Words Are All I Have

I have been trying to review last week’s session with C in my usual detail, but I’ve had a very stressful day (gruesome CAB appointment, and much Disraeli trouble :() and that, coupled with my ungraciously low mood and lethargy of late, has left me weak and defeated.  I’m going to eat and try writing again, but it may just have to wait.  As the wonderful Splintered Ones is always good enough to remind me, it comes when it comes and can’t be forced :)

Anyway, I don’t know why but I wanted to write something.  I suppose I worry constantly that if I allow myself to avoid posting for a few days, I’ll fall into a rut of utter insouciance towards writing.  I’ve invested so much time and effort into this blog*, and I only want to discontinue writing when I actively choose to do so – which will not, I hope, be for many years.  However, I am intimately acquainted with the tenacious lure and power of inertia, and I do fear giving myself even so much as a few days’ break from writing will lead to a de facto dead blog.  I’m probably over-reacting, but I fear it considerably, and the thought makes me tearful and desperately sad.  How can one be so attached to a website?!

[ * I worked out today that over the 181 one published posts (before this one, which is 182), I have written in the region of 700,000 words.  I'm trying to get a plug-in to measure the figure exactly, but as a rough guide, there you have it.]

So, bearing in mind my fear of an apathetic fall from whatever low level of grace I may or may not be occupying, I’m going to publish the following pile of wank, which I wrote last Tuesday evening in the wake of the C session.  I was trying to articulate the exact nature of my misery, and while it’s drivelsome bullshit, I think it does grasp that reasonably well.  To be honest, it probably describes my current mood quite well too.

Alas.

I am not in the frame of mind to write anything here, but maybe that’s exactly why I need to do so.  Perhaps I need to articulate these so-called feelings that pervade my sorry consciousness (oops, did/does that sound like wallowing? ;)) I’ve had a strange day.  I saw C this morning – specifics to follow – which has set me up for a weird week; as I normally see him on Thursdays, I’m going about thinking that tomorrow’s Friday, and that A will be there for the weekend.  Since it’s not, the rest of the week stretches out, seemingly infinite in its loneliness. C has, I think, hit upon something I have been trying desperately to hide from him.  I don’t want to discuss it right now because it’s a sensitive issue, and in any case I might be mistaken in my reading of what he thinks (I don’t think I am, but then I suppose I wouldn’t think it if I did think I was wrong, would I..?  Hmm).  I may or may not be more forthcoming in my review of this session, but whatever the case, the matter reminds me yet again of how imminent the separation is (as Tossface Mr D-P still hasn’t bothered to respond to my recent ramblings) and how invested in therapy – in C – I am.  I mean, I already know this – I have done for a very long time – but until relatively recently I could box it up and store it away in some far-flung, virtually inaccessible area of my brain.  That fails to work nowadays, with this severance looming in the air.

So.  I feel rejected.  I feel lonely, yet simultaneously I feel the need to hide away from the world.  I feel forgotten and I feel cheated.  I feel desolate, sad, and depressed.  Tears prick my dissenting, hateful eyeballs, and I feel my bottom lip quivering in a threatening, child-like fashion that I have not felt (at least with this strength) for quite some time…well, apart from the last time I saw C, that is. I still think ‘grief’ is a good word.  Pre-emptive grief, but grief nevertheless.  I do not pretend to understand the horror of what living with the impending death of a loved one with a terminal illness (and I hope I’m not disrespecting anyone in saying this – many apologies if so), but this feels like the closest I’ve ever been to that situation.

Friendships often taper off in my experience, and whilst you may look back on them and regret not making more of an effort to sustain them or whatever, you’re not generally faced with the abject grief that an instantaneous dissolution of your relationship would bring.  The ending of some romantic relationships may be more sudden and hurtful, I suppose, but I still find myself thinking that this feels to me more akin to losing someone important to death.  Perhaps it is because I am fixated with death.  Perhaps I am just a histrionic bitch.  I don’t know.

Anyway.  That was pointless.  I’m always told I should put my “emotions” into words, rather than uttering an allegedly meaningless sentence such as, “I’m pissed off,” but then everyone knows how I’m tortured over the forthcoming end of my relationship with C.  How many dozens of thousands of words have I written on it?  Enough, that’s for sure.