PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

my mind is diseased

Monday, Nov. 18, 2002
Ya know how they always say don’t mix business with pleasure? I’m pretty much thinking that that theory is true. Lately all I talk to my friend about is “profit” “traffic” and “ideas”. Mostly I’m burnt out. How anyone can do that 24/7 is beyond me. It’s not that I don’t care about business, it’s more that its all I care about and that’s pretty much new for me.

I got a disturbing email from my son last night. Not disturbing in that anything’s wrong with him, just disturbing in the fact that what he’s asking me for is something that will be painful for me to provide. I am in a conundrum about how to deal with it. Unfortunately I don’t know who to ask or where to turn on this one.

Maybe the answers I seek are answers I’ll never get from another human being because they simply don’t exist.

Sometimes I miss Bernie. Bernie was my therapist for over a year. Sometimes I miss him only in the fact that he sat there smiling as though he were happy I chose him to cry all over. I know he did this because I paid him to do this, but in all actuality I didn’t pay him so I never thought about that issue. He was state funded for a program designed to “keep families together”. I think that maybe they shouldn’t have paid him come think of it I just miss the way that if I bailed on a session he would call me up immediately wanting to reschedule. I think I just miss having that one person that will listen to you and be objective no matter what. I couldn’t wait to get out of therapy and now I’m whining because I miss him. Go figure. But in the end Bernie wasn’t able to help me much wth my situation because as he put it so eloquently…

“Most people in your situation would be on the streets smoking crack and their kids would become a property of the state, you are doing far better than the average person would be and so there’s not much I can tell you to assist you further except work hard, save your money and keep doing what you’re doing.”

Hmmm….a therapist said that to me. A therapist thought I really didn’t need therapy. Most of the time when I told him about things that were going on his eyes got big and he just said, “and then what happened?” I think I was a source of entertainment.

I think from now on I’m not going to talk to anyone about my life. And then this leads me to wonder why even keep a diary if I can’t truly release all the pain and anguish that I am experiencing? It’s sad that my form of release and self-introspection has become a source of entertainment again.

Mostly I’m upset about that email from my son because I don’t know what to do. I want to do that thing that a good mother would do, but what that might be is truly beyond me. I told him I would always be there for him, and now I just want to hide for the next week or two.

I tried to talk it out with someone I trusted. He chose not to be there for me. I really wish today I could talk to “t” who is enough logic to be practical and enough emotion to have compassion. He would say one thing and I’d be ok and I’d know how to move forward. I miss how grounded he made me. I miss it bad.

This email really ripped me apart. This morning at 5 a.m. I told husband about it and the words.. “what really sucks is that I forget what its like to be held” and he did.

Most of the things going on in my life are like a bad disease that I can't recover from. Like fighting a nasty cancer that's eating me alive. The bad thing is I want to quit fighting all the judgement and just quit everything. To top off my happy morning it's freezing in Florida today.

-PoeticaL

7:37 a.m. ::
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