Usually, I leave my therapy session feeling a little lighter. Okay, some unearthed pain surfaces, but I feel soothed. Empowered. Ready to tackle my week, and even more importantly, handle myself and my feelings.
And then some weeks, I just feel… horrible.
In pain, but not being able to make sense of it. Irritated, but having not a clue why.
Dispirited, and wondering why I bother.
Frustrated, but not understanding where I went wrong.
Is it the feelings, the experiences, which have remained unexpressed that gather like a tight ball in my throat so I cannot breathe or eat or laugh?
Is it my inability to push further when I felt myself getting worked up and heading somewhere real and strong but led my therapist away, away, away from that feeling? Is it the shame of making an utter fool of myself with embarrassing word-retrieval issues and undecipherable graphics? Is it that I’m upset at myself for not cashing in on every minute but whiling away so much of it staring into space?
Is it because I don't even feel I was there, that my therapist was there? Why don't I feel grounded there?
Is it that I don’t feel equipped to handle another whole week, alone again?
Is it because I bank too much on this hour and I shouldn’t?
I don’t know what it is.
I just know there is a vortex in my chest and it’s going to swallow me into its depths. I want to cancel all my plans for tonight, and let the darkness engulf me.
I just know that my kids' antennas are up, they knew just how to storm into the house with complaints and demands and fights.
I know that they thumbed their noses at the nutritious supper — I was going to be a good mom today! — and had me assembling tuna sandwiches and prepping instant soups for dinner, and I didn't dare argue.
I know that I yelled to my sink when some of the food that no one is gonna touch anyhow spilled in my attempt to drain it. Because it’s all my sink’s fault. All of it. My mood. My inability to get a babysitter for tonight's event. My inability to feel stable with my therapist.
And I know I muttered some uncomplimentary words directed at my kids under my breath, hot and angry. I hope they didn’t hear. I didn't even mean them.
I don’t know what it is.
But the week stretches long and dreary before me.
And blue.