Today I drove on the freeway for the first time in two months. I don;t know how I ever got comfortable with doing that. It is hundreds of people, not all intelligent, driving huge machines that can kill people at high rates of speed controlled by nothing more than PAINT in the ground. It was very stressful but I made it.
Then I had an appointment with my therapist. I have decided to stay with the therapist I am seeing even though he can only see me once a week. I am comfortable with him and I trust him. Hopefully once a week will be often enough. Today was rough. We went over the whole mess that was my 15th year. Most than half my life ago. I was certain I was over all the crap that happened back then. I was a teenager. Who gives a crap what happened back then? Everyone's high school life sucked, right? Did I have it worse than others? Maybe, but, again, who cares?
I have never been one who believed in blaming adult problems on childhood troubles. It goes so against the Catholic and American ideal of personal responsibility. My therapist today said he "[felt] so sad" that I went through the things I was telling him about. The whole appointment hit a nerve but I'm not sure what kind. I am left feeling lost and sad and a little raw.
On top of that I am feeling lonely because today was a day of celebration and I could not thank a hero directly as I intended. But that is my egotism, wanting to celebrate the safety of a man for whom I and my family have prayed every night for a year. It hurts because it is indicative of the family I feel I have lost.
I am, I have found, fundamentally unlovable. I don't know what to do with that.
God Bless all who read this.
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