Therapy minus the therapist. AKA "life".
Turns out life can be made quite busy with various things. Last saw psychologist 12 days ago, and don't see her again until July - for one final "checkup". Then that is it. Nothing from her.
She admitted that at times, she didn't believe I would ever get to my goals, that maybe "feeling content, but not ridiculously happy" (what I said I wanted in my first ever meeting with her) was never going to be attainable. I probably infuriated her, I infuriate myself. I don't know if "content" will ever happen, but it feels slightly more attainable than it did. And the complete despair that once was the constant companion isn't so enthusiastic as it was.
Anyway, I'm busy. Busybusybusy. My "weekend" is Monday and Tuesday, as I am busy on the conventional Saturday and Sunday weekend. Mondays are always rubbish, I get more and more worked up, and panic about the week ahead, and muse at how badly things went the previous week. I end up with the physical mentalness, I have spent the day getting more and more tense, jumpy, and generally yucky. Tuesdays are when I start thinking "right, another week, just get to the end of it". Surprisingly enough, I do get to the end of the week. And then Monday rears its ugly head. And then Tuesday happens.
Tuesday is the day it currently is. I've got my CPN coming in 90 minutes, so probably should find some food, brush my hair, take yesterday night's wine glass from the coffee table and put it in the dishwasher, locate the empty bottle from where ever it ended up and put it in the recycling, and try to make self coherent and acceptable.
She judges my mood on what I am playing on the piano when she comes to the door. Last time she came, I was playing the end of the Warsaw Concerto. She took this to mean I was quite jolly, and maybe a bit less tired as it is fast and a big flourish at the end. In fact, I'm just trying to make the piece sound better. Nothing to do with my mood. Just me learning a piece of music. Anyway, CPN isn't the most understanding person, thinks she should tell me I don't look like the stereotypical "ill" person (I am NOT ill, I have never been ill, I will hit her around the head with her boring black diary one day if she carries on saying I am ill) because that will help. In what way exactly does she think telling me I don't look like a mental will help?! /CPNrant
[Break to go and have some lentil soup for lunch]
Hmm, yes, so life almost-post therapy is looking slightly busy. Next days currently free are next Monday and Tuesday - though may have an appointment on Monday, which may be a good thing as it gets me out of the house, or may be a bad thing if it goes wrong or she annoys me so I come home slightly angry with the world.
I need to remember to breathe. And smile. To remember that though everything in life isn't permanent (playing for funerals confirms this) there are still lots of good things. Even though the tree that I look at out of my window has grown leaves in the last week so I cannot see the squirrels bouncing along, the view out of my window is now green. And the most amazing shade of red/maroon from another tree. Spring is here, and I am here too. And that feels utterly terrifying, yet quite positive. I'm not going anywhere. And neither are the squirrels, they still bounce along the garden to take any goodies they find back home. I'm here, and so is everything. Right now, it is all here. The trees are alive, the blossom is everywhere, and each Monday will be followed by a Tuesday, and each Tuesday will be followed by a Wednesday.
And now it is only 35 minutes until le CPN arrives. So I need to go and do those necessary tasks which seem to be the decision between me being a "coping" mental in her eyes, and a completely "non-functioning" mental. *bangs head on desk, thus breaking the glasses which for some reason are on top of my head and not on my nose* *puts glasses back on face and goes to check for spolling errurs*