasses and dark hair.

"Are you Sydney?"

She nodded her head.  "Yeah."

She had this questioning look on her face. I asked her if she could step outside and talk to me. She said "Okay, " or "sure" or something. Still questioning. I wonder now what she was thinking when she saw me standing there. Face all red from crying, shaking and trembling and shifting from one leg to the other standing on her porch. I probably looked like a wreck. If I didn't already, then I was about to.

"Can someone take the baby?" I asked. I didn't want the baby to hear or see her react, and I didn't know how she would take it.

She said no, and I asked if she was home alone and she said yes. She picked the baby up and put her on her hip.  She opened the door a little wider when she picked up the baby and I could see a little bit of the hallway, but I wasn't really looking there.

As soon as she said she was alone I couldn't look at her anymore. "Okay," I said, relieved. I didn't realize until that moment how afraid I had been that Matt was still back in the house somewhere I couldn't see. I looked up at the ceiling again and exhaled and said,  "This is going to be awkward."

Then I launched into it.

"For the last year and a half I have been dating this guy. It's been great, we were crazy in love and it has been just wonderful."

I can hear myself say that in my head. And then it's a blur. And then the end. " He started acting really strange, and I found out he's been lying to me... I think he's been lying to me. I think he's married. He told me his name was Matt T-- but I think his name is really  L--"

I had looked at the wall, the ceiling, the door, the doorbell the entire time I was talking, stammering all of this out. I remember my whole body flushing and feeling so hot. My voice shook as I talked. I just couldn't look at her though. When I finished, I finally glanced back up to her face and she just stared at me. There wasn't even a look of shock, she just.... stared. The baby was quiet, she was quiet, and we just stared at each other. She stood in the doorway with the baby on her hip and just stared. I didn't know what to say. Finally I opened my mouth again and said, "I have pictures."

Then she spoke. " I need to see them. NOW." The rage was just exploding out of her at every word. She was the one shaking now, but with anger, not fear. (Like I was.)

Then it's blank again. And I don't remember what happened. I remember once I turned away off the porch I began to shake and cry hard. Hysterically even. I had my arms crossed over my chest as I walked back to my car to get my purse. It was full of pictures, love letters, his tie that he had left at my house after court one day. A little scrapbook album of his love notes and pictures of us.

When I walked back to the house (I had parked around the corner so if it was Matt at home that he wouldn't see my car out front) I frantically went through the little cardboard Target sleeve of pictures I had had printed of the two of us. I was looking for the least incriminating one. In all of the pictures of us together he is always looking at me, so lovingly. His eyes just... sparkled. He looked delighted to be looking at me. In the other ones we were kissing. I found one of us just smiling looking at the camera, lying down on my bed and held it out as I crossed their driveway, stepped over their little row of hedges and back on to the porch. As I handed it to her, the baby squealed, "DA-da!" and took the picture from her.

Sydney looked down at the picture and said "Come in," calm now.

As I walked in, as I was literally stepping over the threshold, she asked, "What number do you have for him?"

I stumbled through my phone to get it, and not show her the last text I had from him. I showed her the number and read it as I did and she shook her head and said, "Yep, that's his number."

She put the baby down and marched over to her phone. It was sitting on a bar stool in the hallway in front of their computer. I was struck looking at her iphone. She and Matt had a matching set. I wondered if they had gotten some deal for getting two, and realized they shared a phone plan, among so many other things.

She picked up the phone and dialed, while the baby starting singing "Da-da!" holding that picture of him and I, running around gleefully.

Sydney started screaming and cursing into the phone. She had called him. "Get your f****ing a** home right now!" I could hear mumbling on the other end. She screamed something else and then, "Your f****ing girlfriend is here! You want to tell me why your F****ING GIRLFRIEND IS HERE? Get your f****ing a** home right now!"

Then it's all a blur again.

One of the new things I remembered was she called someone else too. She made a series of phone calls but this one I forgot. Somebody was supposed to come over for dinner that night. It sounded like a couple or a family. She told them they would have to cancel and made all the niceities on the phone. She said something had come up.

It was really strange to remember that because I really had no memory of it at all until like a week ago. Such a mundane, unimportant detail and suddenly the memory was there like it had always been there. But it was new to me. I can see her standing in the hall looking down at the phone to call and then talking.

At another point, she picked up the baby again and got a little too close to the wall and the baby grabbed a framed picture of herself, a big 8x10 on a blue background and pulled it off and it smashed to the floor. I hadn't remembered that either.

I remember staring at the fishtank next to her and being so mad. Matt had told me he had a Nemo and Dory fish. The tank was filthy dirty- all green and covered in algae and looking like it hadn't been cleaned in a long time. I looked at the tank and felt so mad. I knew he had the freaking fish in this house but I hadn't known about HER?

Just now as I write this I remember telling her about the blanket I had made his dog, Megan. I had emboirdered it with her name on it, and it had a pink satin blanket binding on it.  She looked at me blankly- he had never brought it home I guess. I wondered if he had dumped it in a trash bin on the way home after I gave it to him. I wondered where it was. I had worked so hard on it and it was probably in a dumpster somewhere.

I said something about texting and she asked "What kind of texting?"

"What do you mean?"

"What kind of texting? Sexting?" Some other questions.
I was embarrassed and stammered out a "No, normal texts, like 'Hi' 'How are you' 'I love you' 'Have a good day'."  That wasn't entirely true though and it went alot further than "Hi" in all honesty. He was my boyfriend, we were going to get married and didn't see each other often. I was so embarrassed.


I can't write about this anymore.

I look at this picture and I just don't see this man who was going home to this woman when he left me. It just confuses me. It boggles my mind. I look at him and I see my Matty, the man I loved and who was so great to me.

I'm on my old computer right now because my regular laptop broke and I found this letter I wrote him in April of 2010 for our anniversary. I don't know if I gave it to him or not. Probably. I edited some parts out because they are too personal, and the original is in a handwriting font and covered in little hearts...but here's most of it:

 I love you because…

You make me laugh.


You are sweet and loving to me.


I know you will make a wonderful husband and an amazing dad.






 I love you, because you love me. I love you because you accept me for who I am, and do not judge me or criticize me.


I love you because you make me feel safe. Nothing bad could ever happen as long as I have you to protect me.






I love your giggle, smile and laugh. I can’t help but grin and laugh when I hear it.






 I love you because when I look at you, I see my future.






I love your rainbow eyes, and I love nothing more than to lay on your chest and listen to your heart beat.






 Before we even met, I had such high hopes for us. And every moment more I spend with you, the more my heart swells with all of those hopes.






I love you because you support me and believe in me and in my dreams.






I love that you are responsible, hardworking and dedicated. I love that we share the same morals and values. I know I can always count on you to do what is right.






I love how you hold my hand, and how you look at me. I love your intelligence, your wit, and your sense of humor. I love your arms around me. I love how your eyes pierce mine.






Sometimes I feel like you can see inside my soul. Sometimes I think you know my thoughts before I’ve even spoken them. I love you because you know me.


I’ve loved you more, and more deeply than I have ever loved anyone. My connection with you overpowers my senses. From the tips of my toes through my entire body I can feel my love for you. When I see you, my whole body smiles. I can’t keep a grin off my face when I am with you.






I love you, because you make me happy. You are my partner, my lover and my friend.


I love you.






 Love,


Emily 4/9/2010





PS: How ‘bout THEM apples? Hee hee hee…



 His wedding anniversary would have been a month after I wrote this.

Personal Advice

Three different friends, independently, have now come to me in the last week or two and have said, in one way or another, I need to move on. After talking about this very phenomenon with the third person, a fourth popped up.

Give me a freakin' break people. Ugh... What is this? Groundhog Day?

One said she would like to physically shake me and told me I needed to snap out of it. Because I was "too pretty, and too smart" to have a panic attack in a grocery store.

Two said, basically, this is sucking up too much time, there isn't anything more you can do, move it along and live your life.

Another said you need to forgive him.

One of these statements left me fantasizing (intensely) about driving into telephone polls and freeway overpasses. I had to go home, go in my room, shut the door and sleep for hours to make it go away. If that's where I have to be, if that's what I have to do, I would rather be dead. I had to shut myself down to make those thoughts stop.

Another conversation, I sat across the table from them and internally sighed. I hadn't even ever really talked to this person about anything regarding this. What spurred on this conversation was their comment on how great I seemed to be doing. So I had to respond with explaining, that actually, it was a little more complicated that that, and gave an update. Then she launched into what equated to verbal vomit. I began mentally taking notes... Do not ever talk to this person again about this subject... they are not someone you should confide in. They can't handle it. It's just too much for them. It's upsetting for them.

Another... so patient, so angry, for me. But probably just done. It's not like I don't feel it too. I've been done with this for months. For a year. I was done with it the day I found out. I wanted to delete it from my brain then. But I can't.

With everyone, I wonder... What more is living my life supposed to look like? What more do you want me to do for it to count as "life" to you? What qualifies?

As of now, I work every day. I shoot, I edit. I correspond with clients and editors every day. I do things for other people. I'm being published in two more magazines this year.

I go to the dog park almost every day. I have a crew of dog park friends I associate with. I even know some of their names, instead of just their dog names. (Shocker, I know. If you've ever been to a dog park, you'd understand how phenomenal that is.) I'm also starting to work on training the dog finally. I got a Gentle Leader to help with the out of control pulling and have been parking far away from the park and walking in with him to work on it. I've also started bringing high-value treats in the car (fat-free hot dogs) to get to him lay down on his seat and stop barking like a lunatic. Previously I had done nothing to work on these behavioral issues.

I am redecorating my house. I want to make my house a home. I am trying to make it look different from when Matt was in my life. I am trying to stop waiting for him to come home and stop making my house a frozen pane of the moment he left. I'm trying to make it different. I changed my shower curtain, replacing the one I've had for the last 4.5 years with a much-coveted one from Urban Outfitters. (Yes, the pricey ruffled one. And yes, I bought a knock off first and it was awful.) I spent weeks shopping for fabric online (and attempted to in-store as well only to find all the fabric stores in Sac had gone out of business) and have started sewing slipcovers for my decorative pillows for my couches in new colors. I got big wood cut outs of words I like: "breathe" for the bathroom, "think" for the bookshelf and "bake" for the kitchen off etsy to display. I've designed and created artistic signs with inspirational sayings to display in the house, and ordered a few special art prints as well. I even got a new quilt on clearance for my bed, in a new color. (Coral).

I'm taking German. I signed up for two classes, French and German, but after finding the French class to be full of 17 and 18 year olds and the couresework full of busywork like making a 3 ring binder as part of your grade, I dropped it. (Especially since I already took three years of French and this was review for fun.) I'm in my third week of German. I had to have a meeting with the professor about my anxiety about men and she is accomodating me. But that means I can stay in the class. It is a huge challenge, but I want to stay and I am trying really hard to stay despite my anxiety.

Part of the reason why I signed up for classes is because I want to get my master's degree and I want to make some contacts in the college world again so I can get reference letters when I apply.  Although the grades may not raise my g.p.a. (I've heard repeatedly from a friend your g.p.a. freezes once you graduate, but I'm not quite sure how that works when you've attended multiple schools...) it may demonstrate I'm capable of schoolwork in a different capacity than I was 7 years ago when I was an undergrad.

I am seriously planning on moving to Colorado, probably Denver. This will of course depend on whether I get into school there. I get daily real estate updates from a particular realtor out there.  I also check the apartments for rent on Craig's List regularly and am trying to get to know the neighborhoods. For the last couple of months I have researched different wedding blogs in the "middle" states and have found one specific to Colorado to advertise on. Hopefully I can start building my business out there now. Even if I don't move there, having more out of state business rather than only specific to Sacramento will make an out of state transition easier. I've also concentrated advertisements in other states with programs I want to apply to.

I go to therapy two days a week, rain or shine, and I work on my stuff. I love my therapist and she helps so much.

I've been trying to go for awhile, and I have made it once or twice.... I did it again today. Yes, I did it. I went to the gym. That place I spend a fortune to have a membership to and have gone to... four whole times in the last year. I genuinely worked out today. I did the treadmill, the elliptical, free weights and machine weights. I also parked in the far corner of the parking lot for extra exercise.

All of that said.... What more does "living my life" look like people? Do I need to go down to the local bar and get trashed? Do I need to go to church? (Don't answer that one. No! Shhh!) Do I need a boyfriend? What exactly do you want me to do? What would make you more comfortable in dealing with me while I grieve?

Which is the bottom line, and what I have talked twice to my therapist about now. My reaction, mostly, to these comments has been a deeeeeep sigh and "I guess this isn't someone I can confide in anymore" feeling. My therapist corrects me on that.

What SHE says is I am hearing these people wrong. What I should be hearing is this: "I care about you, I want to help you, but I don't know what to do about it." That's the bottom line from her. The continuation of that statement, the explanation for why these comments or discussions are coming up are: "We are uncomfortable with your grief and don't know what to do with it. So maybe we can just fix it and make it go away and then we can all feel better.  PHEW!"

Except it doesn't work like that. Everybody works on their own timeline, everyone grieves in their own way. You can't grieve too fast or too slow. You skip through the steps and that's how you end up having things blow up in your face a few years down the road. That's how I ended up bawling my eyes out during my first woman's exam, (much to my own surprise) and trying to deal with an assault from when I was 10 years old.  The first relationship I was ever in... it revolved completely around that assault. Something that happened over a decade before and left me incredibly insecure and with a whole lot of issues I didn't even realize I had.  Because I never dealt with it when it happened. I tried to... a little bit. But it was too much. So I swept it under the rug and pretended it never happened. I stuffed my face, gained a bunch of weight and made sure I kept everyone away from me. Perfect solution, right?  So there I was, 20, 21 and trying to date for the first time and completely freaking out over problems that should have been taken care of 10 years before.

I would prefer to not drag this out over the next decade. I don't want to be like Matt. I don't want to be the creepy guy, pretending I wasn't in a serious relationship with someone for a year and a half that was hugely traumatic. I want to deal with it, take care of it and be okay. There is only one way to do that.

And it isn't pretty.

I'm sorry if you don't like it. I'm sorry if you're sick of hearing about it. I appreciate you being here, but if you have to go... Okay. Go. Yeah, it's depressing around here. But that's how this stuff works! This is what you do! If I don't write it out here, where would you like me to put it? I write it, I say it,  so it doesn't stay in me.  If it stays in me, it boils up and consumes me and there's not any room for anything else. If I can get it out... file it away here... throw it in a bag with some dog crap and set it on fire... maybe I won't have to look at it again. Maybe it will go away. It took me a whole year to get angry and it was HARD. Really hard.

The Five Stages of Grief, referred to me over and over again by friends, psychiatrist, psychologists... the Kubler-Ross model may provide insight as to where I have been hanging out the last year. Can you guess?

(It was originally written for people dying but is currently considered applicable to anyone going through a catastrophic or traumatic event. The references here are to death.) 

1. Denial — "I feel fine."; "This can't be happening, not to me."
   Denial is usually only a temporary defense for the individual. This feeling is generally replaced with heightened awareness of possessions and individuals that will be left behind after death.
2. Anger — "Why me? It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"; '"Who is to blame?"
   Once in the second stage, the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue. Because of anger, the person is very difficult to care for due to misplaced feelings of rage and envy.
3. Bargaining — "I'll do anything for a few more years."; "I will give my life savings if..."
   The third stage involves the hope that the individual can somehow postpone or delay death. Usually, the negotiation for an extended life is made with a higher power in exchange for a reformed lifestyle. Psychologically, the individual is saying, "I understand I will die, but if I could just do something to buy more time..."
4. Depression — "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die soon so whats the point... What's the point?"; "I miss my loved one, why go on?"
   During the fourth stage, the dying person begins to understand the certainty of death. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect from things of love and affection. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer up an individual who is in this stage. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed.
5. Acceptance — "It's going to be okay."; "I can't fight it, I may as well prepare for it."
   In this last stage, the individual begins to come to terms with her/his mortality or that of a loved one.

The last year I have spent in bed, with the covers over my head, in a deep depression, waiting basically for the world to end. (Probably hoping the world would end.) And then of course, the rest of the time, and more recently, in denial, bewilderment... How the f**** did this happen to me?

Just now, after a WHOLE YEAR of that hot mess, moving into anger, FINALLY, FINALLY getting pissed about this, I can't skip to Acceptance and be hunky dory about the whole damn thing.

I just caught this sentence from the "Depression" section. I LOVE it: "It is not recommended to attempt to cheer up an individual who is in this stage. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed."

I agree completely.  If you feel like crap, you want to keep feeling like crap. You just do. Someone trying to force a happy face on your poop-parade is just... upsetting. And invalidating. So, what exactly are you saying? This isn't a big deal? I should just "get over it?" If your husband died/child drowned/spouse left you, you would be up and ready to move on by now? So I should too?  That's your "stuff." That's not my "stuff."


A final thought:

Everywhere on this blog where I have ever said "Matt" or "therapy" or "investigation" or anything related to those topics... Replace ALL of it with... oh... woodworking. It's a hobby! Think of it as a HOBBY. Now, does that seem like too much time to be thinking or working on a hobby? Come 'on... We all have our hobbies, right? Doesn't seem that bad, now, right? Next time you see me... ask me how my woodworking is going. HA.

 As a disclaimer, because I know there will be a minimum of one person (just one?) who will read this and be incredibly angry, leave me a nasty comment and stop reading my blog... I appreciate everyone who can stand being my friend right now. I am sure I am incredibly exhausting, and depressing and needy. Who the freak would want to be friends with me right now? You all deserve a medal...But this is the hardest thing I have ever gone through, and all I know is what I know. And what I need is what I need. This is what I need and know. That's all I can say. It would be so much worse if you left me but I can't do anything different than what I'm doing. Because it's the right thing for me. And I know that. I know it.

My heart.

Last fall my therapist asked me to draw a picture of my heart.

I couldn't do it.  I felt like before I met him... my heart was kind of scraped, and taped back together from all it had been through... like someone had already thrown it in the dryer with a bunch of rocks, so it was pretty messed up, but I had done my best to patch it back up for him and I gave him... everything I got. I'm giving you everything I got baby.  Now... I've oft described the state of my heart like that but ripped open and covered in dog crap.

I found this on Pinterest recently and, really this just SO sums up how I feel all the time. When I walk around in public, this is how I feel. I feel like I am walking around like this, naked, exposed and everybody can see everything. ...(Of course I only wish I looked this good naked.)

It's called "broken hearted."

 

If you walked around, feeling like this (you know, plus 70 pounds) you wouldn't want people to hug you either. (No need to get blood all over their clothes, right?)

So that's how I feel.

And people are telling me to move on and forgive him while I am walking around in public in my underwear and bleeding all over the cereal aisle.

Hmmph.

You first.

Holding On.

But I don't know why I kept holding on...

Why did I?

I don't know.

For reasons I won't go into, I kind of feel like smacking him in the face right now. I feel... miffed... angry.  He either doesn't know [about the investigation], or he knows and it wasn't a big deal at all.

Either way I feel bitter.

I was talking to my mom tonight about PTSD- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's something alot of soldiers get when they come back from combat. I have it.  She also told me that she spoke to another therapist about me. (Because me seeing my own therapist twice a week isn't enough, right?) That woman recommend EMDR, which is the second time I have been referred to that type of therapy. My sister had a really nasty dog bite- more like attack, that left her leg ripped open and landed her in the hospital and she has never walked with a dog again. That was 10 years ago. She did an EMDR session once, but it was too "out there" for her. Being the judgmental person she is, I'm surprised she tried it at all, but, right now I almost want to say I am proud of her for trying it. It's way out of the box for her personality.  That said, my mom is an MFT and even she called it a bit of hocus pocus, but the point of the therapy is de-sensitization to the trauma, so anything that helps, right?

I don't know, it was just something we talked about so I thought I would mention it here too.

Double Dose

As honest as I am on this blog, if you can believe it, I don't share everything. In fact, there's a lot I don't share.  Which is hard because I'd really rather put all of my thoughts in one place and just get it ALL out, but because of who some of my audience is, I feel like I have to censor myself. (So, yeah, it's even worse than this!)

I was in therapy last week and ended up running thirty minutes over our hour long session. That's right, I talked for a straight hour and a half. Pretty much all I talk about in therapy is what happened. Once in a while I will bring up some other issue that has come up, but mostly, all I talk about is Matt and all of this issues related to him. I've been in therapy ever since I found out, and have been seeing this therapist weekly since October or so. And still even now, I have so much to process and talk about, I'm running over on our sessions.

This week, we changed our schedule and we're starting to have me come in twice a week. I came in on Tuesday, and I'll come in again Wednesday, and then I have appointments next week for Monday and Wednesday. This is going to get to be expensive for me. But what else do I do? I have felt like since I started therapy that I needed to be seeing someone more than once a week but I felt like I couldn't afford it. That situation doesn't seem like it's ever going to change unless I get better and I can't get better without more help. (On a side note, feel free to click on my google ads- the boring texy looking ads- not the fancy graphic ones- on the right hand side- I get like a $1 every time you click on them!! I am very close to getting a check! [You only get a check when you get up to a certain dollar amount.])  It's a good thing my therapist is very, very cheap. That is a HUGE blessing.

For our GRE update for the day, I read almost all of the introduction to the Princeton Review GRE book, and browsed through some pages on fractions, and couldn't understand any of it. Can any one let me borrow their 3rd grader so they can teach me fractions?! I haven't done fractions since 3rd grade and I never got them back then anyway!

My flashcards also came in the mail today. Super fast shipping!

A friend of mine from law school who just graduated, and passed the bar on the first time (just got the results a couple weeks ago), is also apparently certifiably insane and for some reason is going to take the GRE in July and asked to get together and study. (Why, she is taking the GRE now that she is an attorney and just got out of law school I have no idea!) She is really smart, and really hard working- like, her brain runs 10x faster than anyone else's so she's really hard to study with. (I used to study with her in law school). I think she must drink too many energy drinks, or she's on Ritalin or something! LOL She's TOO focused to be normal.

So... I have books, and flash cards and someone to study with.

But I still don't know that I am ready to jump! I am still hesitating. I need a shove off the diving board, or I need someone to grab me off the platform, give me a towel and tell me to go sit down until I'm ready.

I just don't feel confidant in making decisions for myself anymore. I don't trust myself. I don't trust my abilities anymore. I don't trust my judgement. I don't know what to do.

More Options...!

I was talking on the phone with my friend Carmen yesterday and she started giving me a pep talk about the things I am capable of. I pretty much tuned it out. I really wanted to hear it, and I was trying to hear it, but I just couldn't "hear it." I don't know how to explain it any other way. The same thing happens when the therapist tries to validate everything that happened with Matt. (That it really was a horrible, terrible thing, and a HUGE deal. Sometimes I fall into self-doubt about this. Some days that sounds crazy [that it wasn't a big deal], other days, I wonder if I am playing the victim... I really need to be validated that it was a bad thing. Too many people told me to just pick up and move on but the experience was so traumatizing I can't. So hearing those words ["move on"] essentially just gave me more issues. Fantastic.)  I just can't hear it, or it doesn't sink in, or it goes in one ear and out the other. I really, really want and need to hear what everyone has to say to me, but it just doesn't go in somehow. Does that make sense?

Anyway, she was saying that as long as she has known me (10 years this fall) that I have always been doing and saying and making plans to do random and crazy and impossible things and then just doing them. That I'm a planner and I just make things happen. That with everything that has happened the last six years I have been progressively been beat down, but that I still stayed on top of it all, until it came to this. But she knows that I can still do it. I wish I could hear her say it again so I could really "hear" it.

After talking to her about school and stuff, and hearing about her plans to move to Philadelphia in just three months for her Master's in Public Health, I tried looking at schools again. This time it occurred to me to simply Google "masters, conflict dispute resolution."

I am so dumb.

Why did I not do this in the first place?

I thought Oregon was the only school with a program like this, and from looking at schools individually, it seemed like that was accurate. I was SO WRONG.

Here are some of the schools that have some form of Conflict & Dispute Resolution or Peace Studies Programs:

CA-Pepperdine

CO-University of Denver

DC-Georgetown University

GA-Kennesaw State University

HI-University of Hawaii Manoa

MA-University of Massachusetts Boston

MD-Salisbury University

MD-University of Baltimore

MI-Wayne State University

MO-University of Missouri

NC-UNC Greensboro

NJ-Montclair State University

NY-Columbia University

OR-Portland State University

OR-University of Oregon

TX-Southern Methodist University

UT-Utah State University

VA-George Mason University

WI-Marquette University

 
University of Notre Dame
Graduate School
Peace Studies


California State University Northridge
Mediation and Conflict Resolution


University of San Diego

Master of Arts in Peace and Justice Studies

Eastern Mennonite University

Center for Justice and Peacebuilding - Graduate Program

Harrisonburg , VA , 22802

George Washington University,The

 Master's Internationalist Program in the Peace Corps


 Columbia College Of South Carolina 
Master of Arts in Human Behavior and Conflict Management

New York University

Graduate School of Arts and Science

Program in Trauma and Violence Transdisciplinary Studies ----> I thought this was really interesting, and relevant. George Washington University,The

School of Public Health and Health Services

Graduate School

 
Arcadia University
Peace Studies
Glenside, PA


Champlain College
Graduate Studies

Master of Science in Mediation & Applied Conflict Studies

 Duke University
Masters degree
International Development Policy
Peace and Conflict Resolution  



WOW. Just... WOW. A lot, of at least some of the schools, particularly on the east coast focus on GLOBAL or international peacekeeping, which would not be my focus of interest. I found my interest synthesized best here:

Finally, you may want to obtain a master in conflict resolution if you work with social services or the family court system. In many instances, mediation is the preferred first step toward resolving issues in family court cases in order to avoid tying up courtroom time. Many individuals with a masters in conflict management also become members of, and certified by, the American Arbitration Association.

Best of all, did you see it? I checked those darn Colorado schools over and over and over again for a reason for me to go there without success. But I missed one. And apparently, it's the most prestigious one.  UNIVERSITY OF DENVER, Conflict Dispute Resolution Institute offering a Master of Arts program... You can read about just how flippin' awesome DU appears to be, (and how insanely competitive, even though I had never heard of it) right over HERE.  It also happens to be the oldest college in Colorado and in my opinion the most beautiful. It's the college experience I never had and always wanted. What a gorgeous old campus. And a big fancy school. It's a private school, but it's non-profit. I think it just officially became my dream school.  



...But how am I ever going to get there with my undergraduate GPA. looming behind me? Let me tell you, it's not good.  All of the schools also require some type of testing as well, but it varies. Some of the schools will take my old LSAT score, which is fine. But DU, and many of the other schools are going to require that I take the GRE. Which in the past has totally freaked me out. (That thing has MATH on it!)  It's the combination of my undergrad GPA and my GRE score that are going to get me into school here. Like I said, my GPA is nothing to brag about;  overall undergrad GPA was 2.889, with my upper division GPA coming in at 3.1 or 3.01, I forget.  Not impressive for graduate school. My high school GPA was 2.89... Sadly consistent.  I wish I could go back and care about grades... I always just did what needed to be done to get things done. The only classes I really tried in were Math- and that's because I was TERRIBLE at it. I worked really hard for C's, maybe a few B's, and definitely one A in a remedial Pre-Algebra class I "tested" into even though I had already passed Pre-Alg in junior high just fine. (Always my weak point. I'll pass the class and fail the placement exam every time. Did the same thing when I went to college. Back to Pre-Alg! WTFreak? I passed Geometry and Advanced Algebra just fine people, stop giving me placement tests and I'll stop failing them!) So, given my GPA, this means I'm going to need a fantastic GRE score... or go to a school that will take my LSAT score, like University of Oregon. The GRE really intimidates me and is a huge amount of work, commitment on top of my already crazy schedule and let's face it, mental problems. lol I would have to start working on it soon too, like, now. Scary.


For those of you that have taken the GRE, or had spouses or close friends take the GRE... how has it gone? What's your advice or recommendations about it? The test will be changing as of August and they will be making dramatic changes. I read an excerpt about it in a Princeton Review book and they flat out did not have nice things to say about it.  They don't think it has been done well, or sufficiently tested, and the exam has been lengthened from 2.5 hours to 3 hours, 40 minutes. Sort of a dramatic difference. They've also changed the scoring. From a 1600 total  point scale it will go to a 170 total point scale. (Huh?) So now I'm in a bit of a straight... Do I test in the middle of July under the sturdy old testing system,  meaning I have approximately 6-7 weeks to prepare? Or do I have faith in the new test, and can test in, say, September or October. 


Which is the right choice?


And again, is this the right choice for me?


Gotta say again, finding the U of Denver thing was SUPER exciting... That the school was so beautiful and historical... it was just everything I wanted was amazing. But the average undergraduate applicant (coming in from HS) is in the top 25% of their class. That was definitely not Emily. I need a GRE that dazzles... Can I do that in July? Can I do that at all?  If I take the GRE I have more choices in schools to apply to... But it's alot more for me to take on. And is this the right path? Now I feel maybe like Oregon is where I'm supposed to go. But is that because I've been working on trying to give up the CO idea? Or because I want to be by my Mom?


I can't even tell you how annoying it is to be an insecure, wishy-washy, freaked out person after never having been that way. I don't feel confidant in myself or my abilities anymore,  especially my decision making abilities and I need a lot of reassurance. (This is the therapy kicking in here.) I'm so grateful for therapy for helping me recognize this change in myself, and of course I understand that after such a huge shock and deception such as my experience with Matt, questioning my judgement now is only natural. It will take time for me to trust myself again. But right now, I need a lot of feedback and just, well, help. But where do I get that help outside of this blog?


For some reason I haven't wanted to talk about this much with the friends and family I do usually speak to on a regular basis, which is odd. I've just been talking about it here. Apparently, you are a privileged bunch. My dad, whom I am really close to and talk to just about every other day or so, doesn't know anything about it.