i opened my eyes and knew i wanted more

November 5, 2012 | 113 Comments

Suspension bridge in Vancouver

Even through my haze of depression, I can see I have an especially good life.

Saturday night I had a short, broken sleep. I slept until almost noon, even with the time change. Steve and Emma decided to walk over to Starbucks and drink hot things while hanging out on mobile devices. Steve whispered their plans into my mostly-sleeping ear before leaving. I woke up a few minutes later and stared at the ceiling while I contemplated joining them.

I visualized walking into the coffee shop and saw their faces light up. An ache to be with them filled all of my spaces like spray foam. I got dressed and texted Steve to see if they’d still be there. He made me promise to brush my hair—something I’ve not been doing much of lately—and put on something sexy.

I brushed my hair.

I take having an unwavering cheering section for granted. It was good to remember and to sit with the remembering.

I just came back from the doctor. She filled out a form for me to be off work until Christmas. I felt such shame sitting in the tiny examination room, waiting for her to appear. Here I am a-fucking-gain, I thought. I told Steve last night that I worry this is all in my head and I’m the most convincing faker on the planet—having mostly convinced myself, too. We recently applied for life insurance for the second time. The first time was three years ago after my last medical leave. And now I’ve blown it for us again. Isn’t it possible that I could have just toughed it the fuck out and done my job?

I leave on Thursday night for Alberta. I’ll be in Caroline for 8 days at something called The Hoffman Process, an intense-therapy retreat. I, perhaps foolishly, have all my hope in this basket. I’m so desperate for change. This cycle of self-destruction is strangling my dreams, and I can’t (or won’t?) pull myself out, despite the gobs of love and support I access daily. I’m tired, you guys. And I don’t trust myself at all. None of my thoughts, instincts, desires—they stem from a black hole of need. Crippling, suffocating, pathetic, needy need.

A friend who broke up with me a year and a half ago because of my neediness, wrote in her farewell letter that she hopes one day I will know “unequivocal self-reliance.”

Me too.

The soundtrack for this entry is “Five and Dime” by Joshua Radin because that’s what’s playing in the coffee shop as I finish up.


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