~Thursday, July 02, 2009
Fail Safe
Love,
Sarah
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10:00 AM|
5
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Labels: My Parents Are Crazy
~Wednesday, July 01, 2009
WTF
Love,
Sarah
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11:25 AM|
10
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Labels: Singleton
~Friday, June 26, 2009
Charmed
Therapy was a little awkward this week. After being diagnosed with a "broken heart" (I still love that), I thought we were going to delve into things more. Let's break it wide open and talk about my father and step-father and how I've never had a positive male role model in my life. I thought we were going to explore my emotional stunting. But instead, she stamped my file as "healthy" and tells me I'm approaching the end of my therapy and I don't need to come back for three weeks.
And I find myself wanting to fix whatever's wrong with me so maybe one day I can be charmed too.
Love,
Sarah
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1:55 PM|
10
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~Thursday, June 25, 2009
Ladies Only
I have not had a period for months. I contributed it to the stress I was under and a very stupid and impulsive decision to stop my birth control. (When I was moving out, I decided that I was never going to need anything sexually related ever again, so I dumped every birth-control pill, condom, lube, oil, you name it, into the trash.)
Today I've been feeling especially blah, staring at my computer screen at work for almost an hour without moving. I was thinking about an e-mail I received from a friend the other day and thought, Yes, I too need to shake things up in my life! and then promptly wrote that in my planner. Then I noticed my Little Red Sister join me.
I don't know about anyone else, but the first real period after a breakup is so freeing. Everything's working fine for the next guy (or the guy after that) and you know for sure your ex didn't sneak one in and have the last laugh.
So goodbye, Ex and all your phantom babies!
Love,
Sarah
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3:50 PM|
8
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~Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Date #2
Love,
Sarah
at
4:56 PM|
9
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Labels: Christopher
~Monday, June 22, 2009
Confused
I saw Christopher again this weekend. I'll blog about it later, but I have one thing he said rolling around through my head: "I want to take things slow." I just don't get it. Christopher, previously emotionally unavailable, wants to take things slowly. TAKE WHAT SLOWLY? WHAT THE HELL IS HE TALKING ABOUT?
If I sat here and tried to figure it out, I would bloody my head by banging it against my desk. So I'm not going to think about it. I am just going to sit here looking confused, not thinking about it and working.
Love,
Sarah
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1:37 PM|
12
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~Friday, June 19, 2009
$$ The Story of Sarah
My therapy appointment went really well this week. With the physical and—slowly—the emotional separation from Scott, my therapist wanted to know how I got this way. I started therapy with her in a tizzy over domestic abuse and suicide attempts and rehab, and now that the immediate reasons of why I sought professional help had become that of a controlled fire, she wanted to learn the underlying causes.
With every age bracket, she asked what I most remembered about pre-school (not much, but I was told I was a reader), elementary school (bullied by the entire fifth-grade class led by one Michael H. that I still periodically cry over the meanness of it all), middle school (extremely shy, not a lot of friends), high school (oh dear god, where do I start? The realization that I lost the father lottery, the angry mother who told me I was heading for average-ness, the death of several friends within several months, or the Christian cult who told my close friends not to talk to me anymore?) And then she asked for the most traumatic singular event in my life (hello, boyfriend who pooped in my car and then choked me over it).
During the half-hour exercise, I cried when I regaled the story of the Southern Baptist youth leader who told children not to be friends with a little girl, and I hollered when I described the rage of the physical fight I had with my boyfriend. And she said it was okay to react that way. It felt good to tell my life story—the story of Sarah—to someone who listened and didn't make me feel shameful over it.
I watched as my therapist widened her eyes, her mouth forming a perfect O. When I was done yelling, I folded my hands in my lap and looked down at them. She closed the manila folder which now contained the Story of Sarah and looked at me in the eyes. "No wonder," she began softly. She leaned forward and made sure I was paying attention. She repeated a little louder, "No wonder you found yourself in this position with your boyfriend and you tried to stay and make it work as long as possible. At every critical emotional-forming point of your life, you've been met with opposition. You've been told it's better to be in a bad relationship than to be single, and you've been consistently told you're not good enough. You," she said, "have a broken heart."
I immediately understood she was not referring to Scott, but to my life in general. Right when we discovered the meat of my issues, my time was up. She's always encouraged me to come every 2 weeks instead of every week, but this time she looked at her planner and said, "Same time next week?" and then probably drew dollar signs next to my name. I smiled. It was official: I was fucked up. And the validation of knowing I was fucked up was priceless. It made me positively giddy.
When I got home, I walked in the kitchen and poured myself a congratulatory glass of wine. My mom hovered around, hoping I'd share some of what went on. I told her my therapist asked about my childhood and then declared that I have Major Issues. "So long story short, I probably should have been in therapy 20 years ago," I laughed as I tipped back the wine glass.
My mother crossed the kitchen and grabbed me. She didn't share my joy at the news. she held me tight in what felt like an apology for things that were mostly out of her control.
Love,
Sarah
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11:15 AM|
15
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Labels: Just Me, My Parents Are Crazy
