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I have officially decided that if you give a really good first impression, I do not trust you.

Tuesday Morning

So I have been sick for awhile, but that is not the point of this blog. (Just so you know.) Anywho, I was off to yet another doctor, this time out in Colton. (I had finally just decided to go and see the people I had been going to since I was born.) But in order to get a same day appointment, I had to call EXACTLY at 8:00am, risk being put on hold for thirty minutes, and then findding out all of the available appointments for that day had been taken by the people who had somehow gotten miraculously connected before I did.

I set my alarm for 7:58, knowing I would be sleepy and probably need a minute before my eyes could focus on the numbers of my phone. Worst case scenario, I didn't get an appointment and I would just go back to sleep. 7:58, my cell phone buzzes me awake, and I groggily wave my hand around my night stand reaching for my phone to make it stop. I tap in the numbers and wait for it to ring. Now, I have done this before and if you don't call EXACTLY at 8, you get a voicemail and have to call back. But to my surprise, I was put through right away. The receptionist at the switchboard asked how she could connect me, I said, "Dr. Bourne's office in Cooley Ranch" she said "One moment please" and we were go for launch. Here again, I expected to be put on hold, but I spoke to person right away. Dr. Bourne didn't have an appointment until 2:45, but Miranda Lynch (sp?), his nurse practitioner, had one at 9:30, did I want to take it? It was 8:03 now, it would take me a little less than an hour to get there. If there was traffic (and there is ALWAYS traffic) I might be screwed. I took the appointment and jumped out of bed.

Nineteen minutes later, I walked out the door, no make-up, Trader Joes blueberry scone in hand. Crap, what day is it? Tuesday. Where did I park? I replayed getting home last night, and realized I was on the wrong side of the street; street sweeping takes place every Tuesday at 8am. Excellent, another parking ticket. Whatever. But as I veered right and approached my car, there was no little annoying white slip of paper waiting to greet me. Shocked at my luck (because I have very BAD luck with parking tickets), I got in my car as quickly as possible to drive away before the ticketing gremlins came. And as I drove off towards the 55 freeway, I passed the street sweeper just coming up the other side-- I had escaped in the nick of time.

Now to battle traffic. Little GPS on my iphone, what does my future hold? As I searched routs on my map to Colton, and navigated my lane of traffic on the 55 (I AM the driver your mother warned you about), I clicked the little "show traffic" bar and made a distinct subconscious association with "Show me the beast!" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I had clicked that button thousands of times since getting my iphone and never before thought this. I smiled and made a mental note to tell Whitney later. She is the only one who might even possibly appreciate that parallel.

As I analyzed my traffic options, I realized the 91 (the shortest distance-wise) was a sure failure. What about the 57? It was a little out of the way, but never as much traffic. I scanned the map on the my little screen, glancing up occasionally to make sure I didn't hit any cars, but I couldn't find the 57 icon on any of the freeways. I zoomed in and out of the map, knowing decision time was coming. I either had to go 5N and commit to the 57, or stay and go the rout of impending doom. Then finally I zoomed in again, and there it was, the path green the whole way. I lane surfed a few lanes to the right, and way one my way.

Fifty-four minutes later I was off the freeway and headed to the office. Crap, wrong turn. It was exactly 9:30, (I was AMAZED it was exactly 9:30), but I had come so far to be late now. Figure it out Mel, left on Mt. Vernon. I called and told the receptionist I would be about four minutes late. I found a spot right by the front sliding doors, parked and walked in. I told the lady my name and who I was there to see. The other receptionist looked up and smiled, recognition that she had been the one I spoke to when I called. It was 9:34. I had made it.

From the waiting room I tweeted, "Good morning! It is only 9:40, and I have already escaped the law and outrun the traffic demons!"

I sat amazed at how things had worked out. For all intents and purposes, it was a good morning.

Emotional Writer's Block

I am sitting here trying to write my paper and I can't because I am too upset that no one in my life ever told me my thoughts about things mattered.

I learned today that my thoughts DO matter. And I was going to write a very happy blog post about how I was so happy after therapy today, but now I am upset. I have wasted SO MUCH TIME PLEADING WITH OTHER PEOPLE TO JUST LOVE ME when there was nothing wrong with me in the first place. There was never anything wrong with me.

If I had known that, I would have made so many different choices over the past four years. I would fucking be somebody else. I think she would have been happier. I am a weird mix of sad and angry right now. I don't know what my therapist would call that emotion.

I hate that all we can do is move on. We can't go back and fix what has already happened. I hate that.

In other news, I learned today that my thoughts about things matter.

Writing this piece is hard because it is making me think about who I was, and I don't want to think about that anymore. I don't want to mull over bad habits. I want to keep moving forward and doing new things. I want to leave the past behind me. And because I have to write this piece I cannot do that.

This is disgusting and I want to leave and not write anymore and not think about it. But I have to.

Br.oken

I have an unhealthy affinity for broken things.

Because I think that if I can fix it I am worth something and if I can't, I am not good enough.

NOT.TRUE.

I am beginning to hate the fact that I am programmed this way and am resenting all the time I have wasted.

I had a good revelation earlier today that I will write about later, but needed to get that thought out in the meantime.

So please hear these simple truths

Be strong in the Lord and,
Never give up hope,
You're going to do great things,
I already know,
God's got His hand on you so,
Don't live life in fear,
Forgive and forget,
But don't forget why you're here,
Take your time and pray,
Thank God for each day,
His love will find a way,
These are the words I would say

Elizabeth

My therapist would be so proud of me.

Today, I am sad.

I am not angry (no more energy). I am not in denial (too much clarity). But what really matters

...is that I no longer think I can change it. No more formulas, patterns of behavior, clever combinations of words, periods of time, inflections, glances, hairstyles, witticisms. There is no longer an order I should be doing things in, a solution for me to figure out. All options have been exhausted, sucked dry, tried and reused, painted a different color, buffed and shined. But the horse is dead. I have sat next to a dead horse willing it to be alive for four years.

I wonder how Elizabeth Kubler Ross knew so much about loss. I wonder if she has a compelling or moving life story.

But I have finally...finally stopped bargaining. And I have moved on to the second D of DABDA. Depression. The D also stands for Dirty. Depression is a Dirty word.

This is the worst part of all of it. Because here you are absolutely helpless. In Denial you don't know any better; Anger you can get people on your side and yell a lot, and Bargaining you can try to FIX. And the wall between bargaining and depression is where I stop. I hit the wall, refuse to continue, and most times revert back to anger. Anger feels like you are accomplishing something, even though you are not.

When you are angry you are hurting yourself. And guess what?

The situation has not changed.

So today I am sad.

My therapist would be proud.