In the Rookery


Therapy. I like you even if you make me cry.

Is this part of the therapy, to review what happened, revisit the conversation so it doesn’t feel like something that happened within a dream? If it’s here, if it’s committed, pressed into language, I mean it? It’s genuine if I let it run through my fingertips and live forever here. I woke up this morning feeling terrible. We haven’t exercised. I haven’t fully committed, I guess, I don’t know, to the diet situation. Maybe? Maybe? I hadn’t slept and then, somehow, I slipped from sleep into a nearly waking dream.

So I was dreaming right up until the very moment I woke up at the alarm’s insistence and it caught me off-guard how strangely intense and visceral the dream was.

I dreamed I drove to a giant home goods store which I may or may not have been employed at. Still with me? And apparently, here, they had developed some sort of technology that involved magic carpet material that made home furnishings fly about and in some cases, take you with them. Because, I guess, we’re updating our carpet and few things in real life, this is how it filters through into my subconscious.

At some point, my mother is there and we’re looking at curtains and my dream brain tenses and says “I just know she’s going to say something hurtful about my body.” Then, immediately, Dream-Mom makes some crack about the heaviness of the flying people, I don’t even specifically recall what it was, just that it reflected on me negatively. Or I took it that way.

And I just lost it! I never yell, never release that sort of frustration, but I woke up as the alarm rang and I was still yelling. “I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE WAY I LOOK, I KNEW IT!” I crowed and carried on and let myself go to that place where the pissed-offedness, regardless of its appropriateness, just slops out of you. Like a vomit reflex, it just has to come out. Dream-Mom looked very taken aback, not wounded, just surprised.

Then it was really, definitely time to figure out what clothes to wear and get myself moving because, yes, therapy was today.

That was on my mind this morning and talking about it, and where I’m at and all of this half-formed stuff was oddly painful. I felt sort of okay driving in. Just contained, neutral, nonplussed. You poke any of that, find any loose edge, and the things that emerge, the reeling that takes place, the bob and weave, and the tears.

So, I talked a lot and said I was better, but I wasn’t moving forward.  And that was bothering me, but at the same time, every time I tried to move forward, something takes over that doesn’t seem to allow it.  The therapist said she was confused, too, as to what direction we should go. Because I started with that feeling of wanting to just detach and move forward, but the whole conversation has this reflection on past pains and reasons for the anxiety I currently feel that she thinks have a role.

She said we could circle back and talk about the past from time to time, to those roots. I don’t know why I found that comforting even if I wish I didn’t find it comforting right now.   We talked about optimal levels of anxiety, too much either way.  Lots of things I wish I could remember now after a day of work.  They sunk in, though, I feel.

I also made kind of the big choice to tell my boss that the reason I would from time to time need to not be there early was because of therapy.  Naturally, she was super supportive, didn’t pry, but non-judgmental.  The way you’d hope if this is something you have to go through.  Onward!

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