Wednesday, January 22, 2003

Coffee, more coffee please...
I'm waiting for it to be 9am, so I can call and make an extra appointment to ask a woman who has seen the inside of my head why I still weep in my sleep when I think that I'm happy. Why I feel sick and wracked with misery, but have not the faintest idea why, because if you ask me, I'm happy. All the reasons that come to mind seem so ineffectual. "I don't love my job, I don't hate it, but it's frustrating in a way I'm ready to be rid of" "It's January, I always get blue in January" "He was away for two weeks and it sucked, so now he's back I'm crying about it" "I'm stressing about money because I've bought so much furniture this month" "My apartment is in huge disarray because of said furniture being mid-assembly"

Maybe (yet again) it's E: all of the above. Combined little factors making me stressed out, but stress isn't supposed to have this effect. This is closer to depressed for me, but it doesn't feel like depression, it isn't as heavy somehow.

I think I didn't expect the crying fits to be one of the things that would hang around after I'd faced up to myself, I expected the leftovers to be occasional flashbacks, a continued inability to hear some stories or kinds of jokes, the need to leave the room at certain points in movies. All I could think of this morning was that Matt had lain awake almost all night hearing me weep, wondering what was wrong, and he still reached over and touched my cheek, kissed my shoulder and held me tight as though I wasn't scaring him. It would terrify me, hearing him cry out and not being able to do anything to soothe him.

Now I'm remembering something I told him the weekend we went to Kern County, I'd been having the same problems then, barely making it through the day without collapsing somewhere to cry, but that was because of the build up of tension in my old apartment, and the fact that I hadn't told him much about my problems with depression and I was starting to feel dishonest. I told him that it's almost like an epileptic fit sometimes, I'll just suddenly be crying and feeling like shit, and there won't be a reason. That the best thing he can do is to hold my hand and let me ride it out.

Wow, it's 9.30 already, and I've almost figured it out all by myself. I'm still going to make the appointment though, that's what she's there for.

This has to go away, I won't allow it to be a permanent fixture. Maybe when the magical day comes that there is no drama (yeah right...), there will also be no freakouts. It's ok if it's just me, it's bad having Matt affected by it, but I keep getting this image of a little kid peeking around a doorway to see me sobbing in my bedroom, just like I saw my sister crying inconsolably when she was 16 and I was 7, it didn't traumatise me, but I still remember it. I don't want to be that woman, I don't want to make that kind of memory for my children.

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