Happiness exists when you don’t know a thing
So I hope you don’t think this song is about you
And only I can know how close you came
But baby I’m a pro at letting go
I love it when they come and go
Therapy mans tells me… as I’m sitting there sobbing, gasping for air…. that nothing has changed from last week. Everything is ok. I’m ok. My life is good. And I wonder… as I’m sobbing, gasping for air… if I’m doing so because he is actually correct and there is nothing wrong? At least on the outside!
I know, right?
But that is usually how my life works. I am the most messed up when there is nothing wrong at all and my life is actually going along just fine…. on the outside!
And so…. I just try to float around in my life and not really pay attention to the things around me. Let it all just happen and then I don’t know really if things are good or things are bad and then I can’t react. Which seems really fucked up because I’m 49 years old and I have serious responsibilities. Of course…
But thinking hurts.
Happiness is hard.
Fuck it. Life is hard… and we all know that. It’s just that… thinking about it is so confusing right now for me because I’ve been in this manic thing… most likely considered an episode. My doctor doesn’t really “define” them and my therapist stays away from really making a big deal about definitions and just talks more about how to get through the next day or week or weekend…
And so I just try to do the same. Don’t get caught up in diagnosis… get caught up in the surviving…
Last post was about collecting things… men. I have added to the collection. I don’t know wtf my problem is. I don’t know the fascination. I haven’t figured out the need. Obviously there is a huge hole or something. But, I do know that mentally – not sexually – but, mentally without this collection I am a mess.
Mentally to a point that it turns physical. You know that anger that turns physical in your body?? Anyone?? yeah… someone has to understand that. I’ve been in enough groups that someone knows that feeling. Well… that’s the feeling I get right now and if I can’t get one of these dudes to talk to me… I can’t settle down.. and it’s not about the sex… I could care less about that part… God, it’s messed up!
Oh, it’s so not good.
But on the outside looking in… I’m golden.
Therapy Man knows everything. He knows I’m faking it to make it. I think he wants me to reach out of this mess and hold onto the good stuff and realize that’s really what I am about.
AND I KNOW that I really am about that. But this fucking monster inside of me is eating me alive……….. Jesus… I don’t even know.
We all want out of it… when we get stuck. I think I get the answer and it works. Until the next time when I find myself “collecting” again.
There are never any answers. There is never the right medication. It’s all about whether or not I’m willing to start on a new path… the problem is I never let go of anything. The last post I said that lose everything I collect. I realized after I wrote it that it’s not entirely true. I don’t lose the men… and they are the ones I should lose…
I tried years ago to figure out why I have the need to collect the men in the first place. Therapy Man doesn’t seem to think that’s important – that the search would be endless. He’s probably right… or, it could be too painful to deal with…
It’s probably more necessary to deal with the addiction that it really is. But, as I said in the last post… I have issues with that also.
I don’t know… Something is going to have to give.