Use Your Words!

In case you were wondering, I didn’t tell my counselor any of the things I said I should tell my counselor last week.  Granted, it wasn’t entirely necessary because I was crying sitting in the waiting room before I ever got to the couch.  The depression and anxiety were so apparent that my counselor wrote a rather lengthy paragraph to my new counselor (who I will begin seeing in a mere three weeks), ending with the very large, bold statement that my new counselor needed to really push the medication thing.

A snippet of our conversation:

A, my counselor:  How are you?  You look a little sad.
Me (actively fighting back tears):  I don’t know.  Maybe a little?
Well, what’s going on?
I don’t know.  I’m just so…tired.
Tired?  Of what?
What do you mean?  What’s “everything”?
I’m just…tired of life.  And I know that’s horrible to say.
Because I know for me, historically, “tired of life” is only a step away from formulating a plan.
And have you formulated a plan?
Would you tell me if you had?
Maybe?  I don’t know.
I don’t think you would.

For the record, I can’t imagine WHY she thinks I need to be on medication.  I cried most of Monday, in fact, until I decided that crying is “stupid” and “unproductive” and anyway, wouldn’t going to the gym make more sense to deal with these feelings?  Or ignore these feelings?  Yes, clearly.  I replayed this cycle of crying and working out until around Thursday, when I got an e-mail from a friend:

“A few friends have recently proposed collaborative art and reading projects that inspired me to want to start one of my own. If you have received this email, it is because I love you and think you are wonderful and would like to read things you might write. I had the idea of creating a blog that is just for poetry. See, over the last few years, I’ve had a hard time writing poetry, so I’m a little rusty. I thought an audience and some accountability might help me out.

A friend of mine has a photography project where each week, she proposes a topic, and whoever wants contributes a photo representing that topic or theme. I think we could do this same thing with poetry.”

I jumped at the opportunity.  I wrote two poems the first day.  I wrote another on Friday.  I have been thinking in poetry for days.

In this short span of time, two things have happened:

1) I am finding that I feel things I didn’t even know I feel.  (For instance, some bitterness towards my ex-fiance’.)

2) I feel less tempted to act out using eating disordered behaviours.

The second is, of course, a HUGE victory.  I really want to make this a regular part of my recovery.  I’ve been trying visual arts stuff for a while, but the reality is that I was never really talented in the visual arts.  So more often than not, I find myself terribly frustrated and wanting to act out all over again.

But writing.  Oh, writing.  I’ve carried a journal or notebook every day of my life since I was probably seven.  By middle school I was writing stories, attempts at novels, poems in margins.  I don’t count my lack of writing a loss to my eating disorder so much as I do a loss to my ex-fiance’, but an eating disorder and having my brain inundated with a million numbers a minute didn’t leave much room for poetry and prose either.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I am making a concerted effort to write every day.  And maybe on days that I don’t write, I should try to play some music on one of the half dozen instruments I own.

This is also fair warning that you all are probably going to have to muck through some poetry on this blog now.  Sorry, kids.


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