Every time I think I’m going to graduate myself from therapy, life life’s and I think, “Well. Maybe now isn’t the time.”
But really - when is the time?
It’s not that I feel ill equipped to handle whatever shit sandwich I happen to randomly select from the picnic basket of life. I do. I have the tools but therapy is a container to process things. For most people, those “things” would be feelings. But, to be honest, I hate feelings.
I’d like to tell you that I go to therapy to learn to deal with my feelings but I don’t think that’s true. I mean - part of why I go is honestly because my therapist is a gay guy that reminds me a LOT of David Rose from Schitt’s Creek. The other part is because therapy is away I try to quiet the noise in my head and process things. Things like feelings.
I’ve had this quote banging around in my head. It’s noisier in there than I’d like and writing is another way I attempt to quiet the noise.
It’s easier for me to write about feelings than it is to talk about them. The problem with therapy is that it requires talking. About feelings.
On Friday, I talked to my therapist about the quote above and he had the audacity to ask me if anger felt safer than sadness.
I wanted to ask, “Is this a serious fucking question? Of course it FEELS “safer”.”
That’s not what I said but I think it was implied by the expression on my face.
As much as I love me some Brené Brown, I can only do so much vulnerability. I’m going to be vulnerable about shit like making a mistake at work. But to tell you I’m sad because I’m slowly losing someone I love due to illness? No. I’m going to tell you that I’m fucking pissed off about it. That I’ve already lived this lesson as illness slowly consumed Jeanette before finally swallowing her whole. I will tell you that this isn’t fair. That I don’t understand why this person. Sure - I don’t wish ill on anyone but honestly, I feel I could come up with a few better suited recipients than those the universe has identified in my world.
I remember Jeanette once repeatedly asking me, “why?” Why her? Was it because her mom put liquid saccharine in their sweet tea? Or because Jeanette used a tanning bed for a period in her young, short, life? Because of the chemicals she handled as a hair dresser?
Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy
We’ll never know. And even if we did know - would it matter? Would knowing have changed the outcome?
Jeanette’s Facebook profile is still frozen in time from when she last updated it and I always found it striking how this particular photo is of the back of her head (for reasons I’m not going to bother to explain here). That photo was as if she was leaving us then. It’s always reminded me of the scene in Six Feet Under where, as Claire says farewell to her family, she takes out her camera to take a picture. As she looks at them through the viewfinder, Nate stands behind her, telling her “You can’t take a picture of this; it’s already gone.”
My therapist mentioned how a current situation I’m experiencing must be bringing up the feelings (there’s that goddamn word again) I experienced when Jeanette was dying - and then died. I want to say no - but instead I imagined a rototiller being guided over my heart, churning up buried feelings. In the movie of my life, this scene would be played by Stephen King. He’d slowly, methodically guide the rototiller across my heart. I imagine him pulling it back and guiding it over a particular spot again. And again. Ah. There now.
The thing that no one ever tells you about grief is how it can begin as you lose a person - piece by piece. Maybe you know this and if you do, I’m sorry. If you don’t know this, you may think this is a way to outsmart grief or its a short cut to processing your feelings - as if you can get it all out the way while the person’s still here. Which is precisely what I thought until I happened to me and I was like, “Goddammit. I thought I was emotionally prepared for this.” But there are no shortcuts to grief. There is no preparing for it. Which means you the stages of grief start long before you lose the person. Kubler-Ross identified 5 stages of grief - anger’s the 2nd stage. And yes. It feels safer than moving onto depression. Who the fuck wants to be sad?! Not me. You know what comes after sad? Acceptance.
And honestly, there are some things I cannot accept…
Jeanette not being able to see her kid grow up
How I won’t hear her loud laugh again
How some families have more than their share of grief
How these people stoically, bravely, privately faced their illness (while other people I know wail about their fears of what might be but turn out not to be - and there. There’s my anger again. I’m happy for them but what the fuck)
I feel a little crazy - in the way you do when you’re needing to feel alive. To feel something that isn’t denial, or anger, bargaining, depression, or god forbid - acceptance.
Lyrics below by Tegan and Sara - highlights are my own.
I should start working on myself again
Get these feelings that I feel within
Under my, under, under my control
Under, under my control
I should be careful the condition I'm in
Let these feelings that I feel within
Outta my, outta outta my control
Outta outta my control
She says I think you like to feel the weight
Let it build and then I detonate
She says we gotta long fight ahead
Why are we walking this line instead?
Used to cry but now I know I won't
Used to walk out, now I don't
Tegan and Sara
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