Later today I’m having my first psychotherapy session in about 6 weeks. Normally we’d been meeting every fortnight but then both of our diaries collided and so the result has been nothing for 6 weeks. In all honesty I’ve been too busy and all over the place to even think about it.
1 hour. To cover 6 weeks. So much has happened. I have a whole new identity, for starters. There’s been a lot of very extreme lows, and a few very extreme highs…but not that much in the middle, and what has been in the middle has been mostly stress and just general whirlwindness. The rollercoaster turned into an absolute yo-yo; the highs and lows only ever extreme. Keeping up has been exhausting. Coping with it has been even more exhausting. I haven’t known what state I will be in from one day to the next, ever nervous for the next extreme low, waiting for one to kill me….but also wary of the next extreme high, because I knew when the high itself faded, I would fall fast.
I don’t know why I’m nervous about the session today except for the fact so so so much has happened. I’ll either ‘word vomit’ onto her, or sit down and finally let the mask off, and break in front of her, collapse in a heap and scream-sob. I don’t know which. I honestly don’t. Maybe I’ll ask her ‘you’re clever. You earn a lot. You’re clever. Can’t you bring my daughter back? Don’t you know how? Please do something and make her come back, I want to hold her again…’ and she’ll say she can’t, and my last thread of hope will be cut, and I’ll finally have to accept I’m never holding any of them again. Maybe that’ll mean I can start the grieving process properly. Or it’ll kill me. Again, I don’t know.
Or…we’ll discuss only the light fluffy stuff for an hour as we re-align ourselves with each other.
I just don’t know what will happen. And the unknown scares me.