My triumphant return

So now that you've heard about the catalyst to send me back to into therapy, let's discuss what actually happened once I got there. After the mother-daughter blowout of Summer 2009, I decided it was time to go back. As I've said, I've been in and out of various types of therapy in childhood and in my teenage years. School counselors, a child psychologist (Dr. A, he was so helpful and if anyone ever asks me if I know a child psychologist, I always recommend him), a psychiatrist (who was too kooky for words) and a few others along the way. What fun! I had taken a break after Dr. T the psychiatrist (you could say I was a bit traumatized after her). So, I went through the rest of my teens and early twenties without a therapist and making lots of bad decisions, softened by the good decisions that afforded me taking college classes part-time, and living in apartments with boyfriends and roommates until age twenty, where I finally started to put my life back together. But back to Summer 2009. I did what any stubborn twenty four year old would do - Googled. Now, I probably should have called my PCP and asked for a recommendation or a referral, but hell, he already thinks I'm nuts, so I decided to go at my selection process alone. I was a little desperate, and didn't want to have to go and "interview" a bunch of people first. I landed on a therapist I'll call Hawking. The main reason Hawking doesn't have an oh-so-professional-looking salutation is because he was the one I saw who didn't have have some sort of PhD/doctorate degree. Well, that's not exactly true... my second one, Dr. Z didn't, but I just started calling her that and it stuck. Hawking was nice, seemed professional and empathetic, -- exactly what I needed at that moment. However, Hawking absolutely LOVED to talk about himself and his illustrious career. I mean, really man? I'm paying YOU $80.00 a pop here to talk for one hour about my upside down life, I don't really want to listen to you talk poetically about your amazing psychology career! But, I'm a people pleaser as Dr. E would later point out, and I would listen to Hawking go on and on and ON about himself. All without insurance what getting ridiculous. I only saw him a handful of times, and I cried through most of it. I was so upset and when Hawking would stop talking about himself and listen to me, he never really offered up any amazing insights or recommendations. I decided I had much better uses for $80.00 every week and ceased seeing him. He called twice after I canceled our last appointment, but I was grown up about it and didn't answer or return the call. 

Flash forward to May 2010. I stopped seeing Hawking by late summer 2009, and was motoring along just fine. I was talking (flirting) with a guy that I worked with, but he was married, so it amounted to just flirting. Until one day when he came over to see me in my cubicle (ah, corporate!). He was several years older and very successful, so much so where he intimidated me a little bit. Doesn't that happen to you? Someone who is so intellectual and witty, all of your decorum goes right out the window and you become a blushing, blabbering schoolgirl? I did. But he obviously found me interesting and endearing, as we had engaged in a mild email and hallway flirtation for a year and a half, ever since I started being the HR support for his department. Sometimes I would notice there was no ring, but photos of children in his office, so was he married? I was much too polite to ask, given my "sly" attempts at being flirtatious. Wasn't I just a model of an HR specialist?! Sadly, I received news in October 2009 that my entire recruiting department was going to be outsourced. I remember the day so clearly - I had come into work early around 7:00am to greet a candidate whose interviews started before "normal business hours". I had an appointment outside of the office at 8:00am, so I left and was planning to be back around 9:30am. Upon my return at 9:30am, I entered in the back door like I usually did, and walked over to my cubicle, the second one along the back wall next to the storage cubicle. I hardly noticed my next door cube mate, Ria, talking in shaky, hushed tones to our manager, G. Along the side all near Ria, there was a wall of offices, G.'s boss had the office nearest to the back door where I entered, then G., then Lydia, then Cara, and the spare office. I had barely sat down and started going through the 70 plus emails I had received in the 90 freaking minutes I had been gone when G.'s boss, (who we're going to call Doughnut) came over, looking VERY distraught, and asked me to come into her office. My first thought? "Oh, damn, what the hell did I do now? She was SO HAPPY about my software application launch in April, and I got rave reviews from HR VP's! She better not let me go, she better now let me-". My crazy thought train was interrupted by her voice snapping me back to reality. One look at her puffy face and eyes that had laid off and fired so many people before me, I just knew it. There had been talks of outsourcing, but no one that it would happen in the beginning of the fourth quarter. Ok. This is going to have to be a two part entry. More soon!

Intro continued...

Well, work is very quiet this afternoon so I'd thought I'd seize the opportunity to continue my introduction. You've been exposed to my introduction into the therapy scene, thanks to Banana Splits.Up until recently, Banana Splits was one of the best therapy experiences I've had! Maybe that's because things are much simpler when we're younger, and as young children, we are so much more decisive. Well, let's back up a bit and I can explain what led to my participation in Banana Splits. My parents separated when I was five - the exact specifics I still don't know. From what I gathered, they had the widely-used excuse of "irreconcilable differences", plus a messy, still loosely defined affair on my father's part, with the woman who is now my step-mother. She's cool, and she and mom seem to have carved out a relationship that works for them. Great. I never thought much of the divorce, hey, it happens, right? Despite some early palpable tension and hurt feelings early on, I think my parents always made an effort to get along in front of us, and put us first. My dad was laid off from his job soon after he and my mom split up, and I don't think I ever gave that time in his life much thought. Not then of course, I was too consumed with my Barbie dolls, coloring, and Trolls to be concerned with my dad's life situation. But thinking about that now, I can't imagine how hard it must have been to essentially start over, in his early thirties, with a six year old daughter and an 18 month old son. Couldn't have been easy at all. I think as kids we see our parents as superhero-like. Formidable walls of strength, there to protect us, comfort us, yell at us, and wipe away our tears. But for those whose marriages fail, who wipes away their tears? Late at night, after they've tucked away their kids on visitation nights, sitting on the sofa in the now empty house (or new apartment), when they are alone with their thoughts and feelings. Regardless of who/what ended my parent's nine year marriage, I often think of who those people were outside of their roles as my mom and dad. Both just barely in their thirties, a marriage over, hurt feelings, two young children, my dad with no job and saddled with child support. Child support that he has paid for the last twenty years for my brother and I - it's no secret he's excited for his last payment next month! But I'm getting off track. Sorry. Typical. I go on tangents. :)

I had a sort of "emotional meltdown" about two years ago now. It's what prompted my return to therapists and their comforting looks and long silences while you sit on the sofa and pour your heart out only to hear "And how did that make you feel?". I had a good job, was seeing a seemingly nice guy (a guy who would later show me how disposable he thought I truly was), and was happy. Well, avoiding some truths (which I'll explain later), but happy. Unfortunately my finances were not so happy. It's a long story, but in a time of desperation, I took some money from my mother with the intention to put the money I took back when I got paid the next week, and she would be none the wiser. Well. That always sounds so good in theory, doesn't it?? Why I didn't just ask, I have no idea. I think on some level, I like to punish myself, and then reward when I do something good. It's almost like having a BDSM relationship with myself. Anyway, she of course found it two days before I was able to put the money back (around $100) and was appropriately LIVID. And I mean LIVID. Called me at work (I was working as a recruiting specialist at a large pharmaceutical company) on fire and yelling, and then hung up on me after fifteen minutes of ranting and I lost it. Complete emotional outpouring ensued. And because I am so used to being the pillar of strength for everyone else, an emotional outpouring of any kind is enough to cripple me, but at work? Luckily my area had a back door where I could excuse myself down the stairs and out the back door without anyone seeing me. And once I was safely in my car in the parking lot, hidden among hundreds of other cars did I fully release those tears. The stress, the disappointment in myself, the trickery and lying, my actions and irresponsibility that ever even got me there. As it were, it was my lowest point in my life, that was completely unavoidable. It's like when someone cheats on their girl/boyfriend/spouse/etc., and knows that the walls and ceiling will come crashing in, but do it anyway. It's an almost out of body experience and you just do. Don't feel. Immature and ridiculous, but it's amazing how many of us do it. Anyway, I ended up going over to my mothers a day or two after we had our phone showdown (which comprised of her screaming and me listening and reminding her I was at my job and had to go), and we talked it out. At that point, I KNEW I had issues from my youth (a whole lot more on that later!), but she came to her own conclusion that all my emotional issues stemmed from the divorce. I have my own theories on where it stemmed from and it's a mix of a lot of different things. But at that moment, she FINALLY let go and was emotional with me, we stood in the garage in the summer evening air, crying so hard we were both shaking and sobbing, and I got that headache you get when you've been crying too hard for too long. She suggested therapy so that I could "get better", and I did. I'm on my third therapist from that time almost two years ago, and it pains me a little to say this, but she pushed me into therapy the first time (a boyfriend did it the second time), and I'm glad I'm here. Even though it's like when you start a new skin care regime - it can get worse before it gets better. I'm in the valley currently, and have high hopes I'll make it to the summit of my journey.

"Thumbs-in-the-middle"

I'm a reluctant blogger. Sometimes you need to have an audience (or at least the illusion of one) in order to express thoughts you wish you could say to various people in your life. Because I'm not an inspirational speaker, I figured a blog would be the next best thing. Even if no one reads this, that is still ok. Because for better or worse, I"m writing this for me. I suppose I could just write in a journal like I did when I was younger, but there is something about having an audience that I think will keep me honest and on track. Almost like a blogging placebo effect. I want a place where I can say whatever I'm feeling - without someone asking me to explain further, or clarify, or ask me what the hell I'm talking about when I ramble on. You, of course, are welcome to ask me 'what the hell?', people out in web land. I'm not accountable to you all day, every day, so I'm thinking fresh perspective from people I don't know will be welcome. If anyone reads of course. I guess it's time for the background info. Well, some of it at least.

I'm a twenty-six year old woman who lives in the Northeast (I'm undecided as to whether I'm going to specify my location any further).  I'm gainfully employed, FINALLY finishing my undergraduate degree, and visit a therapist every other week to discuss emotional issues. We'll call him Dr. E. Dr.E is great. Wonderful, even. Smart, gently prodding me along, even though I am NO stranger to the therapy rodeo. I've been going on and off since I was in kindergarten when my parents got divorced. My first taste of therapy was a group run by the school counselor called "Banana Splits". Yup. It was a group for all the divorced kids in my elementary school to meet once a week. Funny that this was twenty years ago, but I have such vivid memories of sitting in the grass outside by the little kid playground with the group. Every time we would meet, the counselor (whose name I've sadly forgotten) would ask us if we were having a "thumbs up, thumbs down, or thumbs-in-the-middle" kind of day. I typically chose the last option -- which has been a running theme in my life ever since. Huh. Go figure. "Thumbs in the middle" is a really great way to be non-committal. How telling it is that I had figured that out by the age of five. Sadly, this guidance counselor retired after my kindergarten year (while I don't remember her name, I do remember her peach lipstick and gray & white hair set into the perfect curled "do"). The school tried to continue Banana Splits with the new counselor, but let's just say Dr. Kummer and six year old L. did NOT see eye-to-eye.

More to come, but because I am posting this during my lunch break, I should probably get back to work. Looking forward to continuing.