“All the things she said, running through my head.”
The rain is back. With a vengeance. No spare change so no bus, so another treacherous and stormy wander to therapy awaits.
This time feeling more tortured than before. No sight or sound of my girlfriend for nearly four weeks. My heart is truly broken. She was the one.
As the rain lashes down, I feel as I’m in ‘that’ tATu video. The heavens soak through my clothes and drench my skin within seconds. Every painful step of the way my mind is filled with her, what we did, where we went. And all the things she said.
That road. Flooded again. I have to walk along the dark, unlit pathway. As I do so, cars aquaplane on the road, and drench me every few seconds. One car even goes out of its way to splash right by me. That’s it. I’ve had enough of this life.
“Yes, I’ve lost my mind. Have I crossed the line?”
I wait in reception, like a drowned rat. So this is therapy. Physical and mental torture getting there, then sitting in a chair listening to a 90 minute lecture. My mind is shot to pieces and my mood is an intense, brooding anger. This isn’t working, is it.
The therapists appear. I sit right in the corner, away from everyone. There’s noticeably less people here this week, and happily Angry Man has clearly had his 25% worth of usefulness, as his voice is absent. Hopefully he is, too. Cruel, I know, but it’s how I felt.
The session is about stress and lifestyle. This week’s scores on the doors were 21, 18, 29, and a stress level of 8. At this moment, though, I feel more like Michael Douglas in Falling Down.
I remain quiet so as not to attract attention, lest I fly off the handle. Which doesn’t go quite to plan when I clang my bag into the fire extinguisher, everyone else there instantly focusing in on me. I don’t acknowledge anyone. Just get on with it.
“This is not enough.”
The therapists try their best. They talk about filling up a bath with stresses so when you dip into it, it overflows, about when we should worry about stress, how to combat it. And the perils of alcohol.
This irks someone. He’s in his 50’s, quietly spoken, with a slow, deliberate tone. He starts off trying to talk generally about how difficult it is not to use alcohol as an emotional crutch. We get the gist of it and nod.
He, however, takes this unsaid agreement as approval of being much more specific, and hijacks the group therapy, talking about his very specific situation.
On and on he talks. About his wife. About having a girlfriend he loves. About choosing family or love. And about how alcohol is hard to give up. In great detail, even when politely told it’s something that is best discussed in one-to-one therapy.
I finally look around, waking up from my own selfish but silent reverie. I see, by the exasperated expressions on others faces, that they fed up to the back teeth of witnessing impromptu one-on-one therapy instead of being in a group session.
The therapists finally call time for a break. There’s plenty on the handouts to get through but we haven’t heard or discussed anywhere near enough to get anything lasting from it.
“Will I ever be free?”
The irony is that everyone is now feeling one of the most common signs of stress. Irritable. Well, all bar one. The subject is veered off into another, safer area. Feel good foods. It’s all about the GI Index, ‘feel good foods’, and what to avoid.
I’m open to trying anything, and if nothing else, a healthier diet is good for the body even if the effect on the mind is yet to be gauged. I write an A4 side worth of what foods bring what positive effects. I clearly don’t have the money for it but I have to get better. I’ll ask someone to lend it to me.
There’s also a few hints about sleep time. Having a laptop by my bed doesn’t help. I’ve always been a night owl, mind, so the problem looks more pronounced than it is.
Staying up until 3am was never uncommon for me, although admittedly staying up all night has been creeping in to my life. That’s what happens when your one true love walks out of your life without saying a word though, your mind is filled 24/7 with the pain, the misery, it stays depressingly active and keeps you awake.
Will I ever be free of that agony? As I trudge home in the dark, in the rain, I wonder, I really do. But, like tATu, it can’t go on. I doubt the powers of a walnut and the odd mushroom to turn my mind around.
I’ll give it a damn good try though.