Red Balloon

On my way to work this morning I watched as a red balloon skipped across the road, fearlessly. Red balloons are supposed to symbolize a release, letting go of memories, giving yourself over to passion.

Quite poignant.

I confessed to my lie with MP, the one about the breathing. As well as the difficulty of the past four days, five now. He reassured me that he is not going anywhere. But he has not seen the worst of it yet; will the worst of it happen again? MP also said there is no shame is what I am going through, no shame in talking to someone about it. So, my last confession of the evening was that I am talking to someone about it. My last covered appointment is next week. Where will I go from there? Pay the fees myself or find an alternative type of therapy…maybe it is time to move on to the group meetings.

Shame courses through me every hour. Thinking about the group meetings makes it thicker. How do you tell women who have been through much worse than you that some days you can barely move, get out of bed, lift your head, or eat? Will they think I am unworthy of this too?

It is coming back, without a doubt. This morning I could have called in sick, just to waste away the day watching monotonous tv. Thinking about nothing at all.

PF – I miss you. The girl you used to be. Please come back and help me through this. Please.