I just want to Be OK

I found a new song y’all. This one is by Ingrid Michelson. Here are the lyrics and my take on them

I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok today
I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok todayI just want to feel today, feel today, feel today
I just want to feel something today
I just want to feel today, feel today, feel today
I just want to feel something todayOpen me up and you will see
I’m a gallery of broken hearts
I’m beyond repair, let me be
And give me back my broken partsI just want to know today, know today, know today
I just want to know something today
I just want to know today, know today, know today
Know that maybe i will be okOpen me up and you will see
I’m a gallery of broken hearts
I’m beyond repair, let me be
And give me back my broken partsJust give me back my pieces
Just give them back to me please
Just give me back my pieces
And let me hold my broken partsI just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok today
I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok todayI just want to feel today, feel today, feel today
I just want to feel something today
I just want to know today, know today, know today
Know that maybe i will be ok
Know that maybe i will be ok
Know that maybe i will be ok

I think that being ok is a good goal. It’s clear that Ingrid is less “ok” because of partners who have wronged her. That’s not my issue -my mum is the one who wronged me. But that’s not the point of this post.

I really identify with this idea of broken parts. I want them back so I can glue them back together. OK means being whole to me. Feeling. Feel the day. I just want to feel something today. I feel so fucking broken sometimes and unable to feel.

I don’t think I”m beyond repair. I don’t think I have a gallery of broken hearts. I have a gallery of broken trust. I just want to be in charge of what happens next.

I’m not Sure yet what the lyrics are for this entry. As you know, I always find a way to tie what I’m saying to a song or lyrics. Tonight I’m a bit untethered. I’m not even sure why I’m writing.

FUNT (fuck you new therapist) suggested that I journal and meditate. Let me be clear. He is the good guy in this equation and of that I have no doubt. If FUNT wasn’t the good guy he wouldn’t be worth my time or energy and he wouldn’t have earned a nick name.

How do I feel right now? I’m journaling with my eyes closed = that’s how good a typist I am. I’m trying to manage the sense of the humor, pain and insolence in my body right now. I want to love and be loved and yet I’m not sure if that’s possible.

I was sitting innocently in the dining room, talking on zoom to my friends Aly and Ryan. Nothing of much substance. They have a kid, we talked about her. He has a step-father issue, we talked about it. Normal every day stuff. My dad came out of his room and looked like the California raisin, and grabbed a cookie and let me know I was being too loud. Basically he shut down my party so I decided to journal.

Here’s the thing. I’m three rooms away from him and he can’t stand he sound of me chatting up a friend quietly online. I wasn’t even trying to be drunk and obnoxious. But he hears EVERYTHING. How did the not hear what’s happening when I was a child? How did he fail abysmally to protect me when he could protect his own gentle ears from the onslaught of very quiet chilling? Fuck you dad.

Ride through the desert on a horse with no name

I’ve been advised by New Therapist (NT) to start writing more. It’s supposed to help me keep my anxiety and anger in check and start dealing with some of these pent-up PTSD reactions. Trouble is it doesn’t come easily to me anymore. Not the way it used to. I don’t get hit by these bouts of inspiration or even these wells of despair. There’s just a flatness and an anxiety. My fingers can’t type as fast as my head can speak to me.

NT talked this week about his theory on the difference between anxiety and anger. KT would tell me that suppressed anger causes anxiety. NT says that anxiety is the fear of what could be lost while anger is the reaction to what is already lost. It’s an interesting way to look at it.

We’ve been talking a lot about the illusion of control. According to him I believed that if I controlled my behavior well enough bad things would stop happening to me. It’s why I’m so quick to comply when somebody needs something of me. I’m not sure I quite understand the depths of this one yet. I know there’s some truth to it, both concepts really, because it’s hard for me to think about it without my mind wandering into left field. Something to come back to.

Well, there you go. I journaled. FU NT. Did I just create a new swear word? Funt? I think it’ll only matter to me but I kinda like it.

“You go back, Jack, do it again” -Stealy Dan

Taking care of my dad right now is quite the experience. On the one hand it’s something I’m glad to be able to do. My brother and I are switching off with staying with him and I’m here for 3 weeks. I’m glad I can do it for him. He wasn’t a total shit during my childhood and I think in his own way he tried to insulate us from my mom as much as he could. He just wasn’t very good at it.

I work from home so working from my dad’s is no different. I’m 500 miles from my home, my bed, my partner and my dogs. But it’s only 3 weeks at what could be the end of my father’s run on this mortal coil. What little family I trust is coming together to support my dad during his battle with stage 4 lung cancer that progressed very rapidly to the bones.

On the other hand I am trapped in my childhood home. My own personal torture chamber. While some of the decor has changed and I am sleeping inn a different bedroom, the sounds, the smells, and the memories are sharp. There are days I sit here and contemplate burning the fucker (the house) to the ground. I won’t. I would never, but some days I would like to.

Then there’s my dad’s mental process. He putters around the house and on a bad pain day he isn’t shy. Statements about not wanting to live anymore, wondering what he did to deserve this, how could life be so cruel…it all begs to be responded to. The tricky part is wondering which part of my personality system is going to respond. And so I try to keep my mouth shut.

I forgot how suffocating it is to sit with a proverbial piece of duct tape over my mouth. How I’m fighting to scream and fighting to be still. Imagine if I had wandered the house in my psychic pain making it known to everyone. What might be different? Maybe nothing. He’s no more capable of extracting his cancer than I was of extricating mine. It became something that had to be coped with and slowly beaten back. There was no magic surgery or radiation that was going to eradicate my mother either. The poison I had to swallow to deal with her almost killed me faster.

I have a feeling I’ll be writing more. There doesn’t seem to be any other way to shoulder this weight. That shouldn’t sound like a hardship but sometimes it is. Seeing what’s in my head on the screen can be jarring. And then there’s the concern that if I let it trickle out I’ll lose control of the stream and get blown back. Eh, Wouldn’t be the first time.

Roar

Well KLT, I’m still trucking along. New relationship didn’t work out and that’s ok. Still with the man. Still with the somewhat shitty therapist. He says some really insightful things but we’re virtual bc of Covid and I keep catching him typing when he should be paying attention to me. Somehow I haven’t gotten the nerve up yet to confront him.

I could use you right now. Like bad. My dad has stage 4 lung cancer and you KNOW all the shit that’s bringing up. I’m in NJ for 3 weeks with him right now. He’s not really able to care for himself right now. I don’t know if he ever will be again. We’re hopeful. Cautiously optimistic.

I haven’t been journaling. It’s been too hard. I don’t want to get some of this crap out in the open. If I do. I have to examine it. I don’t want to do anything but survive right now.

I’ve had a few bad days. Days where I was really mad at you and cursing you out. Days where I wanted to drive to your office and sit in the lot, or the bathroom, or place my hand on your door. Days when I still wanted you to be available to me.

I’m listening to a new book on tape. Untamed about a woman coming into her own. I connected with several parts of it right away. One of the significant parts I connected to was this idea of “going inside” for answers. Sinking. Looking inward. Trusting your gut. Knowing what’s right and wrong even if you can’t put words to it. In that same way you are still with me and I suppose you always will be.

“I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter
Dancing through the fire
‘Cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar” – Katy Perry

Are you there, KLT, it’s me…Olivia

I have no idea if you’re out there KLT. I’m going to pretend that even though you were an ace therapist who helped me get a grip on my life that you’re still a flawed human and took me up on my offer to catch the occasional highlight reel from this site.

The new guy is NOT you. He’s ok. I’ll make him a better therapist 🙂

I’ve made some progress. I am now in a relationship with a new woman. I am still married to my guy but there aren’t any secrets. I’m not in love but it’s getting close. I’m not afraid anymore. Not as much anyway.

I thought all this time maybe Molly was my Achilles heel. Maybe there was something special about her. That wasn’t the case.  My new friend doesn’t have to try very hard to illicit a reaction that makes me smile for days. And cry. I’m not confused anymore…just making some hard decisions.

I want to reach out to you every day. I know it’s the wrong thing to do even though you’ve provided your new number. I’m. Not perfect. I called it once and hung up. I’m resolute that the the best way to honor our work together is to let you retire in peace. It’s not easy.

I hope you are well and covid has passed you by. I hope you’re not finding that you need to work.  Know you aren’t likely traveling but I hope you are basking in the warmth and light and love of those near and dear.

“And even though I know how very far apart we are, it helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star. And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby, it helps to think we’re sleeping underneath the same big sky”

My cousin died from Covid this week. Along with his death cams all the trauma nightmares and abuse memories. And a fresh panic regarding my now retired therapist KT. I want to know that he’s ok. That he’s alive and enjoying retirement and not dying from CV. AND I’m angry at him. Angry because there are no short cuts in therapy. There’s no “on the same page.”  I have to explain everything’s significance.

but really…I’m worried about KT. I’d trade it all if I knew he was ok…

Monster – Current Mood

New therapist, new stroll through trauma land.  In truth this is only the second time I’ve tried to tell my story in a cohesive way rather than the snippets I confess to when my behavior rats me out. I’m feeling crushed. These lyrics sum it up.  Credit to Eminem.

“Now, I ain’t much of a poet
But I know somebody once told me to seize the moment
And don’t squander it
‘Cause you never know when it all could be over tomorrow
So I keep conjurin’
Sometimes I wonder where these thoughts spawn from
Yeah, ponderin’ will do you wonders
No wonder you’re losing your mind, the way it wanders
Yodel-odel-ay-hee-hoo!
I think it went wanderin’ off down yonder
And stumbled onto Jeff VanVonderen
‘Cause I need an interventionist
To intervene between me and this monster
And save me from myself and all this conflict
‘Cause the very thing that I love’s killing me
And I can’t conquer it
My OCD is conkin’ me in the head, keep knockin’
Nobody’s home, I’m sleepwalkin’
I’m just relayin’ what the voice in my head’s sayin’
Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just friends with the

I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed
Get along with the voices inside of my head
You’re tryin’ to save me, stop holdin’ your breath
And you think I’m crazy, yeah, you think I’m crazy

Well, that’s nothin’ (Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
(Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
Well, that’s nothin’ (Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
(Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh”

 

To KLT

To my former therapist –

You are retired now.  I am happy for you because lord knows you deserve to live live to its fullest.  I miss you.  I miss you from the depths of my toes.  The new guy is good, and I think he’s going to work out, but he’s not you.  You taught me how to trust and there is a hole in my being.  I want to know that you’re ok, and hear your laugh, and your voice.  I want to be known the way I was known by you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

“Prayin” by Kesha: “I’m proud of who I am No more monsters, I can breathe again And you said that I was done Well, you were wrong and now the best is yet to come”

It’s the end of one era and the beginning of a new one . I have moved on from the therapist who for the last 12 years has been my rock, my container, and my secure base.  I have come to a certain peace about the abuses of my mother.  A peace that allows me to wish her quiet, hope she finds humility and forgiveness, and acknowledges that her sins and transgressions are not for me to forgive.  Yes, she is dead, but in my soul she is very much alive, and needs to take up less real estate in my head.  I cannot carry the burden of guilt anymore.  I couldn’t do anything then, and I can’t do anything now.  It is my time to live my life, based on what I need and what I want.  Stay tuned.  The best is yet to come.

Well, you almost had me fooled
Told me that I was nothing without you
Oh, but after everything you’ve done
I can thank you for how strong I have become

‘Cause you brought the flames and you put me through hell
I had to learn how to fight for myself
And we both know all the truth I could tell
I’ll just say this is “I wish you farewell”

I hope you’re somewhere prayin’, prayin’
I hope your soul is changin’, changin’
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin’

I’m proud of who I am
No more monsters, I can breathe again
And you said that I was done
Well, you were wrong and now the best is yet to come
‘Cause I can make it on my own, oh
And I don’t need you, I found a strength I’ve never known
I’ll bring thunder, I’ll bring rain, oh
When I’m finished, they won’t even know your name

You brought the flames and you put me through hell
I had to learn how to fight for myself
And we both know all the truth I could tell
I’ll just say this is “I wish you farewell”

I hope you’re somewhere prayin’, prayin’
I hope your soul is changin’, changin’
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin’

Ah sometimes, I pray for you at night, oh
Someday, maybe you’ll see the light
Whoa oh oh oh, some say, in life, you’re gonna get what you give
But some things only God can forgive

Yeah! (I hope you’re somewhere prayin’, prayin’)
I hope your soul is changin’, changin’
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin’