Thursday Evening
I have had dry eyes since Monday morning. A new record. Two full days without crying.
Until now.
Drowning in a turbulent sea. Gasping for breath. Lungs filling with salt water. I am sobbing.
The therapist leading our evening group glances my way and then resumes teaching. We're learning about "I" statements. Or something. Not really paying attention. I am trying to swim.
Eventually she turns to me: "Are there any situations where you could use an 'I' statement?"
I manage a strangled sound of dissent. I don't confront. I won't anger. I can't conflict. No.
"No not ever? Are you sure?"
And then I am babbling about an unhealthy relationship and arguments over the phone and broken friendships and drowning sobbing sobbing sobbing. Shh please. Please calm down. This is embarrassing. You are not sad shhh.
She patiently waits until I've calmed to a sniffle. "Lois, why do you think you're so upset this evening."
I don't know.
"Okay here's what I want you to do. Take a moment and write down all the reasons why you might be feeling sad. Identify the feelings and then accept them as your own."
Pen in hand, a paper raft.
I am sad because she was discharged today.
I am sad because he did not visit today.
I am sad because this therapist is aggravating.
I am sad because I made a mistake.
I am sad because today is November 1st.
I am sad because I want a hug.
I am sad because I am lonely.
I am sad because I am sad.
After group therapy, I flee the meeting room. Still crying. Straight into my flatmates' arms. They are here for my dinner break but the timing is perfect. We discuss road trips to Vancouver BC over my first mediocre holiday Starbucks drink. Nonfat peppermint mocha. It is the best thing I've tasted all week.
That evening I write my daily letter to Virginia Woolf:
November 1, 2012
Dear Virginia,
Today was supposed to be the day. But tomorrow I will wake up. And live.
I've realized that I'm not very nice to myself.
Your ladylark
I go to bed. I have survived.
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