I have stuff going on and it is stuff that I can’t talk about it here and because the issue that I can’t talk about is primary in my life I am finding that there is nothing else I want to talk about. I hate that. I hate having a big pink elephant in the room that is stepping on my laptop as I write and even as this stupid pachyderm presses down on the keyboard with the full force of his weight I am stopped by an even stronger internal imperative that says, “YOU MUST NOT WRITE ABOUT THAT”. Oh, and just in case you thought I told you everything, I will admit that I don’t. I have a policy of not talking about He-weasel’s work, his family, and his therapy. I just don’t do it. It isn’t that he ever asked me not to. I just decided not to. Hmmm….I guess He-weasel and I should talk about that. Maybe I am missing an untapped source of material. Nah, I am not going to do that. His work and his family life is his and it is not for me to talk about on the blog even though the players in the drama of his life often beg via their bad behavior for a starring role in a blog post or two or twenty or two-hundred.
What I can tell you is that something happened that triggered all my feelings of disappointment and infertility and hopelessness and how nothing ever works out for me and how I am cursed. A black pit of depression has swallowed me and because of that I don’t want to see Igor this week( I am aware that makes no sense, that will be a theme of this post). Actually, the truth is, I don’t want to see Igor anymore—period. That’s right, you heard me, I don’t want to see Igor. I want to quit therapy. I want to thank him for all that he has done for me but I want to tell him that the things I am really upset about cannot be changed by him. But Igor won’t let me quit. When I see him I am going to tell him that I want to quit and how it is nothing personal and he will find a way to make funny my desire to quit and he will make me laugh and he will get me to see how this is a pattern I have. I am going to do my best to tell him that I he is right and how I want to quit anyway. I fear that I will not be successful in my strategy to say goodbye to him.
A wise friend of mine told me that she tries to just feel feelings and not make decisions based on those feelings. I suck at that. Really, I am suck-sucktastic-suckasorous. I don’t think I can do it. My whole m.o. is to make meaning out of everything and I can’t seem just to ride the wave of despair that I am on, even though I know that is the better way to go. I know intellectually that feelings aren’t facts and yet this feels like a fact and the fact is that I feel bad.
What I can tell you that my magical thinking belief (which I get is problematic) is that the reason this depression came and its antecedent is that I dared to be happy. You see, on some level I believe in a god (even though I am agnostic) who wants me to be unhappy. So by daring to say that I was happy on Monday in my post I have angered this imaginary god and so he has smited me. I wish I could be more specific. But I guess that the details don’t really matter. What matters to me is that I feel bad.
So back to talking about what I can’t talk about, I am still waiting to hear from Igor. He hasn’t called back yet. And I can tell you that leaving him a message when I am crying is not a lot of fun. I have mentioned before that he has an old-timey answering service and some guy with a thick Indian accent answered the phone, “Dr, Igor’s exchange”. ”Hi, this is his Thursday at 12:00 and I need to have him call me back immediately.” However, I had to tell him my name and spell it out and he took forever to get it down and I was crying and I wanted to say “just fucking hurry up. He’ll know who I am. He has my number” but I didn’t. I tried to hide my tears as I spelled my name and gave him my number that I feel sure Igor has in his Blackberry. “Are you a student or a client?” I thought the tears would give away my status but I suppose I could be a student who just got a bad grade. “Client” and then he paused, he paused a pause that was nine-months pregnant and he finally asked me “and your message…”. “The message is, “call me’” and with that I hung up. I have never hung up on anyone other than my mother or husband before and I have to say that it felt kind of good. I am not going to do it again, except in extreme circumstances like today.
The phone’s ringing, hold on……
That was Igor. I told him what I can’t tell you and he told me to come in tomorrow at noon. I agreed. So tomorrow instead of doing what I planned on doing I am going to spend Wednesday with Igor and then I will go back on Thursday.
And just to make it perfectly clear how bad I am feeling: I have not opened a box I recieved from J Crew. It is there on the counter and there is cashmere in there and there is a shirt and I don’t even care. And I will not be watching Dancing with the Stars tonight and I will not be reading a book. I will be writing in my journal and it will be a hot spew of molton mess that I would never dare to publish here. I will not be getting any more activity points( in non-Weight Watcher language that means I will not be exercising any more tonight. Lily and He-weasel are going to have to walk with out me). However I will not let the black dog of depression lie to me and tell me that I will feel better if I have He-weasel pick up some Fettucino Alfredo at Sisley’s. I’ll stick with the low cal and figure friendly crying, moping and sitting in a sad-sack pool of suffering and self-pity.
I’ll let you know how it goes with Igor tomorrow. I might post on Thursday if I can manage to tell you things even as I can’t tell you things.